MINTARI

A World of Dinosaurs

by

Daniel Arenson

Table of Contents

- 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

- CHAPTER TWENTY

- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

- AFTERWORD

- NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

- KEEP IN TOUCH

BEFORE YOU DIVE IN...

Download your free Mintari Field Guide, featuring the dinosaurs in this novel:

DanielArenson.com/Dinosaurs

CHAPTER ONE

The King

The Tyrannosaurus
rex was stalking them. He had their scent now. He would not stop until he fed.

Joe
ran through the dark forest. Roots snagged his feet. Thorny branches whipped
his face. Sweat soaked him, and his heart pounded against his ribs.

He's
hungry. He's after us. Oh God, we're going to die.

A
rumble sounded behind him. Deep. Echoing. Ravenous. A deep bass that rolled
through the forest like thunder.

There
was no mistaking that sound. It was the rumble of a T-rex. And not just any
T-rex but King Ivan himself. The tyrant of Mintari. The most dreaded predator
evolution had ever produced.

Joe
ran faster.

Mina
was struggling to keep up. Her face was pale, her eyes sunken. Thorns had
slashed her cheek, and her blood beaded. As she ran, she cradled her pregnant
belly. A mossy root grabbed her boot. She cried out, stumbled, and nearly fell.
Joe caught her.

For
a moment, they stood panting.

"Joe,"
she whispered. "Joe, we can't run forever. We have guns. We can fight
him."

A
tear rolled down her cheek, mingling with the blood.

He
hungers for us, Joe thought. For my flesh. For
her flesh. For the flesh of our unborn child.

"Mina,
bullets won't stop him," Joe said. "Ivan would shrug them off like
spitballs. Tonight we're prey. Tonight we must run. We're almost at Crater
Lake. We can lose him in the water. I'll carry you."

She
shook her head. "No. That'll slow us down. I can keep going."

She
took a deep breath, then resumed running through the brush. Joe ran at her
side.

The
daylight was almost gone now. Shadows cloaked the ferns, ginkgo trees, and
towering conifers. The sun's dying rays pierced the canopy like bloodied claws.
Most predators would be settling down for the night. But not Ivan. The beast
could see in the faintest starlight. Even in pitch-darkness, his uncanny sense of
smell and sound would guide him. Over millions of years, evolution had crafted
tyrannosaurs for one purpose. To kill. And Ivan was the greatest killer of them
all.

"We
must reach the water," Joe said. "We can lose him in the water."

Mina
did not reply. She could barely breathe. Her arms trembled as they cradled her
belly. Eight months pregnant. A baby girl. A dream of a beautiful family. Now
the beast's teeth threatened to rip this dream to shreds.

Footsteps
thudded behind them.

The
beast was closer.

The
two humans had gotten a head start. But even the fastest sprinter could not
outrun a T-rex for long. Soon the dinosaur would catch them.

Mina
cried out. Sweat drenched her hair.

"We
can make it!" Joe said. "Come on, cheesecake, just a little farther.
You got this."

It
should not have come to this. This all seemed like a bad dream.

Joe
was a rookie Ranger. He had just taken his vows last year. And he took those
vows seriously. The Mintari Rangers had a simple mission statement. They swore
to protect the dinosaurs of Mintari. On this world, humans were only
caretakers, not masters. This planet belonged to the dinosaurs. This was their
home. Their sanctuary. Their only chance to survive. Scientists had brought
these majestic animals back from extinction. The Rangers made sure they never
went extinct again.

Like
all Rangers, Joe wore a khaki uniform and sturdy boots. The traditional Mintari
hat, colloquially known as a ceratop, topped his head. It resembled park ranger
hats from ancient Earth. A good Mintari Ranger wore his ceratop day and night,
only removing the hat to honor a fallen comrade. Joe's badge gleamed on his
chest, shaped like a stegosaurus's dorsal plate. The words Mintari Ranger were engraved into the
brass. To wear this badge was the honor of Joe's life.

He
wore a second symbol. Smaller. Hard to see unless you stood close. It adorned
his lapel, forged of silver but left to tarnish with age. The brooch was shaped
like the head of a triceratops. The crest of Clan Triplehorn.

Clans
were important on Mintari. A unique dinosaur represented each prominent
lineage. Most people displayed their crests with pride. For Joe, displaying his
family crest was an act of defiance. He noticed the stares. He heard the
mutters. Sometimes men spat at him. Several times they had tried to rip his
crest off, to stomp on it. But he still displayed the silver triceratops on his
lapel. Someday he would restore his clan to honor. He vowed that the name Triplehorn
would be uttered in admiration, not scorn. Only that day would he polish the
silver until it gleamed again.

But
first he must survive tonight.

He
looked at Mina. She was struggling beside him but still so strong. Unlike Joe,
she didn't wear a Mintari Rangers uniform. Instead, she wore blue scrubs and a
white lab coat. Dr. Mina Clubber-Triplehorn was a paleonarian. A veterinarian
who treated dinosaurs. A dino-doc, as folks sometimes called her. She too had
sworn to protect the wildlife on Mintari. Wherever a dinosaur was sick or
injured, Mina would be there. Joe's job was to shoot poachers. Hers was to heal
any dinosaur who survived a poacher's cruelty.

Earlier
today, both had answered the call of duty. A Ranger satellite reported an
urgent situation. Poachers from another planet, armed with heavy guns, were
stalking a tyrannosaur family. Joe and Mina responded at once, entering the
wilderness to save the dinosaurs. For even the fearsome T-rexes were worthy of
life.

When
they arrived at the scene, it was too late. The poachers were dead. Ripped
apart. Pieces of them here and there. Before dying, they had managed to kill
several T-rexes. A big female lay on the grass, riddled with bullets. Her
hatchlings lay dead around her. Above the carnage stood the sole survivor. A
gargantuan T-rex with black scales, blood on his teeth. King Ivan himself. The
mightiest dinosaur on Mintari.

The
poachers had killed his family. And now the beast was after Joe and Mina. He
had shattered their tricopter, so they fled on foot. Just prey animals. Tonight
one of the dinosaurs they had sworn to protect would kill them.

They
ran onward through the forest. A thorn ripped Joe's cheek. He stumbled over a
rock, twisting his ankle, but managed to keep running. The ground sloped into a
shadowy valley.

Another
rumble rolled through the forest. It sounded closer now. Waves of bass pounded
Joe, aching in his bones.

"Joe,
I can't …" Mina panted. "I can't."

"You
can, Mina. You can! We're almost there. Look."

He
pointed. There in the valley. Salvation. Crater Lake gleamed in the light of
Hypnos and Thanatos, Mintari's twin moons. They were running through hell, but
there ahead shone heaven.

Mina
nodded and wiped her eyes. Her fingers twined around Joe's. Holding hands, they
ran downhill together.

Footsteps
pounded the forest.

The
ground vibrated with every footfall.

A
bellow shook
the trees. It was so deep human ears could barely hear it. But Joe could feel
those punishing ripples of bass in his chest. It was the sound a Tyrannosaurus rex
made before feasting.

Joe
looked over his shoulder, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest.

The
foliage was rustling. A ginkgo tree crashed down. A boulder rolled. A dark
shadow moved between the conifers. Ivan was coming.

"We're
not going to make it!" Mina cried.

"We
will! Come on, Mina! Come on!"

They
ran downhill through the ferns. The footfalls grew louder behind them. The
forest trembled. The trees swayed. The sky itself seemed to tremble. Joe knew
the facts. In peak condition, a human could run about ten kilometers per hour.
In this dark forest, exhausted, bleeding, Mina pregnant—at best they could hope
for half that speed.

A
T-rex could run at thirty kilometers per hour without breaking a sweat.

To
hell with the facts! Joe thought. We're
going to make it.

He
gripped Mina's hand tighter. There ahead—Crater Lake.

They
were almost there.

So
close.

Rumbles
sounded—this time from ahead! The ferns parted. An ankylosaurus family burst
out from the brush.

Joe's
heart seemed to stop in his chest.

Ankylosaurs
were essentially living tanks. They weighed more than elephants and wore suits
of thick, bony armor. Spikes rose across their backs, lined their sides like
scythes, and framed their lumpy heads. Their tails ended with bony clubs the
size of pumpkins. Those tails could shatter bones, crack boulders, even plow
through brick walls. Joe had once seen an ankylosaurus bull charge through a
pack of allosaurs, kill two of the fearsome predators, and send the rest
fleeing. These armored brawlers were among the toughest dinosaurs on Mintari.

And
even they feared King Ivan.

The
ankylosaurs howled, nostrils flaring, eyes wide with panic. Joe counted five of
them—a male, a female, and three juveniles. The heavy herbivores rumbled down
the hillside, fleeing for their lives. Their feet tore up roots and shrubs.
Boulders rolled and little mammals fled into their burrows. Dust and moss
filled the air. Like tanks charging across a battlefield, the armored brutes
ran.

Joe
and Mina skidded to a halt, then leaped back. They just barely dodged the
stomping feet of the male ankylosaurus. The bull didn't notice them. He was too
busy herding his family to safety. As he ran, the dinosaur swung his armored
tail from side to side. He wasn't aiming at anything in particular. It was an
instinct, similar to a cat bristling, meant to deter any predators. Even the
mightiest carnivore would fear approaching a swinging club that could shatter
boulders. Joe and Mina ducked. The tail whooshed overhead, nearly cracking
their heads like eggs.

The
tail's club thunked into a conifer like a wrecking ball, cracking the
trunk. The tree swayed like a drunkard. The armored dinosaur kept thundering
downhill, braying and rousing more ankylosaurs. More and more of the spiky
giants burst from the forest. Soon an entire herd was stampeding downhill,
fleeing the oncoming predator, leaving a trail of devastation.

The
cracked conifer tilted farther. Wooden splinters burst from the trunk with a
series of cracks.

Joe
winced and grabbed Mina's hand.

With
a sound like shattering bones, the trunk snapped.

The
mighty conifer came pitching down.

For
a moment—just a moment—Joe forgot about the pursuing T-rex. He pulled Mina
back. The tree slammed down before them, shaking the hill. Both humans fell
into the mud.

The
conifer lay across the hillside. The trunk was enormous—as wide as a train.
Hundreds of branches thrust out the top like spines, reaching taller than a
house, so dense a cat would have trouble squeezing between them. The fallen
tree formed a wall of wood and moss, blocking their way to the river.

The
ankylosaurus herd vanished into the distance, leaving the humans trapped. Joe
and Mina turned around, placing their backs to the fallen conifer. The last
beams of sunset faded, leaving only the eerie moonlight.

The
trees uphill parted.

And
there he came, stepping into the moonlight. King Ivan. The tyrant of Mintari.

* * * * *

All
tyrannosaurs were terrifying. They were born to kill. Even the juveniles could
take down a stegosaurus. And as adults, the T-rexes dominated every other dinosaur
on Mintari, from the bulkiest sauropod to the fastest raptor. Only the mighty
triceratops stood a chance against a T-rex, and even he gave the king a wide
berth. T-rex teeth could crunch through solid bone. Their claws could rip the
toughest scales. Their nostrils sniffed prey across vast landscapes, and their
eyes pierced the darkest shadows. Even their arms, mocked for being disproportionally
small, were no joke when they slashed at you. They were larger than human arms,
and they could disembowel a man with a single swipe.

And
Ivan made other T-rexes seem puny.

Nobody
knew how Ivan had grown so big. No scientists dared study him. A few had tried.
Nobody ever found the bodies. Most likely, Ivan was a mutant, the next step
forward in the evolution of tyrannosaurs. He was as long as a sperm whale, as
tall as an oak tree. His teeth were like swords gleaming in the moonlight.
Spikes crested his back, sharp enough to impale anyone foolish enough to attack
from behind. Most tyrannosaurs were green or gray, but not Ivan. His scales
were black as coal, and his eyes blazed red like two torches. Those eyes
perhaps seemed small in the gargantuan lumpy head of the beast, but they were
larger than a man's heart, and when they stared at you, it was like they could
see inside you.

There
he was. The king himself. The most dreaded dinosaur on the planet.

He
was still a good distance away, far on the hilltop. From where he stood, Joe
and Mina must appear as mere specks. But he could see them. He could smell
them. And he was thundering right toward them.

Death.

It
was death personified coming for them. Death was not a pale man in a black
cloak, holding a scythe. Death was a dinosaur.

Joe
lit his flashlight and scanned the darkness for a way out. The conifer blocked
their path to the lake. They could try to climb over the gargantuan log. Maybe,
just maybe, if they were fast enough, they could cross the fallen tree before
Ivan reached them.

But
they would not get much farther. To Ivan, a fallen conifer was a speed bump.
He'd leap over the tree, catch the humans, and feast.

Joe
looked at the rampaging T-rex. The beast was stomping downhill, knocking down
trees. He was only a moment away now. The gargantuan jaws opened with a
deafening rumble. The land shook. The earth cracked. That nightmarish maw could
swallow a man whole.

Trembling,
Mina drew her gun. She let out a howl of her own. Compared to Ivan's cry, it
sounded like a whimper. But the pregnant woman would not be easy prey. Fire
burned in her eyes now, drying her tears.

"Go
to hell, you son of a bitch!" she shouted and pulled the trigger.

She
was a good shot. Bullets pounded Ivan's black scales. Amazingly, the T-rex
stopped and shook his head. It was hard to see from here, but he didn't seem
hurt, just surprised. Maybe one or two bullets had actually embedded themselves
into the scales. Most had probably just fallen to the ground. The monstrous
T-rex bellowed. The gunfire only made him angrier. He burst into a run again,
feet shaking the hillside.

Joe
had a gun too. He doubted it would do any good.

"Mina,
climb with me!" he said.

"We
won't make it over that log. Even if we do, it won't hold Ivan back, and—"

"Not
over the conifer log. Up that ginkgo tree! Come on!"

He
pointed. A ginkgo tree soared nearby. Ginkgos were among the tallest trees on
Mintari. Even the great titanosaurs, sauropods with necks as long as buses, had
to rear on their hind legs to reach the top branches. Ivan was tall, but even
he couldn't reach that high.

As
the T-rex stormed closer, Joe and Mina began climbing.

Thankfully,
the ginkgo sprouted many branches for easy purchase. But they had a long way to
climb. And not much time.

They
scurried upward in a frenzy. Sap covered their hands. Bark scraped their skin.
Twigs scratched their faces. Ivan thundered closer. Closer. Every footfall
shook the tree. God, the stench of him. It wafted on the wind—a smell like bad
breath and rotting meat. Between the branches, Joe saw the great shadow fall.
The eyes of the beast burned in the night, two red flames, seeing him, lusting
for his flesh.

Joe
climbed faster. Mina slipped, screamed, and he caught her wrist. They kept
climbing. Bark ripped Joe's palms. Blood dripped down to his elbow. He kept
climbing through the pain.

Ivan
crashed through the brush, heading toward the ginkgo tree.

Joe
and Mina climbed another branch. Another. Hot, foul breath washed over them.

They
were only a few meters up when the T-rex reached the tree.

Ivan
rumbled. The sound was deafening. Mina screamed and Joe winced. His ears rang.
The terrible maw widened, lined with teeth, a portal to hell.

Hanging
from the branches, Joe unslung his rifle from across his back. He had avoided
firing until now. It seemed pointless. When it came to King Ivan, you chose
flight over fight. But flight was off the table now.

He
was a Mintari Ranger, and he carried the traditional weapon of his order. They
called it the sleep-or-die. The rifle had two barrels. One barrel fired
tranquilizer darts. Sometimes even Rangers ran afoul of dinosaurs, and they
must sedate an angry beast. The second barrel fired bullets. That barrel was
for poachers only, never for dinosaurs, for the Mintari Rangers swore to
protect all wildlife.

Tonight
Joe broke his Ranger vows.

Tranquilizer
darts would do little against a behemoth like Ivan. So tonight Joe flipped the
switch from "sleep" to "die."

He
pulled the trigger. A bullet flew toward Ivan's open mouth. Joe dared to hope
he could pierce the soft gullet.

But
as the shot rang out, Ivan snapped his mouth shut. The bullet slammed into the
dinosaur's scaly snout … and crumpled.

Joe
stared in shock. The bullet actually crumpled like a tiny tin can … and fell to
the forest floor. It left little more than a dent in one scale.

Dear
God, what the hell is this beast? Joe thought.

He
fired a tranquilizer dart next. What the hell. Might as well try it. As Joe
suspected—no good. The dart bent against Ivan's scales, then clattered to the
ground, joining the crumpled bullet. It was like shooting at a hurricane.
Pointless. Even if the darts could pierce Ivan's scales, so what? The
dinosaur was so heavy, so furious, he would probably just shrug off the
sedative. Might as well sing him a lullaby.

The
infernal jaws opened again, hungry for humans.

Joe
curled his legs inward. Ivan's bear trap of a mouth snapped shut only inches
away, nearly severing both legs. God, that mouth was huge. It was like a
sinkhole lined with teeth. The dinosaur glared up at him. His eyes were like
cauldrons. Red eyes. Eyes full of furious fire. And Joe saw more than hunger in
those reptilian orbs. He saw intelligence. Awareness.

Joe's
upper lip rose in a snarl. He fired his sleep-or-die again.

He
aimed for one of those blood-red eyes.

The
bullet slammed into the scaly ridge above the eyeball. So close!

At
this range, the bullet did some actual damage. Scales cracked. Blood splattered
the branches. Ivan let out a furious howl.

He
can bleed! Joe's heart sang. We can hurt him!

He
fired again and again. But Ivan closed his eyes and mouth, protecting the
softer parts of his head. The bullets hit only scales, chipping them. Nothing
more than flesh wounds. If Joe kept firing at one spot, maybe he could—

His
gun clicked. Out of bullets.

Tar it. He reached for more ammo, ready to finish the job. But blood slicked his
fingers. His fresh magazine slipped from his grip. The bullets tumbled down to
the forest floor. Joe could only watch in horror.

Ivan
opened his eyes. They gleamed. Maybe Joe was imagining it, but the bastard
actually seemed to be gloating. The dinosaur leaped up, jaws opening to feast.

Joe
scurried higher among the branches. Mina, who was already several branches up,
caught him and pulled him. The jaws snapped shut below Joe's boots, shattering
the branch where he had just stood.

He
scampered up the tree, Mina pulling him along. Ivan reared. T-rexes normally
walked with their spines horizontal, their tails thrust out straight, balancing
on their muscular legs. But now Ivan rose upright like a rearing bear. His
teeth shred branches in a demonic imitation of a herbivore as he tried to reach
the humans.

Mina
fired her own gun. A bullet hit Ivan in the head, cracking a scale that Joe had
already chipped. The dinosaur fell to the ground, grumbling more in anger than
pain. The tree shook. Within only a moment, Ivan recovered and leaped up again.

By
then, both Joe and Mina were high enough.

Ginkgos
grew two hundred feet tall. The couple hadn't climbed the entire height of the
tree. But they had climbed enough to escape the terrible teeth. Breathing
heavily, his limbs slung over the branches, Joe stared down at the dinosaur.

Ivan
glared up at him, a low growl in his throat. His eyes narrowed. He knew his
prey was out of reach. It began to rain. The plump drops steamed as they hit
the dinosaur's cracked scales.

Joe
allowed himself to relax. Just a little. The rain ran down his face, clearing
the blood. He looked at his wife.

"Mina,
are you all right?"

"I'm
all right." She clung to the branches, pale and panting, and scratches
bled across her arms and face. But they were both still breathing. Right now
that was a miracle.

"The
baby?" Joe whispered.

Mina
gave him a wan smile. "Kicking. Scared but strong."

They
both looked down at Ivan. Joe pointed his flashlight at the great Tyrannosaurus
rex. Ivan's pupils narrowed to pinpricks in the light, but he did not blink. He
just stood there, staring up at them. His eyes were calculating. His breath
steamed. His nostrils flared, and his scaly lips rippled with every growl.

"Why
does he hunt us?" Mina whispered. "Humans are so small. He can hunt
far larger prey by the watering holes and on the grassy plains."

Joe
stared at the dinosaur. Ivan stared back. The two maintained eye contact.

"I
thought he was hungry," Joe said softly. "I was wrong. He's angry.
Remember what we found on the plains. Poachers killed his family. This is about
revenge."

"But
we're not poachers!" Mina said.

"To
Ivan, it's enough that we're human. In his madness, all humans are now his
enemy. He doesn't know we're here to help dinosaurs. To him we're no different
from poachers. And he wants his vengeance."

"Joe,
he's only an animal!"

"He's
intelligent, Mina. Maybe not as intelligent as us. But at least as smart as
chimps or dolphins. I see it in his eyes."

As
if he understood, Ivan broke eye contact. He took a few steps away, vanishing
into the shadows.

Mina
breathed out in relief. Tears flooded her eyes. "He's leaving. Thank God,
he's leaving." She let out a sob. "We made it."

But
Joe did not smile, did not sigh in relief. He tensed and clutched his gun,
wishing he still had ammo.

"Mina?
Hold on tight."

She
blinked at him. "What?"

His
heart burst into a gallop. "Grab a branch and hold on tight!"

A
bellow pealed through the night. Footfalls thundered. Ivan came racing out of
the shadows and barreled into the tree trunk.

The
ginkgo shook.

Mina
screamed and clung to the branches. Joe winced, hugging the trunk.

Ivan
retreated again, then ran and slammed into the tree.

Wood
snapped. The tree shook and tilted. Roots burst from the underground. Branches
trembled and leaves rained.

A
third time Ivan bulldozed into the tree … and the trunk shattered.

The
tree, with Joe and Mina in it, came crashing down.

* * * * *

They
screamed as the tree tumbled down.

With
splintering wood, shattering branches, and clouds of dirt, the ginkgo slammed onto
the hillside.

Joe
and Mina clung to the branches. Thankfully, the opposite side of the trunk hit
the ground. Otherwise the tree would have crushed them. But the crash still
jostled them around between the branches. Joe bloodied his nose and banged his
shoulder. He didn't care. He held on to Mina with one hand. Only she and the
baby mattered now.

The
fallen trunk began sliding downhill. The two humans clung on, riding the trunk
like a giant toboggan. If Joe weren't so terrified, he might have laughed. The
rain kept falling. Mud sluiced down the hillside. The fallen tree gained speed.

And
the T-rex followed.

Roaring,
Ivan raced alongside the sliding trunk. His foot-long teeth tore through
branches, seeking his prey in the foliage. Joe cried out, leaping back from the
terrible fangs. He felt like a field mouse fleeing a lawn mower. He nearly fell
off the log. Mina pulled him back to safety.

The
tree slid faster through the mud.

Ivan
lowered his head and rammed the trunk. The tree spun through the mud. Joe and
Mina scurried from branch to branch. The trunk began to roll. They raced along
the bole, arms windmilling. Joe flashed back to a game he would play as a
child, trying to run atop a rolling log in a lake. He had never lasted long,
always falling into the water. Now, if he fell, the gullet of a tyrannosaur
awaited.

The
jaws came at them again, snapping madly. A tooth scraped across Joe's leg,
ripping skin and flesh. He screamed.

Seized
with bloodlust, Ivan lunged at him again. But just then, the log rammed into a
boulder and leaped into the air.

Both
humans flew from the tree.

For
a moment, the world spun. Joe saw only branches and ripping leaves and then the
ground rushing up toward him.

He
splashed into the mud.

Mina
landed beside him, crying out in pain.

The
baby. Oh God, the baby.

He
scampered toward Mina through the mud. She had landed on her side, not her
belly. He grabbed her and pulled her to her feet.

He
stared into her eyes.

"Run!"
he shouted.

They
ran.

There
just ahead—Crater Lake. Safety.

Ivan
crashed through the fallen ginkgo tree, shattering it into a million pieces.
The tyrannosaur thundered after the two humans. Strings of saliva dangled
between his teeth like harp strings. Lightning flashed, reflecting across his
black scales. Thunder boomed.

Another
lightning bolt cleaved the night, slammed into a tree, and fire blazed. Ivan
burst through the flames, teeth red in the firelight.

Joe
and Mina kept running. They were almost there.

The
enormous head of the tyrannosaur swooped toward them. The tongue quivered as
the beast rumbled.

Mina
fired her gun.

Her
bullet punctured the lumpy tongue.

Ivan
reared, a cry of pain replacing his cry of hunger.

"That
was my last bullet!" Mina said.

But
it was enough. It bought them time. Before Ivan could regain his bearings, the
couple reached the lake.

Holding
hands, they jumped into the water.

The
icy water flowed over them. Their legs kicked in the depths. The lake had
formed about a million years ago, seawater rushing in to fill an asteroid
impact crater. Years later, landslides separated the flooded crater from the
sea, isolating the saltwater lake. The crater's lip still formed the shoreline.
The water was deep right from the first step.

Both
Joe and Mina were strong swimmers. They had met in the water. It was during the
great floods of 3021. Joe had been just a Ranger trainee; he hadn't even earned
his badge yet. But he swam through rushing water to save a drowning sauropod, a
hatchling not much larger than a pony. He brought the poor, shivering dinosaur
to a clinic in Dinovia City. The floodwaters had rushed into the city too, and
many people had fled onto the rooftops. But Mina, the paleonarian on duty,
stood with the water up to her waist, treating the hatchling. She saved the
animal's life. A year later, that sauropod was the size of an elephant, and Joe
and Mina were married.

It
seemed like a lifetime ago.

In
the dark forest tonight, they had almost lost this marriage, this life
together. But the water washed away their blood and fear. Now they would live.
Now they could grow old together.

They
swam under the twin moons, and Joe's tears fell. Tears of relief. They had fled
the beast.

Mina
let out a strangled cry.

She
pointed behind them.

Joe
stared. His heart seemed to shatter in his chest.

He
was a Mintari Ranger, and he knew a lot about dinosaurs. At least he had told
himself that. Tonight he learned something new. T-rexes could swim.

* * * * *

Joe
still remembered the first time he had seen a dinosaur.

Mintarian
children grew up with dinosaurs. To them, the beasts were ordinary. Large and
dangerous, yes, but ordinary. Joe, however, had been born on Cloventia, a
planet where the largest reptile could hide in your pocket.

Originally
Clan Triplehorn came from Mintari. Their last name was a dead giveaway. So were
their strong jaws and dark, hard eyes. But they had left long ago. After all,
Mintari was a backwater. A wild world overrun with monsters. You had to be
crazy to live on Mintari. Tobias Triplehorn, the family patriarch, prided
himself on immigrating to a more civilized world. Among the glittering
skyscrapers of Cloventia, Clan Triplehorn had grown wealthy, comfortable, and
domesticated. With every year, they smoothed out more of those rough Mintarian
edges. They lost their crude outer world accents. They ate fine vegetables and
delicate fruits, not just meat and potatoes. They wore modern silks, not khakis
and boots. Instead of battling dinosaurs, they fought corporate rivals at
court. Like many emigrants from frontier planets, they considered themselves
more sophisticated than those remaining in their so-called "old
worlds." And they always had something to prove.

Until
Joe was nine, he had never seen a dinosaur. Not until his mother left Tobias
Triplehorn. She fled the icy stares. The cruel jibes. And sometimes, yes, the
fists. When his temper flared, Tobias lost his veneer of elegance, and he was a
wild man again. Battered and homesick, his wife ran, taking young Joe with her.
She returned to Mintari, a planet with barely any humans and billions of
dinosaurs.

Joe
saw his first dinosaur before they even landed. They were flying inside an
astrolite, a vehicle designed to descend from a starship, enter an atmosphere,
and deliver passengers to the ground. Joe remembered gliding over a forest,
heading toward Dinovia, the only human settlement on the planet. He was in the
back seat, hugging himself, so afraid. He was Mintarian by blood and
birthright, but he had never seen this world. He missed Cloventia. Missed the
skyscrapers, the neon lights, and mostly his friends. He had never even seen a
plant—unless you counted the plastic ones some Cloventians kept on their
shelves. The forests rolling by below seemed alien to him, dangerous, and as
his father would say—primitive.

This
was before he had fallen in love with the wilderness. Before he understood the
majesty of this world. Back then, he had been afraid.

When
he saw his first dinosaur, the young boy pressed his face against the window,
and his eyes widened. It was a sauropod. Which species, Joe didn't know. A
brontosaurus? A diplodocus? Something else? He never found out. But the
dinosaur had a long neck, and it reared on its back legs and looked at the
astrolite flying above. Joe imagined that across the distance he made eye
contact with the gentle giant. The dinosaur looked bigger than the starship
that had carried him here. But yes, it was gentle. Joe's fear eased. And he
realized that Mintari was his home.

Today,
swimming for his life through the icy lake, Joe remembered that boy, so full of
fears and hopes.

How
would I have felt, he wondered, if the
first dinosaur I saw was a T-rex?

Most
likely, that young boy would have sneaked into the first starship off this
planet and fled back to his father's penthouse.

But
now Joe was here. A young man. Swimming for his life as a terror from his
deepest nightmares pursued him through the water.

As
Joe swam, he looked behind him. Ivan was still following. His mighty legs
paddled underwater, keeping him afloat. His tail whipped back and forth,
propelling him forward. His scaly head was mostly submerged like a crocodile's
head. His nostrils rose from the lake, draped with algae, sniffing for his
prey. His eyes stared, two red orbs blazing like floating water lanterns. It
had to be a trick of the moonlight. But to Joe, it seemed like Ivan's eyes
burned with their own malevolent light. He seemed like some mythological beast
of fire, and more than ever before, Joe understood how the early discovery of
T-rex bones had inspired the legend of dragons.

Thankfully,
T-rexes were slower in water than on land. But Ivan moved with dogged
persistence. Land, treetops, water—nothing would stop him from catching his
prey.

And
he was still faster than human swimmers.

Joe
looked at Mina. She swam beside him, pale in the moonlight. Her eyes were
sunken, her lips purple. She had almost no strength left.

Joe
looked ahead. Crater Lake was not large. The moonlight limned the distant
shore. But for two exhausted humans, it seemed a light-year away.

Between
strokes, he glanced over his shoulder. Ivan was significantly closer.

"We're
not going to make it," Mina whispered, echoing his thoughts. "Joe.
Joe, I love you. We'll be together … at the end."

She
was swimming wearily, slowing down, losing her will and strength.

"We're
not giving up, tar it!"

"We
have no bullets. Our radios are dead. All we have are our flashlights."

Then
it hit him. "So we'll use our flashlights."

"What,
by blinding Ivan?" Mina said, panting as she struggled to keep swimming.
"You know that won't work. T-rex can hunt by smell and sound alone.
Remember the blind T-rex we observed last year at Naraka Gorge?"

"Not
by blinding Ivan," Joe said. "But by summoning help."

There
was only one animal in these parts that could challenge a T-rex. Only one
animal as big, as powerful, as deadly.

The
pliosaurus.

Joe
had never seen one in real life. Heard of them? Of course. Suffered nightmares
about them? Yes, he admitted it. They mostly remained underwater, prowling the
depths for prey. The beasts were massive, as large as Earth's whales. Their
flippers could shatter ships. Lined with rows of devastating teeth, their
mouths could engulf a small boat. They made Great White sharks seem like
minnows. If T-rex ruled the land, pliosaurus ruled the water.

Most
of these leviathans lived in the vast oceans of Mintari. But according to
legend, one pliosaurus lived in Crater Lake—a grand old female, grown too large
to fit down the river and escape to sea. The Rangers nicknamed her Pearl.
According to some stories, she had grown so large by devouring misbehaving
children. Watch out, kids. If you swim too far from the shore, Pearl will grab
you.

Ivan
perhaps ruled the land. But he was now swimming in another predator's
territory. Joe just had to wake that predator up.

At
night, pliosaurs slept underwater. The sunlight woke them. Joe hoped his
flashlight was bright enough.

He
looked behind him. Ivan was gaining on them. He was almost close enough to
bite. The tyrannosaur's nostrils flared with every breath. His scaly brows
pushed low over his eyes. He was tired. He was not used to the water. But he
was not turning back.

This
will be your watery grave, Joe swore and reached
for his flashlight.

For
a terrible second, he worried that the flashlight was dead. That the water had
killed it. But when he flipped the switch, the light came on, sharp and
blinding. Ivan's pupils shrank to angry pinpoints.

Then
Joe pointed the flashlight down into the murky waters.

He
and Mina kept swimming.

Nothing
happened.

Ivan
growled and swung his tail, shoving himself forward with a burst of speed.

"Come
on, Pearl, wake up," Joe muttered.

He
waved his flashlight through the water, sweeping the beam across the murk. The
light was clearly too dim.

He
glanced behind him. Ivan was only meters away.

The
predator opened his mouth wide, sucking up water and fish, and surged toward
the two humans. Joe and Mina cried out and swam faster. The scaly mouth snapped
shut behind them, just missing their feet. Water splashed.

They
swam forward as Ivan loomed, mouth opening for the coup de grâce.

From
the water ahead burst a monstrous, scaly head.

Another
hellmouth opened before them, teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

The
pliosaurus was awake.

* * * * *

Joe
and Mina floundered in the water, trapped between two titans.

Behind
them—King Ivan. The largest Tyrannosaurus rex on Mintari. His scales
were black as night, his jaws powerful enough to break solid iron. But he was
out of his element, swimming in the water where he was weaker.

Ahead
loomed Pearl, a terror risen from the depths. The pliosaurus was old. Her teeth
were a little shorter than Ivan's, and her bite was a little weaker than it
used to be. But she was still a colossus. A living legend. Her lower jawbone
was the size of a canoe, full of water, algae, and floundering fish. Most
importantly, she was in her element, lady of the water. If Ivan was King of
Mintari, she was the queen.

Clearly
Ivan still nurtured a grudge for humanity. But despite the tall tales, Pearl
had no taste for human flesh. What were humans to an animal this big? Just a snack.
Barely worth the effort. At her advanced age, Pearl often let prey go,
preferring to sleep than hunt. But a T-rex in the water? That was another
predator. A challenger. The king of land had dared invade the watery domain of
the queen. That could not stand.

With
a gurgling cry, Pearl beat her flippers and charged at Ivan.

Joe
and Mina swam aside, desperate to flee this clash of titans. Waves lifted them
and hurled them away.

With
a sickening crack that rippled across Crater Lake, the two predators
slammed together.

Scales
hit scales. Teeth clattered against teeth like dueling swords. The two
legendary beasts, each an apex predator in its environment, howled and clawed
and bit, locked in battle for supremacy. Blood darkened the water.

Joe
only caught glimpses of this epic duel. With each swing of their tails, the two
gargantuan carnivores raised higher waves. Joe tumbled through the water. His
head went under, and the salt water stung his eyes and burned through his
nostrils. He held Mina's hand with all his might. His legs kicked underwater,
and his lungs ached for air. He burst over the surface, and Mina's head popped
out a second later. Rain streamed down. The whole world seemed made of storming
water. Lightning cracked the sky, painting the T-rex and pliosaurus brilliant
white.

Pearl
was used to swimming in the dark depths. Sensitive to light, the beast
screeched and closed her eyes. Ivan seized his chance. The black T-rex whipped
his tail, propelling himself closer in the water, and closed his legendary jaws
around Pearl's flank. Just under the neck.

A
typical T-rex had a biting force of 35,000 newtons. It was the strongest bite
force of any animal in history. It made a lion's bite seem like a gentle
nibble. It made a crocodile's bite seem like a puppy's playful nip. A
Tyrannosaurus rex could crush a car in his jaws like a man biting an
apple. And Ivan was far stronger than a typical T-rex. His swordlike teeth
drove through Pearl's scales and deep into the flesh.

The
leviathan mewled. Her blood filled the water.

Joe
and Mina bobbed in the roiling lake. They tried to swim, but the whipping tails
swirled the water. Currents pulled the couple under. For a second, they
floundered underwater, kicked their feet, and burst over the surface again. It
was impossible to swim in the churning chaos. Blood whirled around them. All
they could do was struggle to stay afloat.

Thunder
boomed and Pearl bellowed just as loudly. The behemoth was wounded but still in
the fight. And while smaller than Ivan, she was no slouch. Like the humans, the
T-rex was struggling in the water, kicking madly to stay afloat. The pliosaurus
smacked the larger predator with her flippers, then leaned in, closed her mouth
around Ivan's shoulder, and bit deep.

Ivan
had thick scales and massive layers of hard skin beneath. His armor was so
thick it could stop bullets. Pearl's teeth, terrifying as they were, would not
reach anything critical. But the pliosaurus had other plans. She locked her jaws
tightly … and pulled Ivan under.

With
a great maelstrom, the two mighty reptiles vanished underwater.

She's
going to drown Ivan, Joe realized.

Then
the waves hit him and Mina. They swept across the lake, hurtling toward the
distant shore.

They
swam the last stretch, then crawled onto the shore, exhausted, panting … and
miraculously alive. They collapsed onto the sandy bank, gasping for air,
coughing, but laughing too. They flipped onto their backs and just lay there,
breathing, smiling. The rain pattered against them. Their hands were still
clasped together.

"We
made it," Joe said.

Mina
laughed weakly. "Can we never leave the city walls again?"

"Never
again," he swore.

But
he already knew he was lying. He was a Mintari Ranger. His job was to go into
the wilderness of a planet where dinosaurs lived again. To hunt poachers. To
save dinosaurs in trouble. To keep this planet's ecosystem alive. That came
with unspeakable danger. There weren't many old Rangers on Mintari. Tonight Joe
had learned why.

But
next time, he vowed, he was leaving Mina at home. Tar it, she was a doctor, not
a Ranger. He would never more allow her to—

A
great wave washed onto the shore, interrupting his thoughts.

Joe
propped himself onto his elbows.

Lightning
flashed, illuminating the scene.

His
heart nearly stopped.

"No,"
he whispered. "It can't be."

In
the darkness, a great shadow washed onto the shore like a beached whale.
Another lightning flash confirmed it. It was her. Pearl, the legendary
pliosaurus of Crater Lake, was dead.

On
her neck, still bleeding profusely, appeared the unmistakable teeth pattern of
a T-rex.

The
water roiled.

Another
shadow rose from the depths like a bubble of tar.

Red
eyes blazed in the dark. The shadow rose higher. Higher still. Moving toward
the shore. Lightning slashed the night, illuminating black scales. King Ivan
trudged onto the shore. He placed one great foot onto the dead pliosaurus,
tossed back his head, stuck out his little arms, and gurgled in triumph.

Dinosaurs
couldn't roar like mammals. It was a common misconception offworlders had.
Even the mightiest T-rex could not roar. They sounded more like crocodiles than
lions. But the sounds were no less terrifying. Ivan's gurgles were deafening.
They were so deep they scratched the lower edge of what human ears could hear.
The waves of bass rippled the forest and pounded Joe's chest like invisible
clubs. A T-rex's rumble was the most terrifying sound on Mintari, far worse
than any roar could ever sound. And now Ivan was rumbling with relish.

Joe
pulled Mina to her feet.

"Run!"
he said.

* * * * *

He
was alive.

The
bastard was still alive.

He
had survived bullets, the bite of a pliosaurus, and being drowned. But Ivan was
still going. His talons tore through the sandy lakeshore. Blood dripped down his
scaly hide. But he had lost none of his rage. His hatred for humanity still
burned hot. Humans had killed his family. He now lived for nothing but revenge.
He would not stop until he died, yet he seemed impossible to kill. At this
point, Joe doubted that a blast from a tank could knock Ivan down.

What
the hell are you? Joe
thought. What kind of animal can survive so much?

Then
Joe focused only on running.

He
was tired. Bone tired. His body screamed to lie down, curl up, and nurse its
wounds. With sheer force of will, Joe kept moving his legs. And if he
felt this tired, he couldn't even imagine what Mina was going through. His
wife's skin was gray in the moonlight. She kept her arms wrapped around her
pregnant belly. She seemed half dead, moving on momentum alone.

Behind
them, Ivan's growls rippled the air. The T-rex was wounded. He was still losing
blood. He had slowed down. But step by step, he kept advancing toward them.

Mina
stumbled and fell to her knees.

Joe
helped her back up. She swayed, took another step, nearly fell again. The rain
dripped down her face, mingling with blood.

"Joe,
it's over," she whispered through purple lips. She was shivering with
cold.

"We're
going to—"

"We
can't escape him."

He
gripped her hand tighter. "Listen to me, Mina. Listen to me! He's wounded.
He's losing blood. He's slowing down. We just need to run a little farther, and
Ivan will have to stop. Home stretch, babe. Come on!"

She
nodded, took a step, then froze.

Her
eyes widened, then flooded with tears.

"Mina,
what is it?"

She
looked at him, her face like a wax statue. "Joe, my water broke. The baby
is coming."

His
head spun. All he could think of saying was, "You're not due for another—"

"The
baby is coming, Joe!" She trembled, then clenched her jaw and moaned.

Joe
looked back toward the lake.

Ivan
was moving closer. The T-rex was too wounded to run now, but he kept trudging
forward. Getting closer. Closer still.

Joe's
head spun. His belly churned. This was a nightmare, had to be a nightmare. How
could this be real? How could his life have become such a hell? Blackness was
spreading across his vision. His knees shook. He felt close to fainting.

Then
he tightened his lips.

You
are a Mintari Ranger, he told himself. You
are a warrior. Your wife needs you. Deal with things!

He
lifted Mina in his arms and began carrying her uphill.

Each
step was a battle.

Each
breath was a war.

Mina
grimaced in his arms, her jaw locked in pain, her hands on her belly. Joe kept
carrying her uphill. He didn't have a plan. Maybe he didn't have a hope. He
just knew that he must keep going, must keep taking step after step, winning
battle after battle against oncoming death.

He
seemed to walk for miles. For eternities. To cross continents. And Ivan kept
following. The dinosaur was limping. Blood leaked from the pliosaurus bite. At
one point, Ivan slipped, crashed through several trees, then pushed himself
back up and kept climbing. The great carnivore was breathing heavily, but his
eyes never looked away from Joe. So long as he drew breath, Ivan would hunt.

Finally
Joe reached the hilltop. The land leveled out. He took a few stumbling steps
forward, carrying Mina in his arms. Cycads grew toward the moonlight, their
fronds forming a canopy. Fluffy little cynodonts scurried below, feasting on
fallen fruit. The cynodonts were the ancestors of mammals. Like the dinosaurs,
they were brought back from extinction and let loose on Mintari. Superficially,
they looked similar to shrews. They were prey animals. And they attracted
predators. Several feathered dinosaurs stood among the trees, chasing the fuzzy
critters.

Joe
froze, body tensing.

"Dakotaraptors,"
he muttered.

The
last creatures he wanted to meet now.

Dakotaraptors
were fearsome carnivores, roughly the size of horses. Like the much-larger
T-rex, they were theropods, and they had the same general body plan. Two
powerful legs. Big toothy jaws. Long tail. Short arms. But unlike their scaly
big brothers, the raptors sported a coat of brown and white feathers. At a
glance, they looked almost like flightless hawks. If hawks had teeth like steak
knives and claws that could disembowel a rhino, that was.

Dakotaraptors
were ruthless predators, but tonight they were here among the trees,
pathetically picking at the scurrying cynodonts. They weren't happy about it.
They knew this was below them. It wasn't easy being a lesser predator in
T-rex's kingdom. The raptors, deadly as they were, knew their place in the food
chain. Tonight they made do with morsels.

At
the sight of Joe and Mina stumbling into the grove, the raptors looked up
hungrily. A few licked their chops. Perhaps, after all, they could feast
tonight on larger game? Then Ivan growled in the distance, still cloaked in
shadows. The raptors tilted their heads, sniffed the air, then turned to flee.
They knew a T-rex when they smelled one. And they knew who was king. This meal,
like so many others, would go to their master.

Seconds
later, Ivan crashed between the cycads, ripping off fronds, shattering trunks.
The king lowered his head, swept up a fleeing raptor, and crunched the
horse-sized dinosaur in his mighty jaws. With a sickening snap, the
raptor's spine shattered. Ivan tossed the corpse down, bit off a mouthful, and
swallowed the hot meat. After his quick snack, Ivan kept advancing toward the
humans, his true quarry.

Joe
ran between the falling ferns, carrying his wife. Ivan seemed stronger after
his meal. He grumbled in fury, knocking down more trees. His low-frequency
rumbles seemed to shake the very sky.

"Watch
out!" Mina cried.

Joe
skidded to a halt, feeling dizzy.

A
cliff plunged down into the darkness.

He
had reached Big Bend Cliff. The end of the world. Realm of flying giants.

He
stared down into the void, head spinning, too scared to move. Even in the light
of Mintari's two moons, the ground was too far to see. Screeches rose from the
void. Huge, winged shadows glided through the misty depths. White eyes lit the
darkness.

Joe
recognized those animals. These cliffs were the realm of Quetzalcoatlus
northropi, lord of the skies. The largest flying animal to ever exist.
Q-pis, as the Rangers called them, were a type of pterosaur. Flying reptiles.
Many pterosaurs lived on Mintari, but Q-pis were the mightiest. Their wingspan
was the length of a bus. Their skulls were longer than most cars. On the
ground, with folded wings, they would stand as tall as giraffes. Tonight they
swept through the misty depths, their shrieks echoing in the abyss. Anyone who
fell off that cliff would be lucky to die by hitting the ground. More likely
they would be swallowed alive, doomed to slow, agonizing digestion inside a
flying creature from the land of nightmares.

Joe
snapped out of his paralysis. He stumbled back from the abyss, turning away
from the terrors below.

But
he faced a terror no less formidable.

Ivan
stomped closer, licking his chops.

Joe
stood with his back to the cliff, holding his pregnant wife, trapped.

* * * * *

When
he was younger, Joe never imagined he would someday become a Mintari Ranger. He
had wanted to become a musician, of all things. He played the piano and guitar.
He wasn't bad at it either, if you asked the locals at the Fossil and Firkin
pub. Why leave the walled safety of Dinovia, the only human settlement on
Mintari, when enormous, man-eating reptiles roamed the planet? Hell, why even
leave the pub? There was beer, there was a piano, the shepherd's pie was
heavenly, and the only dinosaur was the fossil that hung behind the bar. Seemed
good enough for humble Joren "Joe" Triplehorn.

But
as he grew older, he learned more about his family.

About
Triplehorn Incorporated. Ticker symbol TRPL on the Cloventia Stock Exchange.

His
mother had fled the clan long ago, taking young Joe with her. It was years before
he learned the truth. The other kids at school would mutter, spit on him. Later
on, drunkards at the pub would hear his last name, curse, and toss bottles.

He
was a Triplehorn. And his name meant death.

His
clan had abandoned Mintari. Betrayed Mintari. Today the family ran one
of the largest hunting supplies companies on Cloventia, and they owned
seventeen outlets on Earth. The poachers who came to Mintari all proudly
brought traps, bait, camouflage, and weapons made by Triplehorn Incorporated.

Joe
came from a family of dino killers.

And
so, on the day he turned eighteen, Joe joined the Mintari Rangers. An
organization sworn to fight the poachers who came from offworld to hunt the
magnificent wildlife of Mintari. Legendary beasts lived here. Animals brought
back to life through cutting-edge "time-casting" technology. Joe
could have changed his last name. He could have disavowed his clan. Instead, he
chose to reclaim his name. To own it. To redeem it. At least one Triplehorn
would do good on Mintari. To him, the triceratops skull on his lapel was more
than just a brooch. It was a promise. A vow to restore his clan's honor.

Mina
knew all this when marrying him. She knew his struggle, knew the burden she was
taking on. On her scrubs, she wore a golden ankylosaurus club—the crest of her
father, Chief Ganzorig Clubber. On her right lapel, she displayed the silver
triceratops of Triplehorn, the clan she had married into. She too got the
stares. The curses. Sometimes people spat. She endured it. She loved Joe too
much to remove the silver crest. The couple was united with love—not only for
each other, but also for the dinosaurs of Mintari. They had sworn to protect
these majestic animals—him with a gun, her with a stethoscope.

And
tonight one of those majestic animals was going to kill them.

Gently,
Joe placed Mina down by the cliff. She was convulsing with contractions. The
baby was coming. Joe placed himself between her and the T-rex. He stood, facing
his nemesis.

The
rain stopped. The clouds parted. Full moonlight bathed Ivan, revealing the king
in all his glory.

He
was the largest predator on Mintari. Possibly the largest predator who ever
walked on land. Ivan looked like a creature from a monster movie, a kaiju
who stomped on cities. It was hard to imagine that evolution could have
produced such a nightmare. Yet produce Ivan it did. He was not the product of
some mad scientist weaving strands of DNA, crafting a Frankenstein terror from
the imagination. Yes, scientists used time-casting to scoop up dinosaurs from
the past, to preserve them on Mintari, but they were merely collectors. Not
creators. Evolution had forged this beast. This unstoppable machine of ultimate
carnage. Here was Mother Nature in her beastliest form. Ivan was not a mere
animal. He was a force of nature, as unstoppable as a hurricane or erupting
volcano.

There
was a reason almost nobody left the walls of Dinovia City. You had to be crazy
to roam the wilderness where carnivores like Ivan roamed. Joe was one of those
crazy people. And now he would die.

Ivan
took a step forward. Joe couldn't take a single step back, not without falling
off the cliff. Trapped.

Maybe
Joe was imagining it, humanizing the beast. But in his exhaustion, it seemed to
Joe that Ivan's jaws parted with something like a smile. A cruel smile. A
mockery of a smile. The smile a predator gives his prey before the feast. The king
lowered his head toward Joe, nostrils flaring. His terrible mouth creaked wider
like some medieval gateway, lined with teeth like a portcullis, large enough to
swallow him with a single gulp.

Mina
rose to her feet.

She
stepped closer to the dinosaur.

Ivan
hissed and turned his head toward her. His eyes narrowed. His foul breath
fluttered her bloodstained scrubs.

Mina
was in labor. She was exhausted, wounded, maybe dying. Blood dripped down her
thighs. But she fixed Ivan with a glare.

"You
will not touch us, you son of a bitch."

Grimacing
with effort, Mina knelt, lifted a boulder the size of her head, and hurled the
stone toward the king.

The
boulder slammed into Ivan with the power of a cornered woman protecting her
baby. It was the most powerful known force in the universe.

Ivan
reared, howling in pain.

One
of his teeth fell to the ground. It pierced the mud.

The
king's bellow was so loud the sonic waves knocked Joe down.

But
Mina stayed standing. Panting, she faced the dinosaur. Her hair clung to her
face with sweat and blood. She bared her teeth, and at that moment, she was no
longer prey. She was as fierce a predator as any tyrannosaur.

Then,
as swift as a robin plucking up a worm, Ivan lowered his head down, closed his
mighty jaws around Mina, and tossed his head back.

Mina
barely had time to scream before the dinosaur gulped her down. Ivan's throat
bobbed as he swallowed his meal.

Lying
in the mud, Joe stared.

Ivan
licked his chops.

Mina
was gone.

Their
unborn child was gone.

Something
exploded inside Joe like an erupting tar pit.

"Tar
you!" he cried hoarsely, tearing his throat. "Tar you black, you
overgrown freak!"

Tears
gushed from his eyes. His body shook. Mina. Oh God, Mina was gone. The love of
his life was gone.

With
a bloody hand, Joe grabbed Ivan's fallen tooth. It was as long as his forearm.

Ivan
drove his head toward Joe, still hungry for human flesh.

With
a wordless cry, Joe swung the tooth. It did what bullets could not. The tooth
sliced through Ivan's thick black scales, cutting deep into the flesh. Joe
carved a six-foot-long gash across Ivan's snout. From under his eye to his
chin.

The
T-rex reared. A curtain of blood sprayed from his muzzle. The scales parted to
reveal the raw, red flesh within. Joe even saw a hint of the skull.

Joe's
eyes stung. His legs trembled. Mina was gone. Oh God, Mina was gone.

He
took a step closer to Ivan. He still gripped the tooth. He raised his weapon
high.

"Do
you want some more?" Joe shouted.

Ivan
hesitated. Had the king met his match?

Then
the tyrant's eyes hardened. A growl bubbled up his throat and emerged from his
bloodstained gullet.

He
took a step closer to Joe, already salivating. His tiny clawed hands flexed,
revealing his eagerness for the next meal. It was an instinct T-rexes had
before feeding. They used their small arms to clutch still-living prey as they
tucked in. His cheek was carved open, but so long as the king still breathed,
he would hunt.

Joe
took a step back.

His
heels reached the cliff. Stones cascaded into the depths. In the abyss, the
winged reptiles screeched, their cries echoing like the song of demons in hell.

In
the east, dawn was rising. Joe had been battling this beast all night. The wind
died down, and the faint hints of morning gilded the mountains, gorges, and
forests of Mintari, this fierce wilderness Joe called home.

He
looked into the eyes of the dinosaur.

Ivan
stared back, silent, almost contemplative. Who knew what thoughts were going
through the mind of a killer?

Then
the king let out a howl that shook the world and rippled the sky. He lunged
toward Joe. Nothing would stop him this time. No blow from a boulder. No cut
from a tooth. His hunger for humanity eclipsed his pain. All he cared about was
the kill.

Gripping
the dislodged tooth, Joe leaped off the cliff.

As
he fell into the darkness, he gazed upward toward the top of the cliff. Ivan
stood there, a shadow in the dawn, crying out in fury.

Mina,
I love you. I love you so much.

He
tumbled through the air, turning to face the shadowy depths, and a shriek
washed over him. Leathern wings the size of a yacht's sails flapped. A
quetzalcoatlus flew below, mouth opening wide to catch the falling morsel.

Joe
pointed his T-rex tooth at the flying reptile.

The
Q-pi turned its head aside, fearing the bony blade.

Joe
tumbled past the pterosaur's head. The beak alone was larger than him. An
instant later, he slammed onto one of the animal's wings.

He
rolled across the leathern membrane and nearly fell off. But he drove his tooth
down, piercing the wing, and clung on to the tooth like a handle. The Q-pi
screamed and beat its wings and flew onward. Joe held on. He was weak. He was
bleeding. A part of him cried out to let go, to fall, to join Mina in death.

But
he clung on.

The
Q-pi flew into the distance, shrieking. The beating of its wings rippled the
grasslands below and sent a herd of hadrosaurs fleeing. As Joe held on to the
wing, he stared at the retreating cliff. Ivan was growing smaller and smaller
in the distance, but Joe could still hear the predator's cry on the wind, and
all who heard it knew who was King of Mintari.

Joe
closed his eyes and wept.

* * * * *

But
there was something that Joe did not know.

Something
he could not know.

In
the darkness, he had not seen it. As the T-rex rumbled, he had not heard it.

It
had happened while Joe stood before the T-rex, shielding his wife behind his
body. While his back was turned, while the terror gripped his heart, while King
Ivan glared with his burning red eyes, Mina Clubber-Triplehorn had given
birth.

Mina
was gone now. Ivan had devoured her, ending her short life—like the lives of so
many creatures on Mintari. But her child still lived. The baby lay on a pile of
bloody grass, crying for a mother's warmth.

Ivan
did not bother feasting on this morsel. His wounds ached. The human had carved
his snout down to the bone. His vengeance was quenched for tonight. He would
leave the baby for some lesser predator. Let the raptors eat the scraps.
Growling in pain, the T-rex stomped into the distance to nurse his wounds.

The
baby cried for a long time. Long after Ivan was gone. Long after Joe had flown
off on the pterosaur, mourning the loss of his wife. As the sun reached its
zenith, bathing the land with heat, still the baby cried. A baby girl. Born
prematurely. Small and red and angry.

As
the sun dipped into afternoon, her cries began to weaken. Without milk or
warmth, the baby was dying.

For
hours, predators had stayed away from the place. The stench of a T-rex still
lingered. But now a breeze from the sea dispersed the smell, and a handful of
little dinosaurs crept forward, sniffing. The whimpers drew them. The smell of
meat intoxicated them.

They
were a group of eoraptors, among the smallest and oldest dinosaurs. Members of
the sauropodomorph clade, they were among the first dinosaurs to evolve. Back
on Earth, they had lived in the Triassic era. They roamed the world a hundred
million years before their larger, more famous descendants like T-rex,
stegosaurus, and triceratops. Eoraptors were no larger than chickens. Blue
feathers covered their slender bodies, and their beady eyes blinked. They were
omnivores and far from picky eaters. They devoured insects, frogs, carrion,
fruits, nuts—whatever they could get. Sometimes they sneaked into Dinovia City
and ate trash. A human baby though—that was a rare feast. Predators so low on
the food chain rarely got access to such a banquet. Licking their chops, they
bounded forward.

The
baby opened her eyes. Her vision was still blurry. She saw only blue smudges,
red eyes, and opening mouths lined with tiny white teeth.

Then—a
larger smudge.

A
stick that swung from side to side.

The
eoraptors squealed and fled.

The
large blurry figure stepped closer. Bells chimed, woven into checkered fabric.
A necklace of raptor claws jangled. The figure knelt. The baby blinked, unable
to focus her young eyes, but she could just make out a face. A human face. Red
and yellow paint covered the cheeks, and a skull with sharp teeth topped the
head. But this was a human. The baby had never seen a human, but she knew this
by instinct.

Is
this my mother?

"What
is this?" the woman said, "A child! A blessing from Ivan, the God of
Hunger."

The
baby could not understand those words. But she understood the softness and awe
in the woman's tone.

Hands
with long fingernails reached forward. Bone bracelets clattered. The woman
lifted her, held her to her breast, and the baby suckled. No milk came out. But
she could not stop suckling. Another instinct. Perhaps in time the milk would
flow.

"A
blessing," the woman whispered, nursing the girl. "King Ivan has
answered my prayers. You are a miracle, child. A miracle."

The
baby fell asleep in her arms, feeling safe for the first time in her life.

The
woman wandered into the forest, her dreadlocks jingling with amber beads, her
lips moving with silent prayers. She was barefoot and savage, a shaman of the
wilderness, a worshipper of reptiles. Many called her a witch, and some called
her a holy woman. Today she was a mother.

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

CHAPTER TWO

Welcome to Mintari

Simone was scared
of animals.

Terrified
of them, in fact.

Any
animal. No matter how small. Even puppies. Once she had gotten trapped in an
elevator with a Shih Tzu and suffered a panic attack.

She
was the girl who found cat videos scarier than horror films. Birdsong sent
shivers down her spine. Spiders? Forget spiders. If she found a spider in the
house, goodbye house. She was burning it down.

The
doctors called it zoophobia. Simone couldn't even imagine visiting an entire zoo.

And
now she, Simone LaRue who once fainted when a kitten jumped on her, was flying
to Mintari. A planet overrun with dinosaurs.

No
big deal. She was simply going to die. Probably in the jaws of a dinosaur.
Maybe just of fright. She accepted it. She was doomed.

She
closed her eyes and focused on breathing. Oh, her kingdom for a paper bag! She
was close to panic now. There were no animals on the starship. Simone had
checked. Three times. No lap dogs, no support animals, no ants on the deck. But
she was thinking about animals, and that made her hands tremble. Her
heart raced. Her hair clung to her forehead with cold sweat.

Oh,
Simone LaRue, get ahold of yourself!
she thought. You covered wars on Earth. You interviewed serial killers and
cannibals. You are a fearless journalist. Surely you can survive a few
dinosaurs.

She
brushed red curls back from her forehead. Her hair was her only vanity. She
boasted long tresses the color of fire. They had become her trademark. Simone
liked to think that her audience—God bless 'em—tuned in for her uncompromising
investigative journalism. Deep down, she knew her hair was part of it. Maybe
the biggest part. Hey, it's that pretty redhead again on Gazette TV!
What was her name again?

Well,
sooner or later her hair would turn gray, and her beauty would fade. But her
stories were forever. And right now, there was a real cracker of a story
waiting on Mintari. So here she flew. There was nothing to fear. Dinosaurs were
harmless! After all, tourists visited Mintari all the time, right? It was just
like whale watching. That was all.

And
the whales could run on land. And had teeth the length of her arms. And like
bulls, they probably went mad at the sight of red.

She
was going to faint. Oh God, she was going to faint right here on the starship.

"Breathe,
Simone, breathe," she whispered to herself.

A
drone floated toward her. "Madame, would you care for some refreshments? A
Valium? Perhaps a Prozac? Galaxia Spacelines offers a variety of
pharmaceuticals for the nervous traveler."

Simone
forced a sickly smile. "A cup of water please."

The
drone was just a floating box, but somehow it managed to look disappointed.
"Very well." A hatch opened on its body, and a cup of water emerged.

The
water did help. So did the drone, in an odd way. It was comforting to see a
being from back home, a thing made of metal and plastic. Most of planet
Cloventia was like that. Synthetic. Oh, they had some animals, of
course. Once in a while, a bird sang a dreadful song of death. A few women in
Simone's building had pet dogs—terrible little things that rode in purses,
yapped ferociously, and no doubt nurtured a hunger for the flesh of redheads.
But the big animals? The wild ones? No, those did not exist on good old
Cloventia. No lions, no tigers, no bears, and thank God no dinosaurs.
For a woman like Simone, it was the planet to be.

She
looked around her, trying to distract herself. Each seat on the flight came
with a personal hologram generator. The child beside Simone was playing with
holographic dinosaurs on his lap. A tourist. He even wore a stegosaurus hat,
complete with plastic spikes.

"Gimme
a turn!" his little sister cried. She was holding a plastic pliosaurus. It
was pink and had a ribbon on its head.

"You
have your own holograms."

"But
I want yours!"

Simone
looked away from the siblings. At her other side, an old man was watching a
holographic film. Seemed to be about dinosaurs devouring tourists. Just as
Simone glanced over, a hungry T-rex gulped down a screaming actress. She was
even a ginger. A glimpse into Simone's future? She gulped, looked away, and
brushed back damp curls.

"Do
not panic, do not panic," she whispered. Maybe she should have ordered
that Valium after all. Where was that drone?

She
looked around the starship, seeking the floating box of complimentary
chemicals. But she saw only hundreds of tourists, traveling from the civilized
world of Cloventia to the wilderness of Mintari.

They
came of all stripes. Retirees looking for one more adventure. Families with
excited little ones, bored teenagers, and worn-out parents. One young couple
was here on their honeymoon. Another couple was heading to their destination
wedding—along with an army of bridesmaids in uniform. A few rowdy lads seemed
to be out on a stag weekend. Some tourists wore hats with triceratops horns.
Many held plastic dinosaur toys. One teenager carried what looked like a real
T-rex claw. They weren't even at Mintari yet, and they already had souvenirs.
The spaceports were good at getting tourists to spend early.

But
not everyone aboard was a tourist. There were the other types. The quiet ones.
The ones who sat at the back. The ones with weapons.

Poachers.

Poaching
was illegal on Mintari, Simone knew. But the planet had trouble enforcing the
law. Not enough Rangers. Billions of dinosaurs roamed a planet the size of
Earth, and only a few crazy cowboys were trying to defend them.

One
cowboy was crazier than them all. If the stories were half-true, he was the
craziest man on Mintari. Maybe in the entire galaxy.

They
called him Jurassic Joe. And Simone was traveling on behalf of the Cloventia
Gazette to interview him. She was the only one on this spaceship who wasn't
a tourist or poacher. The only one who did not want to see dinosaurs.

She
wanted to find a man. A wild man. A man who shunned society, who lived out in
dino country. Maybe just a legend.

"Who
are you, Jurassic Joe?" she whispered.

The
boy beside her heard her. He lifted an action figure. A little plastic man with
a ceratop hat and a badge on his chest. "Jurassic Joe is a hero!" the
boy said. "I have fifteen of his action figures and a poster of him
at home. They say he wrestled a T-rex once and beat him! And that he flies on
pterodactyls and he beats bad guys with his fists."

The
boy began demonstrating, unleashing the action figure's fists on an
unsuspecting plastic sauropod.

His
sister raised her chin. "Billy, your toy is ridiculous. I prefer Princess
Pearl, thank you very much."

She
held up her pink pliosaurus. The ribbon on its head wobbled.

Billy
snorted. "Princess Pearl is lame. Just like you, Becky. I have King Ivan,
the best dinosaur ever!"

He
held up a plastic T-rex with black scales. The toy began chomping on Princess
Pearl. The girl whined, and the kids almost came to blows. Simone ducked as a
plastic stegosaurus flew overhead.

Just
then, the pilot emerged from the cockpit. He was a tall man with a white
handlebar mustache. His uniform was splendid, adorned with polished buckles,
buttons, cuff links, aiguillettes, and other assorted bits of flair. The job of
pilot was mostly ceremonial. These days, starships were fully automated. Once
in a blue moon, a modern pilot might have to tweak a dial or two. Mostly they
were showmen.

"Ladies
and gentlemen!" boomed the pilot, his shiny bits of metal jangling.
"Thank you again for flying with Galaxia Spacelines. If you look out the
starboard windows, you'll see a view of Borealis, infamous planet of the Ice
Age!"

The
tourists blinked at him. A few looked around in confusion.

"The
starboard means your right side," the pilot said.

The
tourists nodded, mumbled, and looked out their right portholes. Simone had to
lean over young Billy and Becky. Thankfully, the siblings had forgotten their
tiff and were peering out the little round window.

Simone
squinted. At first she saw only stars. Then she made out a little white sphere.
From here it seemed no larger than a marble.

"Behold
the realm of icy horror!" the pilot said.

"Boring!"
said Becky, holding her pink pliosaurus.

The
pilot seemed to overhear. He stiffened, his mustache bristled, and he cleared
his throat. "Planet Borealis is full of terrors, danger, and adventure. It
is on Borealis that the brave scientists of Earth placed the creatures of the
Ice Age. On Borealis, these wonderful and terrible beasts live again! The
thunderous mammoth trumpets his song! The lumbering Neanderthal wields his
club! The saber-toothed tiger stalks his victims … who are mostly little
girls."

The
pilot glanced toward Becky. The girl blew him a raspberry.

"And
remember, folks," the pilot continued. "Galaxia Spacelines offers
flight and guided tours to Borealis as well. Remember to book your next
vacation with Galaxia Spacelines! Five percent off if you book today."

Simone
looked at the little snowy planet in the distance. There, on that white marble—all
those animals? Mammoths and tigers and Neanderthals? It was hard to believe.
Those creatures seemed like myths to her, no more real than dragons or
unicorns.

But
once, Simone knew, humans and animals had shared a planet. On Earth, they had
evolved together. Lived together. At first the animals preyed on the humans.
Then the tables turned, and the humans drove most animals into extinction.
Lions and tigers and bears—bye bye. And good riddance, if you asked Simone.
Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

"Okay,
okay, I don't really want animals dead," Simone muttered under her breath.
"I don't hate animals. Honestly. I fear them. I'm terrified of them. Sure,
to others, animals look cute. To me they all look like predators. It's a mental
illness. If anyone doesn't like it, too bad!"

Beside
her, Becky began to cry.

Simone
bit her lip. She realized she had spoken much louder than intended.

"Sorry,
kid. Here, have a candy."

She
handed Becky a cough drop. Closest thing to candy she had. But it calmed the
girl.

Simone
took a deep breath. She was getting worked up. The chip on her shoulder felt
heavy today. Animals. They did that to her.

What
had she been thinking about? Ah yes, the salad days when animals were extinct.
A paradise for zoophobes! But two hundred years ago, everything changed for the
worse. The animals rose from the dead. Those were dark days.

Some
do-gooder scientists discovered time-casting. A way to reach into the past,
grab samples of animal DNA, and recreate the monsters in the modern day. Now,
you couldn't just unleash redhead-eating predators onto an unsuspecting Earth.
Even the do-gooders knew that. But they came to a solution.

Around
the same time, as chance would have it, scientists also discovered the Nyx star
system. Nyx was an ordinary star, similar to a billion others. They named her
after the Greek goddess of the night, but despite her name, she shone brightly.
The star had five habitable planets, which was highly unusual. It was also
within a thousand light-years from Earth. Pretty close. Piece of cake for the
newfangled warp drives, which were also coming out around the same time. It was
all a perfect storm.

The
powers that be gave one planet to humans. Cloventia. The best planet in the
galaxy, if you asked Simone. Along with billions of other humans, she lived on
Cloventia, enjoying an animal-free life. Unless you counted the yapping little
dogs. But no place was perfect. Earth today was a dying world, a spherical slum
of urban decay, but Cloventia became a new bastion of science, art, and human
flourishing. Not that Simone LaRue was biased, of course. Hey, she was a
patriot. Nothing wrong with that.

A
second planet, Dagon, they dedicated to farming. Dagon was three times the size
of Cloventia. The gravity was too high for most humans. But a few hardy farmers
lived there. As did billions of pigs, chickens, and cows, genetically
engineered to survive the higher gravity and thicker atmosphere. Over five
hundred years, the Dagonites had plowed over the forests and meadows of Dagon,
creating a planet-sized farm. Dagon fed billions of people across Nyx. Nothing
grew on Cloventia. Dagon was their breadbasket.

The
scientists gave the three remaining planets to animals.

One
to the animals humans had driven into extinction. Tigers, lions, and elephants
happily devoured one another on that hellish world. Humans could assuage their
guilt. Their victims were no longer extinct.

A
second planet they gave to the Ice Age creatures. Simone was looking at it now
through the window. A frozen ball of nope.

The
fourth planet was the worst one. By far.

A
world beyond time. Mintari. Planet of the dinosaurs.

* * * * *

It
took thirty-seven hours to fly from Cloventia to Mintari, and Simone spent them
in coach. The cheapskates at the Cloventia Gazette could have splurged
on an upper deck. The travelers there enjoyed private cabins and a luxurious
dining room. She bet that whenever they sent Blake Benway on a mission, he got
to travel on an upper deck. Oh, of course the star of Benway Tonight
would get the royal treatment. Smug anchor with his coveted prime-time spot.
Simone LaRue was still a young journalist, only thirty-one years old. Her own
show, LaRue's News, was way down the ratings list, often flirting with
cancellation. She vowed that someday she would be the famous broadcaster,
traveling in style.

Maybe,
if she could grab the scoop on Mintari, that dream could come true.

She
just had to land on a planet swarming with dinosaurs, find a crazy hermit who
lived in a cave somewhere, and hope he agreed to give her an interview. As
opposed to dismembering her with a machete, feeding her to his pet raptors, or
whatever else crazy Mintarian hermits did to Cloventians.

"I'm
going to find you, Jurassic Joe," she vowed. "I'm going to make you
famous."

"Jurassic
Joe is already fam—" began the boy with the action figure. Simone shushed
him.

It
wasn't an important story, all things considered. Simone knew that. This was
not like her earlier assignments, interviewing warlords in the slums of Earth.
Those were serious topics. Profound issues. And … they got no ratings.

But
Jurassic Joe was intriguing. Fascinating, even. The man was a myth. Granted,
Simone had never heard of him until two days ago. But judging by the action
figure, yes, she supposed he was already famous. At least among dino-obsessed
boys. Which meant all boys across the galaxy.

If
Simone could truly interview him … millions of views. Billions of views!
Simone LaRue with her famous red hair, interviewing the wild dino hunter of
Mintari! A ratings bonanza. Next time, she would be the one traveling on
the upper decks. Eat your heart out, Blake Benway.

The
pilot emerged from the cockpit, rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and cleared his
throat.

"Ladies
and gentlemen, we are approaching Mintari! I've positioned our portside toward
the planet. If you'll look through the port windows, you'll see Mintari
approach." He paused. "Port means left."

Simone
turned in her seat. Beside her, the old man had fallen asleep while watching
his dinosaur movie. His mouth hung open, drooling. Simone leaned over the
slumbering oldster, peering toward the portside windows.

"Hey,
lean back!" said Billy. The boy was still holding his Jurassic Joe action
figure.

Simone
ignored him. She barely heard the child.

There
it was. Right outside the window. Hell.

Surely
this was hell, wasn't it? From a distance, Mintari seemed green. Not fiery red
like the old depictions of Satan's underworld. But surely Mintari was just as
awful. A planet overflowing with dinosaurs … and she was still traumatized by
poodles.

"Behold—Mintari!"
boomed the pilot, chest puffed out. "A world of dinosaurs! When scientists
first invented time-casting, they could not imagine that someday their
invention would lead to Mintari. A planet of terror. A planet where stegosaurus
impales his victims with his mighty spiked tail! Where the colossal
brachiosaurus crushes his enemies beneath his feet! Where the allosaurus, the Butcher
of the Jurassic, slashes through—"

"You're
not helping!" Simone muttered. A bit too loudly.

The
pilot glowered at her, fixed his tie, and cleared his throat. "Ladies and
gentlemen, thank you for flying with Galaxia Spacelines. Please remember to
post your five-star review on the NyxNet. You may proceed through the gift shop
to your landing craft."

The
planet grew larger and larger out the window.

Simone
took a shaky breath.

"Here
we go. Simone LaRue against the Butcher of the Jurassic," she mumbled.

The
tourists left their seats, gabbing excitedly about the dinosaurs they were
going to see. And, in the case of the poachers, shoot. Simone forced herself
through the starship's gift shop, trying to ignore all the dinosaur toys around
her. Some of them were surely possessed. That plush triceratops was giving her
a dirty look, she was sure of it.

She
was almost relieved when she finally reached the astrolite bay. No more
dinosaur toys. Then she remembered that an astrolite was about to ferry her
down to Mintari, where she would see the real thing. And she finally did it.
What she had been wanting to do the entire flight.

She
passed out.

* * * * *

"Dude!
Wake up, dude! We're here! At dino world."

Simone
blinked and moaned. She lay on her back, her hair splayed out around her.
Thankfully, she had fainted onto a pile of suitcases. Would be a shame to crack
her head open and bleed all over her pretty hair. A tourist couple were
reaching around her for their luggage. The husband spent a second too long
looking at her aforementioned pretty hair. His wife glowered and nudged him
with her elbow. The couple shuffled off toward a claw machine full of plush
dinos.

"Dude,
are you all right? You look spaced out. Hey. Spaced out. 'Cause we're in space.
Pretty funny!"

Simone
blinked and turned her head. Her cameraman, Cody, was looking at her. She
didn't know his last name. Even payroll didn't know. He went by a mononym. Like
a rock star, which he aspired to be someday. Sometimes, with a wink, he joked
that his full name was California Cody. He wasn't even from Earth, let alone
California, but Simone let that detail slide. California Cody sported long,
shaggy hair, earrings shaped like guitars, and a surfing tiger tattoo. He was
only a cameraman until his band took off, he told anyone who'd listen. And
those who wouldn't.

"Um,
I think I fainted." Simone pushed herself off the pile of luggage.
"Yeah, pretty funny."

"Whoa."
The tall cameraman took a step back, eyes widening. "You fainted? Dude. My
aunt Alice once fainted, and it turned out she had some parasite in her
stomach, and one day, we all had potato salad, and—"

"Cody,
I'm sure your family life is fascinating, but please help me up. I'm still
dizzy."

"Oh.
Right." He blushed. "Sorry, dude. Here. Grab my hand."

He
hoisted her up. Simone stood for a moment, taking deep breaths, steadying
herself. Cody hefted his camera equipment across his back. He wore Bermuda
shorts, a Hawaiian shirt with little dinosaurs on it, and a headband.

"How
was your flight, Cody?" she asked.

He
cracked his neck. "It was a bummer, dude. Let me tell ya. Third class is
straight up not a good time."

Simone
sniffed and frowned. "Cody, is that you? You stink."

"Yeah,
well, what do you expect, dude? They got us traveling with the sheep. Big
crates of them. Man, I can't wait until my band takes off. Then I can fly coach
like you. They got chairs and everything!"

"Sh-sheep?"
Simone whispered.

"Yeah,
I guess they gotta feed the dinos something, huh?" He hefted his camera
across his back. "Now come on, dude! There's only one astrolite left. You
wanna miss the dinos or what?"

"Yes,
I kind of do," Simone said.

But
Cody was already racing toward the last astrolite. With a sigh, Simone
followed.

The
Galaxia starship could cross the vast distances of space, but it could not fly
in atmosphere. Most starships could not. To reach the planet surface, travelers
took astrolites. They were slender shuttles with heavy engines and folding
wings, designed for atmospheric entry and flight through air.

Simone
and Cody entered the last astrolite. Several other travelers were already
strapped into their seats. Simone recognized Billy and Becky, the bickering
children with the dinosaur toys. A few tourists from Earth were here too. Most
Earthlings were too poor to fly around the galaxy, but a few were wealthy—mostly
arms dealers, slavers, and charity workers. You could always spot the
Earthlings. There was no mistaking their quaint clothes and old-world
ruggedness. Why was it that everyone from Earth looked so … worn out? They must
have used Cloventia as a layover. If you asked Simone, they'd be better off
staying there.

Another
man shared the astrolite with them. This was no tourist.

He
was a rawboned man, his skin like leather. It was hard to tell his age. His
face was so weathered he seemed as ancient as a mountain, but there was
strength to his jaw. He could have been forty or eighty. He sat with his head
lowered, and his wide-brimmed black hat hid his eyes. The smell of soil and dry
blood clung to his dark coat. A bandoleer crossed his chest, and a rifle hung
at his side.

A
poacher.

Simone
studied him.

He
looks dangerous, she thought. He looks like a
killer. This is the type of man Jurassic Joe fights.

Her
eye was drawn to the poacher's rifle. It was enormous. As long as the man was
tall. The barrel was as wide as Simone's arm. A glint of silver caught her eye.
A symbol gleamed on the gun—a triceratops head. Beneath the horned head, etched
in silver, appeared the word: Triplehorn.

That
name! Triplehorn!

Memories
shot through Simone. Old pain. Grief that still lingered. Memories she dared
not dredge up now. The name Triplehorn was forever scarred across her
heart, as surely as it was engraved onto that gun.

The
poacher spoke with a low, grainy drawl. "You have a cameraman, my darling.
Why not take a picture? It'll last longer."

Simone
felt herself blush. And when you had skin as pale as hers, you blushed hard.
She could feel every freckle on her face leap out. "I'm sorry, sir. I
didn't mean to stare."

"Yes
you did." His voice was like dry leather crinkling under a man's boot.
"You know what I am. And I know what you are."

He
raised his head slowly. The brim of his hat rose to reveal his eyes. He had
completely black eyes. No white to them at all. The eyes of a shabu addict. A
drug often used by soldiers and gangsters on Earth. A drug to keep you going.
To keep you killing.

"And
what am I, pray tell?" Simone said, raising her chin. She had met worse
than him in the slums of Earth. She would not be intimidated.

The
man gave her a predatory grin, revealing yellow teeth. "An opportunistic,
greedy media vulture who gorges on the corpse of what journalism once was. I
hope you choke on it."

"Dude,
that's uncalled for!" Cody said. "At least, I think it is. I'm not
sure what you said there. Something about a gorge?"

"Ignore
him, Cody," Simone said. "The bitter old man clearly has a bone to
pick."

"Tarry
right I do," growled the weathered man. "You journalists call us
poachers. Call us murderers. Well, I got news for ya, toots. I'm no different
from you. We're both killers. I just have the decency to use a gun instead of a
pen."

Simone
frowned and tilted her head. The astrolite was flying now. She hadn't even
noticed it launch. She almost forgot about the dinosaurs below. Almost.

"What's
your name?" she said.

He
spat onto the deck. "They call me Rattlesnake."

Another
mononym. Must be a trend.

"Well,
Mr. Rattlesnake, would you like to tell your story to the camera?" Simone
said. "The world would love to hear your perspective."

"It
would?" Cody asked, scratching his head.

"Shh!"
she whispered. "We'll edit him together with Jurassic Joe. It'll make good
drama."

But
Rattlesnake only chuckled—a crackling sound like breaking twigs. "I got
only three words for your interview, toots. Go to hell."

"Can
we use four words and include the toots?" she asked.

But
Rattlesnake had already lowered the brim of his hat over his eyes. He seemed to
be asleep. Or ignoring her. Either one was fine with Simone. She feared
dinosaurs. But, she decided, she would tolerate the sight of one stomping on
Rattlesnake.

* * * * *

The
astrolite dived into Mintari's atmosphere with a blaze of fire. The g-force
pounded the passengers like an ankylosaurus tail. Flames washed over the
windows. The astrolite jerked. Tourists yelped, clung to one another, and a few
threw up into paper bags. Simone yawned. Atmospheric entry was no big deal for
her. Been there, done that. Now, if there were a puppy in the astrolite, she'd
be trembling.

Rattlesnake
seemed as unaffected as she was. The lanky poacher still slouched in his seat,
his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes. His boots were scaly, she
noticed. The skin of a dinosaur? And he wore spurs on them. Now why would a man
without a horse need spurs?

Probably
to kick kids, Simone thought as little Billy threw
up beside her. She had to wriggle aside to avoid being slimed. Maybe she needed
some spurs of her own.

Finally
their flight steadied, and the astrolite glided through blue sky. Drones showed
up to clean the mess, carrying an array of sponges, mops, and air fresheners.
Clearly the little robots were used to such cleanups. She hoped they weren't
conscious.

Simone
looked out the porthole. They were still high up, and Simone beheld a view of
Mintari's sprawling wilderness.

"Darwin's
beard!" she said and rubbed her eyes.

For
a moment, she was dumbstruck.

"Whoa!"
Cody whispered, leaning over her. "Dude."

Simone
had spent most of her life on Cloventia, a planet of glittering skyscrapers,
purple skies alight with a billion flying cars, and masses of apartment
buildings that rolled into the horizons. She had never seen so much … what was
it called? It didn't exist on Earth anymore either. Come on, what was the word …
Nature! That was it. She had never seen so much nature.

On
Mintari, she knew, there was only one city. A city? Barely more than a village.
You couldn't even see it from up here. What you did see was endless greenery.
The trees didn't grow from little pots along the roadsides. And they didn't
seem like plastic either. They grew right from the ground, it seemed, clustered
into great clumps of … what did you call it? Simone frowned, thinking back to
school. Forests! That was it.

"Mintari
has forests," she whispered.

"Gnarly!"
Cody whispered, eyes alight.

Mountains
rose from the forests like islands from green seas, capped with snow. A few
volcanoes were belching smoke. Lava trickled down one, gathering in a valley
and hardening into basalt before their very eyes. Gorges carved up the land,
and mist floated over flowering valleys. Beyond the smoky mountains, grasslands
swept toward a golden sunset.

Simone
sighed and placed her chin on her palm. Something stirred deep inside her, some
ancestral memory. She had never seen nature before, but this seemed so, well,
natural. It seemed right.

Humans
evolved in such a place, she reminded herself. Nature
is where we belong.

Tears
filled her eyes, surprising her. She almost never cried.

"Beautiful,"
she whispered. "It's beautiful."

Then
she cleared her throat, wiped her eyes, and raised her chin. Silly, romantic
notions! She was a modern woman. Humans had evolved beyond life in nature. They
were civilized now. More like drones than animals. Missing nature? Ha! She
might as well miss life in the sea before those troublesome tiktaaliks decided
to crawl onto land. People like Jurassic Joe, eccentrics who lived in the
wilderness, were a relic of the past. Just as much as the dinosaurs who roamed
this planet.

Speaking
of dinosaurs, Simone peered at the planet, seeking the monsters. The other
tourists were doing the same.

"Mommy,
where are the dinosaurs?" Becky demanded, her little fists clenched.
"I want to see dinosaurs!"

Everyone
had their faces pressed to the windows, searching for the terrible reptiles.
All but Rattlesnake. The poacher sat still, legs splayed out, face hidden
beneath the brim of his head, presumably sleeping.

Gasps
sounded across the astrolite.

Becky
whimpered and hid behind her mother. Her brother gasped and dropped his
Jurassic Joe action figure.

At
first Simone didn't see it.

"Where
is it?"

"Whoa!"
Cody whispered, eyes nearly popping out. He pulled out one of his smaller
cameras and began filming.

Simone
squinted down at the forests, trying to see. Then she noticed that Cody wasn't
filming the landscape below. He was pointing his camera straight out the
window. Simone raised her eyes, and …

Her
head spun.

She
couldn't breathe.

The
astrolite fuselage seemed to be closing in on her. The tourists' exclamations
of wonder faded to mere echoes. Blackness spread around her vision, letting her
see only a small area before her.

And
in that little circle of light … there they flew.

"Dinosaurs,"
she whispered.

They
flew right outside, an entire flock. They had no feathers like those few
dreadful birds Simone had seen on Cloventia, only some peach fuzz. Their wings
were more like bat wings—skin stretched over ridiculously long fingers. Claws
sprouted from the tips. The creatures opened their beaks, revealing rows of
teeth, and cawed.

Simone
clutched Cody's arm so tightly she probably left imprints on the bone.

A
deep, grainy voice rose behind her.

"Pterosaurs
aren't dinosaurs, Ms. LaRue. They are reptiles. Flying reptiles who evolved to
hunt from the air."

She
turned to see Rattlesnake staring right at her. His black eyes blazed like
coals.

"Well,
look who's up from his beauty sleep," Simone said.

A
sneer found the poacher's thin lips. "These particular pterosaurs belong
to the pteranodon genus. Their wingspan is longer than this astrolite. Their
claws could disembowel you with a single swipe. Their beaks could swallow
children whole." He glanced toward the tourist children at his side.

"Cool!"
said young Billy.

Simone
gulped. Suddenly she wished she had grabbed a barf bag from the starship.

"These
creatures are small compared to other pterosaurs, Ms. LaRue," said
Rattlesnake. "There are flying reptiles on Mintari that would make
pteranodons seem like sparrows. My suggestion to you, Ms. LaRue, is to return
to your so-called civilized planet. Go hide in your plush apartment among your
pretty little trinkets. The wilderness of Mintari is no place for you, Ms.
LaRue. You will not find the object of your quest here. You will find only
death."

Simone
squared her shoulders and tossed back strands of her fiery hair. "You do
not know me, Mr. Rattlesnake. Or whatever your name is. I'm not some pampered
damsel who never left the comfort of her condo. I covered the Slum Wars on
Earth. I crouched behind barricades as the bullets flew. I interviewed cannibal
warlords. I saw horrors that would shrivel your little heart."

For
the first time, Rattlesnake rose from his slouch. He slammed his boots onto the
deck. The spurs jangled. He leaned forward, his pure-black eyes glinting.

"Do
you think the slums of Earth are dangerous? They are a playground compared to
Mintari. There are horrors here you've never seen, Ms. LaRue. You're not
dealing with starving wretches reduced to cannibalism here. There are creatures
on this planet who could crush one of your slums in an afternoon. Monsters are
real, Ms. LaRue. And they live on Mintari."

"If
Mintari is so terrible, why are you here?" Simone said. "Just to
prove how tough you are? You must be very tough indeed. You're sharing an
astrolite with tourist children, a snack bar, and a claw machine."

The
poacher grinned, showing his sharp yellow teeth. "I will not be taking a
tour inside a reinforced jippi, peering at dinosaurs from behind an electric
fence. Of that much I can assure you, Ms. LaRue. I will enter the wild. The
greatest predators that ever lived are dinosaurs and men. On Mintari, we will
determine who is mightier."

She
narrowed her eyes, studying the leathery man.

Jurassic
Joe kills poachers like you, Simone thought. I
hope he kills you too.

Before
she could say more, Cody tapped her shoulder. "Dude, look!" The
cameraman was hopping with excitement. "A brontosaurus!"

"Cool!"
the children cried, pressing their faces against the glass.

"Oh
wait … it's only a tree," said Cody. "Sorry, little dudes."

The
children groaned.

Simone
settled back in her seat, hugging herself. The two greatest predators indeed.
Dinosaurs and men. Maybe dinosaurs weren't the worst creatures in the galaxy
after all.

* * * * *

The
astrolite flew lower, gliding over a wilderness of lakes, grasslands, and
forests. Simone closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself back home on Cloventia.
She was not flying over a land of man-eating reptiles, she told herself. She
was leaning back on her recliner, a glass of wine in hand. The most exciting
thing awaiting her this evening was her pad thai delivery. It should arrive any
moment now.

A
familiar, booming voice filled the astrolite, interrupting her reverie.

"Ladies
and gentlemen! May I have your attention please!"

It
was the starship pilot. Great. Simone had thought herself rid of him.

Physically,
the pilot was still in the starship, orbiting Mintari. The astrolites were
remote controlled. But a hologram of the tall, mustached man materialized
inside the shuttle. He was probably projecting the same hologram to every
astrolite now descending toward the planet. As always, the pilot wore his fine
uniform with its many polished buttons and badges. The flair shone even
brighter in hologram mode. Simone squinted.

"Ladies
and gentlemen, you're in for a treat this morning," the pilot said.
"We happen to have spotted a herd of dinosaurs. We're going to dive lower
to give you a look."

Simone
cringed. "Please don't."

Her
belly flopped as the astrolite swooped. She gasped and clutched Cody's arm.
Billy threw up again.

Their
altitude dropped at a dizzying speed. The other astrolites, ferrying more
tourists, dived at their sides. Soon they were flying alarmingly close to the
surface. Everyone peered out the portholes.

"Where
are they?" said Billy.

"I
want to see dinosaurs!" insisted Becky.

The
astrolites swarmed over a snowcapped mountain, then glided over a valley, and
there they were.

Simone
clutched Cody tighter. Her fingers would definitely leave bruises.

Dinosaurs.

Fifty
or more, plodding across the plains.

Simone
could not even look away. Her terror gripped her. She was like a deer in the
headlights. The dinosaurs had fat bodies, thick tails, and long necks tipped
with small heads.

"Ooh,
brontosauruses!" said Becky. "Like my toy." She waved a plastic
sauropod. Rainbows were painted onto its lavender haunches.

"Those
are brachiosauruses," said her brother, nodding sagely.

"Ladies
and gentlemen, behold the mighty patagotitan!" the holographic pilot
boomed. "Patagotitan is a genus of titanosaurian sauropod dinosaurs."

"That's
the same as a brachiosaurus," Billy whispered to his sister.

"Liar!"
she whispered back.

The
pilot kept speaking on-screen. "Patagotitans are longer than blue whales,
and they weigh over seventy tons. If you stood next to one, you would not even
reach his knees. You would need a ladder to tickle their underbellies. You
could drive a car between their legs, and they wouldn't even notice. If a
patagotitan reared on his back legs, he could stare the Statue of Liberty in
the eyes. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the patagotitan lives up to his name.
These are the third-largest dinosaurs on Mintari. What a privilege it is to
observe these gentle giants!"

Gentle?
Simone wasn't so sure about that. She couldn't imagine any creature that could
stomp on a mammoth being gentle. If these were the third-largest
dinosaurs on Mintari, she hated to see whatever was bigger.

"They're
herbivores, right?" she asked Billy. The boy seemed to know a lot about
dinosaurs.

Okay,
so Billy got the entire species wrong just a minute ago. But Simone needed some
reassurance, and she'd take it where she could get it.

Billy
nodded. "They're plant guzzlers. People think their necks are for eating
from the tops of trees. But really, they sweep their necks from side to side
like vacuum cleaners, inhaling grass and shrubs." He pointed.
"They're probably heading toward those trees."

"I
thought they didn't eat trees."

Billy
blushed. "Well, maybe they … like the shade."

Everyone
watched. Even Simone. The titans lumbered toward the trees. They had thick,
wrinkly legs like elephants—but much larger. They could probably flatten an elephant
under one foot. Their tails flapped. Up close, their grunts and moans must be
deafening. Simone could hear them even from inside the astrolite.

"I
guess they're not that bad," Simone said. "So long as we stay far
away."

The
herd was almost at the trees when it happened.

The
trees parted, and out burst another dinosaur.

Simone
screamed.

This
one was clearly not a herbivore. Even she knew that. It looked like a
terror from Simone's worst nightmares. The monster thundered forth on two
powerful legs, claws ripping the earth. Its jaws opened with a hungry rumble,
revealing rows of sharp teeth. The skin was brown and scaly, and two crimson
horns grew from its head. Devil horns. And this indeed seemed a demon from
hell.

Simone
wasn't sure what species this was. By the looks of it—some kind of theropod.
She had heard of those. A type of carnivorous dinosaur with two legs and short
arms. Tyrannosaurus rex was the most famous theropod, but the clade boasted
many species. All with sharp teeth, terrible claws, and an appetite for
redheads, no doubt. As if that wasn't bad enough, this species—whatever
it was—added horns to the mix. Because why the hell not? Might as well go full-blown
demonic. Simone shuddered and crossed herself.

The
tourists oohed and aahed, crowding around the astrolite windows.

"Mommy,
look, a T-rex!" said Becky.

"It's
not a T-rex," said Billy. "T-rexes are bigger and don't have horns.
This is clearly a giganotosaurus."

The
pilot's hologram beamed. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are indeed in luck! Behold—the
mighty carnotaurus cometh! The carnotaurus first lived in South America during
the late Cretaceous period. Thanks to Mintarian scientists, this butcher feasts
again upon his victims. Carnotaurus is a relatively small predator, only about
the length of a city bus. But don't let his humble size fool you. He is a
ruthless killer who can take down prey many times his size."

"Just
the size of a bus," Simone muttered. "Tiny, really."

The
patagotitans noticed the approaching predator. Massive as they were, the
sauropods bugled in fear. The sauropodlets raced between the legs of their
parents. Of course, even the babies were probably larger than Simone. The adult
patagotitans—and they were truly colossal—whipped their tails through the air.

Thunderclaps
shook the sky. The astrolite jolted. Simone covered her ears.

"What
was that?" she cried.

"Sonic
booms," Billy explained.

"Whoa,
their tails broke the sound barrier!" Cody said. "That's gnarly,
dude!"

The
charging carnotaurus paused. The carnivore took a step back, shaking his head
wildly. The tails whipped again. Sonic booms rippled the grass. The carnotaurus
seemed to rethink his choice of dinner. The predator was perhaps the size of a
bus, but next to the mighty patagotitans, he seemed minuscule.

Then,
with rumbles that shook the wilderness, five more carnotaurs burst out from the
trees and charged.

"Carnos—as
we call our carnotaurus friends around here—are among the fastest predators on
Mintari," said the pilot. "They can chase down virtually any prey. See
how they run!"

The
carnos raced toward the herd of sauropods, devil horns pointing forward. The
patagotitans stood their ground. The largest bulls moved to the front of the
herd, reared in the air, and bellowed.

The
carnos fanned out, snapping their teeth, herding the patagotitans closer
together. Smaller prey animals would likely have panicked by now. But these
sauropods, while herbivorous, were no pushovers. They were big and powerful
animals. They could hold their own. Trumpeting with fury, they cracked their
tails and kicked the air, a display of dominance.

For
the moment, the titans were successfully holding off the carnos. The horned
carnivores hesitated, then took a few steps back. Was this too much even for a
pack of predators? Surely there was easier prey elsewhere.

But
their hunger must be great. After a moment to regroup, the pack of carnos
attacked.

The
patagotitans bellowed and lashed back. A tail like a tree trunk slammed into
one carnotaurus, hurling the theropod into the air. Another carno managed to
reach a sauropod. But the herculean herbivore reared, then brought his massive
front feet down, crushing the predator. Bones snapped. The earth shook. The
surviving carnos bustled around, desperate to dodge the swinging tails and
stomping feet.

"Why
do the carnos attack?" Simone cried out. "The patagotitans are too
big for them."

"They're
hungry, Ms. LaRue," said Rattlesnake. The poacher wasn't even watching the
drama unfold below. He simply reclined in his seat, his hat pulled low.
"Have you ever known hunger, Ms. LaRue? I don't mean that peckish feeling
you get between your breakfast mochachino and afternoon salad. I mean real
hunger. Hunger that twists up your insides. That howls in your muscles. That
clamors through the bones. That is how hungry they are. Mintari is home to many
predators, Ms. LaRue, and carnotaurus is only halfway up the food chain. He can
only hunt when his larger brethren are away. Unlike you, he does not have the
luxury of being a picky eater."

"Blah,
blah, blah," Simone mumbled. She was barely listening to the poacher. She
could not tear her eyes away from the battle below. The other Galaxia
Spacelines astrolites were also flying above, giving the tourists their money's
worth.

Two
carnos lay dead. A whipping tail had shattered one. A stomping foot had crushed
the other. But several of the ravenous reptiles were still alive. They snapped
their toothy jaws, herding the sauropods closer and closer together. These were
the stronger predators in the pack. Nature had culled the weak and stupid—those
who rushed too eagerly to battle, who allowed their hunger to dull their
senses. Their genes were flowing into the soil with their blood, lost forever.

The
living predators were smarter. Faster. Stronger. Three of them leaped together
onto one patagotitan—a big bull, old and scarred. The carnos' claws pierced the
behemoth's thick legs. They scampered onto his back, slashing and biting all
the while.

The
sauropod reared on his hind legs. One carnotaurus lost its grip and fell off.
Before the predator even landed, the titan swung his mighty tail. The
carnotaurus flew through the air, bones shattered. The carnivore was dead
before it hit the ground.

But
two carnos were still clinging onto the prodigious herbivore. They climbed
higher, reached the sauropod's long neck, and sank their teeth in. The titan
bellowed, but the carnivores would not let go. They ripped out chunks of flesh,
dug deeper, and kept chomping.

"They're
eating him alive." Simone covered her mouth. She felt sick.

"Gnarly!"
Cody said, eyes wide.

A
few fellow patagotitans, displaying remarkable altruism, began stomping toward
their friend. But more carnos whipped forward, snapped their jaws, and blocked
the plodding Goliaths. The sauropods reared and bellowed and tried to push
through. But after a few bites on the legs, the giants abandoned their comrade
to his fate.

Finally
it was all over. The wounded patagotitan crashed down, shaking the earth. The
hungry predators had nearly decapitated their succulent prize.

The
rest of the patagotitan herd moved on. There was nothing more they could do for
their fallen brother. Bugling with grief, the sauropods thundered toward the
trees. One patagotitan had fallen—the weakest of the herd, selected for death
in nature's eternal Darwinian struggle. The survivors would live on, would
perhaps in time evolve to become even larger and stronger. The arms race of
evolution continued.

The
surviving carnos did not pursue the herd. Why bother? They had slain one
patagotitan—a banquet fit for a king. If they were lucky, the carnos would
lounge around the carcass for days. They would eat and eat as the meat rotted
and rotted, then finally waddle off with bellies ready to burst, leaving the
festering remains for the scavengers. Most likely, the feast would not last
that long. The smell would soon attract larger carnivores, perhaps even
tyrannosaurs, and the carnotaurus pack would flee, losing their leftovers to
somebody higher up the food chain.

Normally,
Simone would never know all this. But Billy was explaining it to his sister,
and she couldn't help but overhear. Darwinism, meet osmosis.

But
right now the carnos weren't worried about any of that. All their troubles were
forgotten. They feasted. The pack had lost three members in this battle. But
the survivors ate well. They ripped into the sauropod, engorging themselves.
Their hatchlings emerged from the forest, some not much larger than dogs, and
leaped into the carcass headfirst, ripping away at the entrails.

"Eww,
that is disgusting!" said Becky.

"They're
eating its guts!" said Billy, eyes wide with morbid fascination.

Simone
snapped back to reality. For a moment, she had forgotten about the astrolite,
about herself. She was living the drama below, utterly captivated. Terrified,
yes. Probably just as terrified as the dinosaurs in the fight. But yes,
captivated. She understood why tourists paid top dollar to visit this world.

"It's
so horrible," she said to Cody. "But there's something majestic and
beautifully savage about it too."

"It's
totally gnarly!" Cody agreed.

The
holographic pilot smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Mintari."

CHAPTER THREE

The Fossil and Firkin

The astrolite flew
onward, leaving the dinosaur banquet behind, gliding over the savage wilderness
of Mintari.

In
the distance, past blue mountains and grasslands, Simone descried a small village.
Ha! How interesting. Simone knew Mintari had only one city—the famous Dinovia,
home of the Rangers, an oasis of humanity on a planet of monsters. She had not
realized there were villages too. You learned something new every day. She
peered out the astrolite window, curious.

A
few dwellings cluttered together among palm trees. The buildings all seemed
humble, just clay huts, really. The only impressive structure was the circular
wall that surrounded them. And the moat. And the electric fence. The village
reminded Simone of the zoos you could still see in ancient movies. Back then,
when some animals still lived on Earth, they were locked up. But here on
Mintari the humans lived within the enclosure, and the dinosaurs roamed free.
Simone wondered who lived in this village. Perhaps a few caretakers, more
adventurous than most, had established an outpost far from the capital.

The
pilot was back on the mothership, orbiting Mintari. But his hologram reappeared
inside the astrolite. He was smiling under his white mustache.

"Ladies
and gentlemen! Ahead you will see Dinovia, the only city on Mintari. Three
hundred thousand people call Mintari home. Most of them live in Dinovia, safe
behind the city walls. Your astrolite will take you straight to your hotel. We hope
you enjoyed your flight with Galaxia Spacelines. Remember to check the
astrolite mini-shop for your last-minute souvenirs."

Drones
rolled forth with carts, offering Mintari baseball caps, coffee mugs, shot
glasses, and of course plastic dinosaur toys.

Simone
ignored the robotic salesmen. She blinked at the cluster of huts in the valley.
This was the famous Dinovia City? This? No. Impossible. Simone had seen
cities before. Cities were home to millions of people. Cities sported
skyscrapers that glittered with lights, concrete canyons lined with shops, and
enough neon to outshine a star. Why, there were football stadiums back on Cloventia
that could engulf all of Dinovia City. It was hard to imagine an entire culture
with only three hundred thousand people.

And
yet a culture they had, and a civilization they were. Simone had never met a
Mintarian. But she had seen them on television. They spoke with a rough accent,
wore strange clothes, and worshipped reptile gods. Most Cloventians thought
them backward. Just barbarians. Simone didn't know what to make of them. In
some ways, they fascinated her more than the dinosaurs. How could a population
so small—they could probably all fit into Simone's neighborhood back home—develop
a unique national identity?

But
of course, Mintari's human population had to remain small. The laws were
strict. Only half a million humans were ever allowed on Mintari at any given
moment. Just over half were locals. The rest were tourists. This planet
belonged to the dinosaurs. The humans were here to observe and protect. Half a
million, that was it. Any more and the ecosystem would collapse, and the
dinosaurs would go extinct again.

Best
to let them go extinct, if you asked Simone. But nobody asked her.

"Dude,
do you think they have a rock scene?" Cory said.

"I'm
sure Mintari is home to a variety of geologists studying the—"

"Rock
music, dude. I packed my guitar. Maybe I can make it big on Mintari."

"We
won't be staying in Dinovia long, Cody," Simone said. "Jurassic Joe
doesn't live in the city. We're heading into the wild." She smiled thinly.
"But first we'll check into our hotel and shower. You still stink of
sheep."

* * * * *

The
astrolite touched down on a dirt square, raising clouds of dust.

The
tourist children squealed with delight. They were the first out the hatch,
waving their dinosaur toys around. The other tourists followed, babbling
excitedly. One balding man announced that he was heading straight to the
nearest bar, and any dinosaur in his way could take a hike into a tar pit.

Simone
remained in her seat, frozen.

Rattlesnake
hefted his rifle across his back. He walked toward the hatch, paused, and
looked back at her.

"Good
luck, Ms. LaRue," the rawboned poacher said. "If you see Jurassic
Joe, hand him this."

He
tossed her something. Instinctively, Simone caught it.

She
opened her hand. A bullet. The name "Joe Triplehorn" was engraved on
it.

Triplehorn.
There was that name again. That terrible memory that still ached deep inside
her. Was this the same person as Jurassic Joe?

Simone
felt light-headed. The terror threatened to overwhelm her. She pushed that
memory down, then looked back up, intending to give Rattlesnake a piece of her
mind. But the poacher was gone.

California
Cody hadn't noticed the exchange. The long-haired cameraman was busy lifting
his luggage, his cameras, and his guitar. He was a big guy, but he nearly
crumpled under the weight. He wobbled toward the door.

"Coming,
dude?"

Simone
hesitated, still in her seat. "You don't suppose there are any dinosaurs
out there, do you?"

"Don't
think so, dude. We're inside Dinovia City. Totally awesome place! Protected
behind stone walls, a moat, armed guards, and an electric fence powerful enough
to stun a T-rex. Says so right here." He waved a brochure, then wobbled
under the weight of his bags, tilted backward, and slammed against the
bulkhead.

Simone
gulped. "What about pterosaurs? They can fly over the walls, can't
they?"

"No
worries, duderino." California Cody grinned. "Brochure covers that.
The pterosaurs learned to avoid the city. If they fly close, the Rangers on the
wall shoot flares to scare 'em off."

"Go
take a look for dinosaurs," Simone said. "Just to be sure."

"No
problemo, dude." He stepped outside, carrying his supplies, then stuck his
head back in. "Coast is clear! No dinos. Unless you count tourist kids in
costume."

After
sitting beside two annoying children for thirty-six hours, Simone wasn't sure
that was much better. But at least no dinosaurs would rip her to shreds during
her first five minutes on Mintari. They probably would at some point, but at
least not right now.

She
rose to her feet, bit her lip, and before her courage could abandon her, she
stepped into the sunlight.

At
once, she recoiled. Her heart burst into a gallop. Sweat drenched her.
Dinosaurs! Dinosaurs everywhere! Hundreds of them! Cody, that dirty liar!

She
took a shuddering breath.

No.
No dinosaurs. It was just her anxiety and overactive imagination. Nothing but
tourists wandering toward their hotel.

She
looked around her. Clay buildings surrounded the dirt square. A few towers rose
nearby, bells in their belfries. Perhaps lookouts for dinosaurs? But most of
the buildings catered to tourists. There were a few greasy spoons. Brontosaurus
Burgers seemed particularly popular; there was a line out the door. Cretaceous
Cocktails was already open and full of revelers, despite the early hour. Dino's
Bar & Grill thrummed with loud rock music. The sign above the door featured
an allosaurus munching on a steak. The dinosaur's jaw was presumably meant to
open and close, but a few sparking cables hung loose.

Some
tourists were skipping breakfast and shopping for tour guides. T-rex Tours had
several armored jippis parked out front. A local in a safari outfit was handing
out brochures, promising to show tourists the best dinosaurs on Mintari. Not
like Jurassic Jippis across the square, which apparently only knew the boring
spots.

Simone
had heard of jippis, but she had never seen one in real life. She peered
curiously at the famous vehicles of Mintari. They looked like a cross between
jeeps, pickup trucks, and bulldozers (vehicles Simone had seen only in historic
films). The jippis boasted six big wheels with heavy treads. These babies could
handle some rough terrain. Open-air cargo holds stuck out their backs, ending
with sturdy tailgates and big exhaust ports. Cowcatchers thrust out their
fronts—they looked sturdy enough to knock over dinosaurs. Some jippis sported
horns on their hoods that would not shame a triceratops. For extra oomph, each
vehicle boasted gaudy decals, featuring dinosaur scales, claws, and fangs. No
two were alike.

Like
the wide-brimmed ceratop hat or the double-barreled sleep-or-die, the jippi had
become a symbol of Mintari. Children on Cloventia bought toy jippis, sometimes
with Ranger action figures inside. You could usually find them beside the
plastic dinosaurs.

While
here, Simone hoped to see one of Mintari's famous tricopters too. Her cousin's
kid, little Joey LaRue, had a toy tricopter with a remote control. It had once
gotten stuck in Simone's hair, and it took scissors, a screwdriver, and lots of
cursing to get it out. Apparently the Rangers' tricopters could only fly in an
atmosphere. How quaint. Like a flying machine from the days of old. They
couldn't even reach space, and even astrolites could do that. But their three
rotors gave them extreme maneuverability and an iconic look. Simone looked
around, hoping to snap a photo of one. Her cousin's kid would love it. But so
far, no tricopters around, only jippis. Maybe Mintari's flying contraptions
were just a myth. A good thing too. Little Joe's toy tricopter had caused
enough damage.

"Place
your bets, place your bets on the next Dino Derby!" a man cried out. He
stood in a little kiosk by a parking lot. A hologram hovered above the wooden
stall, showing jockeys riding dinosaurs in a circular track. The hologram
fizzed and died. The man kicked a projector, and the translucent track
flickered back to life. "Place your bets right here! Win big on the Dino
Derby!"

Simone
had heard of the Dino Derby. They broadcast it sometimes on Cloventia. The
Rangers kept trying to shut it down. They said it violated animal rights. But
the Derby made enough money that Mintari's government kept it running. A real tourist
attraction. At least it was better than the underground triceratops fights.
Simone had heard of those too. Highly illegal and highly profitable. Matadors
strutted into an arena, clad in shining armor like medieval knights. Armed with
spears and swords, they battled triceratops to the death. Usually it was the
matadors doing the dying. Simone shuddered.

"Ooh,
look!" California Cody made his way toward the bookie. "Dino Derby!
Gallimimus Gil is a hundred to one odds! Simone, can I borrow some cash?"

She
pulled him away. "No betting on dino races!"

"But
a hundred to one odds, dude! If we bet only a few clovers, we can—"

"I
said no."

The
cameraman crossed his arms, huffed, and sulkily watched the holographic derby.

"Grab
your field guides!" chanted an old man with a white beard and a big
ceratop hat. "Grab your Mintari field guides, only twenty clovers!"
He pushed a wheelbarrow full of books toward Simone. "Welcome to Mintari,
young lady! Care for a field guide? Full of all the latest dino details!"

The
old man waved a book in her face. The cover featured a T-rex wearing a Hawaiian
shirt and sunglasses.

"Grab
your copy, ma'am! The Mintari Field Guide: Everything You Need to Know about
Mintari's Dinosaurs. Over three hundred species in one book! Don't tour Mintari
without it."

"Gnarly!"
Cody said. "Does it have pictures?"

Simone
paid the old man twenty clovers, buying a book, just to get rid of the old
geezer. If there were pictures of dinosaurs, Cody could have it. She was not
reading it. The oldster tipped his ceratop and went to harass other visitors.

The
tourists were everywhere. They fluttered between the establishments like
butterflies between flowers. It was easy to spot them. They indeed wore clothes
as colorful as butterfly wings.

The
local Mintarians were far more subtle. Some were here to sell their wares—books,
toys, hats, you name it, they got it. But other Mintarians were simply walking
about on their business, ignoring the tourists. They all wore simple safari
outfits. Not much variation of fashion here. Simone guessed that wearing
bright, colorful clothing wasn't the best idea on a planet full of predators
large enough to swallow you whole.

Simone
looked down at her own outfit. A blue dress with golden stars and moons
embroidered with glittering thread. Practically a neon sign for a hungry
dinosaur. Snack here! Delicious Redhead!
What was she thinking?

"Cody,
I don't know if I can do this," she said, voice trembling. "I should
have turned down this assignment. I can't face this world."

The
cameraman put his supplies down. He looked into her eyes. "Dude, listen to
me. You are the toughest dude I know. When we were filming that battle in
Liberia, I was so scared I almost crapped my pants. But you kept talking to the
camera. You kept reporting as bullets flew overhead. You are one badass chick,
Simone LaRue. If you could face Earth … dude, I know you can face
Mintari. And I'm with you. As always. Dudes for life."

Simone
wiped her eyes. "Dudes for life."

She
hugged the tall young man. God bless him.

They
hugged for a long time. A long time.

"Um,
Cody? You can let go now."

"Oh.
Right." He blushed. "Sorry, dude. Got caught up in the moment."

Footsteps
padded. Simone looked up, tensing, expecting a vicious carnotaurus attack. But
it was only Billy, the snot-nosed boy from the starship. He had broken free
from his family and ran up toward her.

"Lady?
Here. For you." He held out his plastic Jurassic Joe action figure.
"I know you're scared of dinosaurs. Joe will keep you safe."

"Billy,
don't bug the nice lady from TV!" cried his father. "Get back
here."

Before
Simone could refuse the gift, the boy shoved the toy into her hands, smiled
apologetically, and ran back to his family.

"Sweet
kiddo," said Cody. "But hey, why didn't I get a toy?"

"You're
on the wrong side of the camera."

"Wait
until I'm a rock star." Cody hefted his luggage. "For now, let's find
a hotel. How about that one?"

He
pointed. Many tourists were heading toward a wide, three-story building. Palm
trees grew in the gardens. A sign hung above the gateway: The Tar Pit: one-and-a-half-Stars Hotel.

"Cody,
I don't think—" Simone began.

"Whoa,
one and a half stars!" the cameraman said, captivated. "Decent! I've
never stayed in a hotel with more than one star before. I bet they got
mattresses and everything." He began heading that way. "You coming,
dude?"

"We're
not staying in a hotel, Cody," she said.

He
froze. "But you said we can stay the night. You wanted me to shower,
remember?" He sniffed himself, then winced. "Eww, gnarly. Not a bad
idea to wash up. We'll chill out, spend some time in the hot tub, then head out
into dino country tomorrow."

"I
have another place in mind," she said. "We're still in Dinovia City,
but it's not too early to start learning about Jurassic Joe."

* * * * *

They
headed down the streets. The farther they moved from the central square, the
dustier and narrower the streets became. The clay huts crowded closer together,
one or two stories high. They had curved walls, no corners, and round windows.
Brass pipes stuck out their domed roofs. Cycad trees cluttered between the
huts, their fronds shading the cobbled roads. These were humble homes compared
to the floating skyscrapers of Cloventia. But compared to the slums of Earth,
hellholes overrun with cannibals and warlords and starving children, Mintari
was paradise.

They
were leaving the touristy area. Simone saw fewer summer dresses and Hawaiian
shirts, more safari outfits. Soon all the tourists were but a memory. The
locals glanced at her. One man, a mustachioed geezer in a rocking chair,
wouldn't stop staring at Simone through his pipe smoke. Her cheeks grew hot.
She stood out here—a Cloventian in a colorful dress and high heels, her hair
like cascading flame.

"Dude,
are we almost there?" Cody asked. He hefted his luggage across his back.
With his Bermuda shorts, shaggy hair, and iridescent sunglasses, Cody stuck out
like a colorful thumb himself.

"I
don't know." Simone bit her lip and checked her map. "We're looking
for a saloon called the Fossil and Firkin. According to legend, Jurassic Joe
used to drink there."

"Can
we hire one of the tour jippis to drive us there?" Cody asked, rearranging
his camera straps.

Simone
lowered her map. "Need help carrying anything?"

"No
way, dude. You're Simone LaRue, star of LaRue's News, the eighteenth
most watched program on Gazette TV. I'm the beast of burden."

"Actually,
we dropped down to twenty-seventh spot," she said. "Just behind the
live parliament broadcasts."

Cody
cringed. "At least people still read your newspaper column, right?"

She
nodded. "Oh, I'm sure all fifteen people who still buy paper newspapers
regularly flip past the wanted ads."

Cody
grimaced and nearly dropped one suitcase. "Okay, maybe carry one
bag."

She
was reaching for a piece of luggage when a dinosaur attacked.

It
was a T-rex.

The
monster lunged at Simone, jaws open in a deafening roar. The monster was about
to swallow her whole. She screamed and stumbled back.

"Get
outta here!" Cody said. He kicked the T-rex aside. The beast rolled across
the dirt, then struggled back onto its feet. In an attempt to restore its
dignity, the monster hissed, snapped its teeth, and fled behind a cart.

Probably
not a T-rex, Simone realized. Now that she took a closer look, the dinosaur was
no larger than a chicken. It even had feathers.

The
old man on his rocking chair barked a laugh, puffing out smoke. He lowered his
pipe. "Just a eoraptor, cheesecake. Pests around these parts. No more
harmful than mice and not much bigger." He tapped his pipe. "If you
can't stand a little eoraptor, you're on the wrong planet."

Simone
cleared her throat and smoothed her dress. "Thanks for the tip." She
tilted her head at the geezer. "Would you happen to know where the Fossil
and Firkin is?"

The
oldster leaned back in his rocking chair. "Might be I do, if you got your
own tip to give."

She
tossed him a coin. "A golden clover. Good enough for you, old-timer?"

Gold
wasn't worth much on Cloventia. Lots of the stuff all around, mined on the
nearby golden asteroids. But the old man's eyes widened. He bit the coin, then
grinned, revealing toothless gums. "Good enough, cheesecake. You head down
this road, take two rights, turn left by the big ole conifer, and you're there.
Might head over tonight myself to spend some Cloventian gold."

Simone
walked onward, trying to remember the directions. Cody walked a step behind,
groaning under the weight of their luggage. Simone wasn't sure what to expect.
What sort of saloon would Jurassic Joe drink in? It must be a seedy place. A
rough sort of bar where wild men beat each other with pool cues. A place that
made a biker bar seem like a girl scouts meeting. She imagined big, hairy
brutes throwing one another out windows.

But
when she found the place, she was pleasantly surprised. No drunkards lay
sprawled outside. No bouncer glowered outside the door. No graffiti covered the
clay walls. Like all buildings in Dinovia, this one lacked sharp angles. The
windows were circular, the corners rounded. Adobe tiles covered the roof, and a
cycad tree rustled in the yard.

A
sign hung above the door, shaped like an overturned barrel spilling out bones.
Words appeared on the barrel: The Fossil
and Firkin.

A
smaller sign hung below it from chains: Locals
Only.

"Aww,
man!" Cody said, dropping his bags. "We walked all this way and we
can't go in."

Simone
was already heading toward the entrance. "They just mean no tourists.
We're not tourists. We're journalists."

"I'm
not a journalist, I'm a rock star." Cody patted his guitar case, then
wobbled and dropped a few suitcases. A group of eoraptors fled.

Simone
shoved the batwing doors and entered the saloon.

At
once, Simone tensed up and winced, ready to duck in case anyone threw a bottle
at her. Surely a bar fight would be going on. Maybe even a gunfight. The
Mintarians were known to be rough folk. And Jurassic Joe was the wildest among
them, if half the stories were true.

No
bottles flew her way. Simone relaxed and looked around. The Fossil and Firkin
was surprisingly cozy. Embers glowed in a fireplace. Wagon-wheel chandeliers
hung from the rafters. An old upright piano stood against the wall. The bar was
carved from a great piece of live-edge wood, waxed and polished. The wood grain
coiled like the surface of a planet, gleaming. Clay mugs hung above from hooks
shaped like sauropod necks. Behind the bar, caskets of ale and spirits were
stacked from floor to ceiling.

A
holographic screen hovered above the bar, showing the Dinosaur Derby. Jockeys
rode dinosaurs of all kinds, racing around a circular track. Crowds filled the
bleachers, cheering. Lunatics! The track seemed to be located outside the city
walls. You had to be crazy to go out there, if you asked Simone. A struthiomimus
named Strutter was currently in first place. Gallimimus Gil was far behind. At
one point, his rider fell off.

Nobody
in the bar seemed to be watching the race. It was barely afternoon, but a few
locals were already here, nursing clay mugs of ale. All eyes rose toward
Simone. Like all Mintarians, they wore clothes in various shades of beige,
khaki, and brown. To the last man and woman, they wore Mintari's famous ceratop
hats. The hats reminded Simone of Smokey Bear, a deity from ancient Earth
mythology, worshipped as a protector of the forests. Some of the men sported
magnificent mustaches, and the women didn't wear makeup. That was unheard of on
Cloventia, where men were clean-shaved and a woman never, ever showed her true
skin.

Simone
froze under the stares. With her summer dress and makeup, she was clearly a
foreigner. Judging from the looks they gave her, a peacock might as well have
sauntered into the saloon.

A
woman with curly white hair spat into a spittoon. "You're in the wrong
bar, cheesecake."

Second
time a Mintarian had called her that. Must be the local slang. The white-haired
woman didn't make it sound too friendly.

The
mustached men across the room glowered. All aside from one young man who gaped
at Simone, his drink forgotten.

"She
got real purty hair," he whispered. He shut up when a young woman, a wife
or girlfriend perhaps, elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Simone
was about to respond to the old woman, but just then Cody shoved his way
through the batwing doors, tottering under his pile of luggage.

"Dude,
this place is de…cent!" He dropped his suitcases with a shower of
dust. "Not like that place we stayed on Earth. Man, this pub has windows
and everything. Cla…ssy." He whistled appreciatively. "Whoa.
Look at that skeleton!"

Simone
turned and felt the blood drain from her face. Great. Another dinosaur. At
least this one was dead.

An
enormous slab of stone stood along the wall, chained upright. A dinosaur
skeleton was trapped inside. Some kind of theropod, roughly the size of a man.
The neck was tilted back, the skull open in a silent scream. The Mintari
Field Guide would probably tell her the species. Not that Simone cared. It
was a monster. She knew that much.

"I
know, dude, this is gnarly! I could live here." Cody finally noticed the
dinosaur race playing above the bar. "Ooh, look! Dino Derby is on. And
Strutter is leading! I knew I should have bet on him."

"You
were gonna bet on Gallimimus Gil!" Simone snapped. Good old Gill had
wandered off the track. Ignoring his jockey's pleading, the dinosaur was
munching on a hedge.

A
voice rose from behind the bar. "This saloon is for locals only. You'll
want to check out the Tar Pit in the center of town. We don't have any gift
shops here."

Simone
turned toward the bar. An old man stood there, wearing a leather apron and
glasses. His head was shiny and smooth like a bowling ball, but he made up for
it with bushy white muttonchops.

"We're
not tourists." Simone held out her hand. "My name is Simone LaRue.
I'm a journalist for the Cloventia Gazette."

A
big, bearded local approached. "A journalist! Hey, maybe you can write a
story about this mole on my back." He turned around and began tugging up
his shirt. "It looks just like a pachycephalosaurus."

"Sit
down, Merl!" the barkeep said.

"But
Barnum—"

"Sit
down. The lady doesn't want to see your mole."

Mumbling
about how his mole was a scoop, Merl returned to his beer.

Barnum
the barkeep grabbed a rag and began cleaning a mug. He looked back at Simone.
"Nothing ever happens here. You want a story to write about? You need to
be outside the city walls. It's dinosaurs people come here to see. Not old
bartenders."

Simone
glanced toward the fossil. "Why a dinosaur skeleton? You live on a world
full of living dinosaurs."

Barnum
ran a rag along the bar. "The dinosaurs on Mintari were made in a lab. No,
they're not genetically engineered. I know. Nothing artificial about them.
Time-casting lets scientists grab authentic DNA from the past. But they're
still not the real deal, if you ask me. This fossil, now." He gestured with
his chin toward the slab of stone. "That's an honest-to-goodness dinosaur.
From Earth. Dug up from the ground. Ninety-five million years old. You won't
find another one like it on Mintari. Not for another ninety-five million years
at least."

He
laughed at his own joke, which he had probably told ninety-five million times.

Simone
took a seat at the bar. She placed her elbows on the polished wood, leaned
forward, and fixed Barnum with a curious gaze. She saw herself reflected in the
barkeep's glasses. A young woman, porcelain skin, flaming-red hair. Beautiful,
yes. She was aware of it. She wasn't too humble to deny it, and she wasn't too
proud to use it. She leaned forward a bit more, lips parting.

"I'm
not here to write a story about dinosaurs. I'm here for a man. A man they call—"

"Jurassic
Joe," Barnum finished for her. The old barkeep chuckled. "They still
calling him that? Yeah, the young whippersnapper used to come by. He never
drank much, but he did love my shepherd's pie. And he sure knew how to tickle
the ivories. Nobody plays the piano much here anymore."

"I
play guitar," Cody offered.

Simone
shook her head at her cameraman, then looked back at the barkeep.

"I
must say, that doesn't sound like the famous Jurassic Joe from the
stories," she said. "On Cloventia, they tell of a rough, wild outlaw.
I imagined he'd be guzzling whiskey, getting into fist fights, and smashing
bottles over men's heads."

"Who,
Joe? Ha!" Barnum grabbed another mug to clean. "Nah. He was always
quiet. Kept to himself, mostly. Never said much, even in those days. Didn't get
in trouble. Joe Triplehorn is good lad." He heaved a sigh. "A good
lad. It was not right what happened to him. Not with his family. Not with his
wife." He shook his head. "It was not right."

Triplehorn.
There was that name again.

Simone
thought back to the astrolite. Rattlesnake had given her a bullet with the name
Joe Triplehorn written on it. She still felt it in her pocket, poking her
thigh.

"So
Jurassic Joe and Joe Triplehorn are the same person?" she asked.

Barnum
raised an eyebrow. "You came all the way to do a story about him, and you
don't even know his real name?" He snickered. "Jurassic Joe is what
the tourists call him. Many of them still hope to find him on Mintari. They
won't. He knows how to hide. And he's not ashamed of his last name."

Simone
felt light-headed. Triplehorn. That name kept haunting her.

There
was a Triplehorn family on Cloventia. A rich family. A family that sold hunting
supplies across the Nyx system. A family whose daughter—

No.
Simone winced. She dared not dredge up that memory now. Not here. That grief
was still too real.

But
she had to know.

"Joe
isn't … related to the Triplehorn family from Cloventia, is he?" she
whispered. "To … to Amissa Triplehorn?"

Barnum
nodded sadly. "Amissa is his sister."

Simone
felt faint.

Mutters
and groans sounded across the tavern.

"She's
a monster!" somebody said. "All Triplehorns are!"

"Tarry
traitors, Clan Triplehorn!"

Somebody
else spat. "I should fly over to Cloventia, march right into one of their
stores, and punch those Triplehorns in their treasonous faces."

More
and more mutters rose. A few people even raised knives. Maybe Simone would get
her bar fight after all.

"Now,
now, settle down, everyone!" Barnum said, holding up both hands. "There
aren't no Triplehorns here in our saloon. The only Triplehorn left on Mintari
is Joe, and you all know he's good folk. Got nothing to do with his family.
Edna, lower that knife! Bruce, sit back down and holster your gun. Next round's
on the house if you all simmer down."

That
got them to sit down pretty quickly.

Simone
took a few deep breaths, reeling. Was the universe playing some kind of cruel
joke on her? Jurassic Joe, the man she sought, was the brother of Amissa
Triplehorn? The same woman who had shattered Simone's family?

Her
head spun. She struggled to breathe. Anxiety was wrapping its claws around her.

She
forced her mind away from that terrible day. It would not do to break down in
tears here in the saloon. She would figure this out. This mission was suddenly
about more than tracking down a folk hero. A whole lot more.

To
distract herself from the pain, Simone studied the crowd. For the first time,
she noticed that everyone in the Fossil and Firkin sported a crest on their
lapel. Each crest seemed to represent another dinosaur. She saw pterosaur
wings, theropod teeth, raptor claws … but no triceratops. Not like the symbol
she had seen on Rattlesnake's gun.

Those
are clan crests, she thought. And Joe's clan is
shamed.

She
looked at Barnum. "What happened with Joe's family? How did Clan
Triplehorn become … what they are?"

The
barkeep looked over her head. He noticed that Cody was filming. The old man's
expression hardened.

"I've
said too much. You can have a meal. You can stay the night if you like. But no
cameras. And no more questions."

* * * * *

The
Fossil and Firkin offered three rooms to rent upstairs. Simone wasn't sure why.
If the saloon was closed to tourists, who was renting the rooms? Well,
apparently journalists and their cameramen. She rented one room, Cody the
other. Paid for by the good folks at the Cloventia Gazette, God bless
'em.

The
rooms were small and rustic. The bed frames were made from branches stripped of
bark and tied together. An oil painting hung on one wall, featuring a T-rex and
a triceratops locked in battle. Simone draped a towel over the frame.

Old
Barnum sent up her dinner. Shepherd's pie. He cooked it himself. And it was
heavenly. The meat was rich with gravy and mixed with fried onions, diced
carrots, and peas. The mashed potatoes were creamy in the middle, crispy on
top. Simone began to understand why Jurassic Joe spent so much time at the
Fossil. She was ready to move in.

But
the comfort food didn't comfort her for long. When she lay in bed and closed
her eyes, she saw the monsters. Great winged reptiles screeched. Swift
predators slashed into sauropod flesh. The beasts were everywhere on Mintari.
Even inside her mind.

Simone
opened her eyes. This fear of hers was ridiculous. Logically, she knew that.
Was Mintari truly more dangerous than Cloventia? There were predators back home
too. But they wore silken robes and prowled boardrooms. There were monsters
there too. But they lurked in alleyways and shadowy bars. Simone had met her
fair share of them.

Home
was dangerous in its own ways. There were still nightmares that lurked deep
inside her. There were still scars she kept hidden, memories she kept locked
up. And Simone wondered if the Gazette had truly forced her on this
mission. She could have refused. But she had accepted her assignment. She had
flown here. Fled here. Dinosaurs and all.

What
was it Rattlesnake had said? The two greatest predators were dinosaurs and men.
The poacher was wrong. There was a reason the population on Mintari was capped.
The dinosaurs, prodigious as they were, would not last a day on Cloventia. It
was man—small, humble man, barely an ant by the great titanosaurs—who was the
most vicious animal of all. The smallest germ could fell the mightiest
behemoth, and so could men.

Lying
in bed, Simone pulled the action figure from her pocket. She looked at him.
Jurassic Joe. The toy wore a safari outfit made from real fabric, though the
ceratop hat was plastic. The action figure carried a double-barreled rifle,
presumably to shoot poachers with. The badge of the Mintari Rangers shone on
the chest, shaped like a stegosaurus's dorsal plate. When Simone looked closer,
she saw a smaller symbol on the plastic man's lapel. A tiny triceratops head.
Crest of the Triplehorn clan.

"Who
are you, Jurassic Joe?" Simone whispered to the toy.

She
finally slept, holding the toy in her hand, and dreamed of theropods prowling
the shadowy hallways of the Gazette.

* * * * *

In
the morning, Simone dressed for a journey in the wilderness. Thankfully, she
was not a complete airhead, and she had packed sensible clothes too. She pulled
on shorts, a buttoned-down shirt, and a straw hat. She also packed away her
heels and pulled on hiking boots. Her sister, who loved adventure, always used
to say that hiking shoes could save your life in the wilderness.

God,
I miss you, Elize.

Tears
filled Simone's eyes.

"Not
now," she told herself, wiping her eyes. "It's still too raw. Too
painful."

Yet
how could Simone not think of her twin sister? She saw Elize's face whenever
she looked into the mirror.

She
looked into the mirror now, studying the woman who gazed back.

Her
red hair cascaded from under the straw hat, tumbling across her shoulders.
Freckles spread across her pale cheeks. She had always endured a lot of ribbing
over her skin tone. You get sunburned standing in front of an open fridge!
You're so pale you use chalk as makeup! She had heard 'em all. Whenever she
stepped out into Nyx's light, she turned red as a lobster, and more jokes would
come. Facing the mirror, she spent a while applying industrial amounts of
sunscreen.

When
she was done, she just stood there for a moment, and a sigh rolled through her.

"Simone
LaRue," she said softly to her reflection. "In over your crazy red
head again."

She
thought of her earlier life. Her life before the incident.

No,
don't think about that now, she told her reflection.
You are no longer that woman. Some wounds do not heal, but that doesn't mean
we have to pick at the scabs.

She
headed down to the common room.

Barnum
was up already, polishing the bar yet again.

"We
got a pot of coffee brewing," the old barkeep said. "I'll rustle you
up some breakfast if you like. Eggs or flapjacks?"

"More
shepherd's pie."

He
looked up at her, then barked a laugh. "My goodness, cheesecake. You ain't
but a slender little thing, but you eat like a sauropod."

She
grinned. "It's good pie."

He
brought her another helping along with a cup of steaming coffee. She added
copious amounts of cream and sugar.

"Tell
me, sir," she said when her plate was clean and her mug was empty,
"where can I find Jurassic Joe?"

Barnum
heaved a sigh. "I told you, my dear. No questions."

"Last
one. I promise."

His
face hardened. "Joe Triplehorn chose to live away from society. It was his
choice. I honor it."

Simone
leaned across the bar. "What if I can help him? What if … well, what if
he's lonely? What if, through me, he can tell his story?"

"Is
that all this is about then?" Barnum said. "A story?"

Simone
thought back to last night. To the reactions to the Triplehorn name. "No.
Not only about a story. It's about broken families. About betrayal. About the
sins of a father and guilt passed down to children." Her voice dropped to
a whisper. "I know something about those things."

Barnum
looked at her for a moment, and his face softened. There was something akin to
pity in his eyes. No, not pity. Compassion. And Simone knew it wasn't for her.
It was for a young man who used to play piano here. Long ago.

Finally
Barnum looked away. He spoke in a gruff voice. "Mudge Mountain. Across
Hell Valley. You can find guides outside the Tar Pit in the town square. Watch
out for the hucksters."

"H-hell
Valley?" Simone whispered. But the barkeep disappeared into the kitchen,
leaving her with her empty mug.

Simone
looked around the common room for Cody. Was the big, shaggy cameraman still
asleep? Probably hungover. He had stayed up late—just to sample the local ale,
he had told her. A few sips, nothing more. His raucous singing from downstairs
had woken Simone twice last night.

She
should wake him. Quite possibly, she would need to dump a bucket of ice water
over his head. She was about to head upstairs when a voice spoke from behind
her.

"So
it's a tour guide you need?"

She
turned around. A Mintarian leaned against one table. He wore a safari outfit, a
ceratop hat, and a necklace of raptor claws. His skin was tanned, his eyes blue
and sparkling. He flashed a smile so bright Simone swore she could hear a ting!

"The
name's Terry. Triassic Terry, they call me." He held out his hand to her.
"I know, I know, I'm not as famous as Jurassic Joe. But I'm making a name
for myself. Tours are my specialty. I'd be glad to give you a private tour all
the way to Mudge Mountain."

Simone
tilted her head. "The barkeep said the tour guides are at the Tar
Pit."

"The
overpriced hucksters maybe. But I'm the real deal, cheesecake." He tapped
a badge on his shirt. "See this? Triassic Tours. Says so right on the
badge. Best tour company around. For the low price of only two hundred clovers,
I'll show you the wonders of Mintari! If you want the best dino watering holes,
we know 'em. If you wanna ride on pterodactyls, we'll strap you onto one. If
you wanna ride a T-rex, well, find another guide, because I might be crazy, but
I'm not suicidal." He winked. "I use that joke with every tourist.
Never gets a laugh, but I keep trying."

Simone
did laugh. The man was charming, she gave him that. "Thank you, Terry. But
I don't need a tour. I just need a guide to take me to Mudge Mountain."

"Ah,
that's easy then!" Triassic Terry grinned again, nearly blinding her with
his pearly whites. "I'll do that for only one hundred and ninety clovers.
What do ya say? All the other tour guides, well, they take big groups out. That
means you'll spend days looking at dinosaurs with a bunch of snot-nosed little
kids. I mean—I love kids. God bless the little tykes. You don't have one
yourself do you? Ah, good. Terrible things, they are. None of them on our tour.
Just straight to Mudge Mountain."

"I'll
pay you three hundred if you take the path of fewest dinosaurs."

"Lady,
you got a deal."

They
shook hands.

Just
then, Cody came trudging downstairs, rubbing his neck. "Dude." He
groaned. "Do not drink Mintarian rum before bed. My head is still
spinning."

She
grabbed his arm. "Come on, Cody. We've spent enough time in civilization.
We're heading into the wild." She turned toward their guide. "Terry?
Take us to your jippi."

The
tour guide lost his smile. "Slight problem there."

Simone
frowned. "Is there."

He
winced. "Best come outside and see for yourself."

* * * * *

They
walked around the Fossil and Firkin to the parking lot. Several dusty jippis
parked there. Among them stood a dinosaur.

Simone
gulped. She struggled not to faint.

"What
is that?" she said.

Cody
leaned toward her and whispered, "It's a dinosaur."

"I
know it's a dinosaur! What is it doing in the parking lot?" She spun
toward Terry. "I thought dinosaurs weren't allowed in the city."

"Carnivores
aren't allowed in the city." Triassic Terry flashed an uneasy grin.
"Sorry, cheesecake. I see you're not too keen on dinos. But I can assure
you. Rosetta is a sweetheart." He approached the dinosaur. "Aren't
you, little baby?"

The
dinosaur grunted and licked his hand. There was nothing little or babylike
about her, if you asked Simone. Rosetta was enormous. Larger than a jippi. More
like a tank. Standing on four legs, the dinosaur sprouted three horns longer
than human arms, and her face ended with a beak. A very sharp-looking beak. The
sort of beak that could crush redheads.

Most
striking, even more than her size, was Rosetta's bony frill. It rose above her
skull, as large as a dining room table, tipped with horns. But clearly this
frill was not for defense. Unlike the frill of a triceratops, which was solid
bone, this frill only seemed to have bones along its outer edges—like a
window frame. Skin stretched over the bony structure like a drumhead. Not lumpy
gray skin, which the dinosaur had across the rest of her body. The skin across
the frill dazzled with blue, red, and purple patterns, as colorful as butterfly
wings. When the wind blew, this colorful "drumhead" rippled, making
eerie music. A warning sign to predators? A display for mates like a peacock
tail? Simone didn't know. But that frill was oddly beautiful.

"Dude,
this dino is gnarly!" Cody said, patting Rosetta's side. "Is she a
triceratops?"

"No,
mate." Terry shook his head. "See the colors on the frill? Trikes
don't have those. They're both ceratopsians. Related. But my Rosetta is a—"

"Chasmosaurus,"
Simone said. She had finally dared open her Mintari Field Guide.

Terry's
grin was blinding. "Yeah! You know your dinos, cheesecake. Indeed, my
Rosetta is a chasmosaurus. They're a bit smaller than the trikes, but
let me tell you, they're just as tough. My Rosetta can hold her own in a fight.
I once saw her gore an allosaurus with those horns of hers." He kissed the
dinosaur's beak. "Didn't you, cheesecake? You gored him good."

Rosetta
grunted in agreement and stamped her elephantine feet.

Simone
leafed through her book and gulped. "There won't be any allosaurs out
there, will there?" She shuddered and closed the field guide. "They
look awful."

"Of
course not!" Terry said. "Not with Rosetta around. The allys know to
fear her. They can spot the warning colors on her frill from miles away."
He gave the colorful frill a few good pats. The skin wobbled. "Now hop on,
cheesecake! We're going on dino-back."

Simone
crossed her arms. "I am not getting on that thing."

Cody
wobbled under the pile of luggage. "Can it at least carry our stuff?"

"We'll
go with another tour guide. One who has a jippi. Terry, I'm very sorry. I know
I promised to hire you. I'll pay you ten clovers for your trouble. Cody! Come
on. We'll head to the Tar Pit."

Cody
winced. The luggage straps were digging into his shoulders. "All the way
back at town square?"

The
poor guy looked exhausted. Not only from carrying everything. He was also badly
hungover.

"I
don't want your ten clovers," Terry said. "I want you to be safe. No
other tour guide will cross Hell Valley. Not with them allys about. An
allosaurus is large enough to knock over any jippi. But Rosetta here? They
won't touch her. You're safest with me, ma'am, and that's the honest-to-goodness
truth. If you want to reach Mudge Mountain and find Jurassic Joe, well …"
He waved dismissively. "Ah, forget it. I won't keep pushing ya. Best of
luck, cheesecake. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll head back into the Firkin for
another coffee."

Simone
took a deep breath. "Wait."

Terry
froze.

"Cody,
load our stuff onto the dinosaur. You can ride with Terry."

The
tour guide turned toward her, eyebrow rising. "What about you,
cheesecake?"

"I
spent good money on these hiking shoes. I'm walking."

* * * * *

If
any dinosaur ever wandered around Cloventia, it would cause a panic. Even a
runt like a eoraptor, who was barely larger than a chicken, would send
thousands fleeing for their lives. Today a dinosaur the size of a tank lumbered
through Dinovia City, and people barely noticed. One man stepped aside, never
lifting his eyes from his newspaper. A couple of children paused from kicking a
ball as the dinosaur thundered by. And those were about the strongest reactions
Rosetta the chasmosaurus got.

Simone,
who was walking alongside the beast, wished she could be so blasé. Her heart
wouldn't stop racing. Just being so close to a living, breathing dinosaur made
her tremble. She glanced at Rosetta.

The
stocky ceratopsian plodded onward, her feet leaving deep imprints in the dirt
road. She paused by somebody's garden to feed from some flowerpots, then
lumbered onward, chewing on begonias. This was barely even a snack. Rosetta was
truly enormous. Especially her head. Rosetta's skull was longer than Simone was
tall. The bony frill rose behind the horns, dazzling with colors. The blue,
green, and purple shades formed an abstract painting.

"Those
aren't warning colors," Simone said softly. "That frill is for
display. You're beautiful to attract a mate." She patted the dinosaur's
scaly hide. "You've got your makeup on."

Simone
suddenly realized what she was doing. Patting a dinosaur. She pulled her hand
back, but oddly, her heart was no longer racing.

Cody
looked down from the dinosaur's back. "Dude, you patted a dino! I'm proud
of you. You ready to ride up here with us?"

And
… now her heart was racing again.

"Certainly
not." She crossed her arms, raised her chin, and kept walking alongside
the tanklike animal.

Finally
they reached the city's defensive walls. Simone had to tilt her head all the
way back to see the top. The houses in Dinovia were humble things built of
clay, little more than huts. But this wall was a serious construction, even by
Cloventian standards. Massive limestone bricks, each the size of a fridge, were
stacked high. If Rosetta reared on her hind legs, she would still be too short
to see over the top. Heck, even a brontosaurus might need a stool.

Simone
pulled out her handy little opera binoculars. She had remembered to pack them,
thankfully. She peered to the top of the wall. Armed men and women stood there,
carrying double-barreled rifles.

"Are
those Mintari Rangers?" she said.

Terry
nodded. "Sure are. I almost became a Ranger myself, you know. But with a
charming grin like mine, I figured I'm better giving tours than manning the
wall." He winked and flashed his bright teeth. Ting!

"Jurassic
Joe is a Ranger too, isn't he?" Simone said.

Terry
shrugged. "Eh. Sort of. A rogue one. You see, Rangers generally live here
in Dinovia City. Oh, they go out on ranges. They take their jippis and
tricopters. Sometimes they even spend a night in the field—inside their armored
vehicles, of course. Then they fly back home, report to their boss, and fill
out paperwork. But Jurassic Joe, well … nobody's seen him in ages. Most men
would not survive fifteen minutes alone out the wild. Joe's been out there for
fifteen years."

Simone
gasped. "Could he be dead?"

Terry
shook his head. "Not a chance, cheesecake. It would take a dinosaur with
silver teeth to kill Joe Triplehorn."

"Whoa!"
Cody said, eyes wide. "For real? Dude, is Jurassic Joe a werewolf?"

Simone
thought back to the carnotauruses taking down the mighty patagotitans. She had
a feeling regular teeth would do just fine, no silver needed.

They
headed toward a towering gateway in the wall. A stone archway loomed, filled
with heavy iron-banded doors. It all seemed rather medieval. Cities didn't have
walls or gates on Cloventia. Not on Earth anymore either. Then again, the
largest animal that could attack you on those planets was a house cat.

The
Rangers on the wall waved. One Ranger pulled a lever, and the great doors swung
outward, revealing a majestic view of … a drawbridge, a moat, and a crackling
electric fence. They took security seriously at Mintari.

The
drawbridge creaked menacingly under Rosetta's weight, and Simone breathed in
relief once they were across the moat. The Rangers on the wall pulled another
lever, and a gate in the electric fence slid open.

And
there it was.

Right
ahead. Hell. Some could call the landscape beautiful, but Simone knew it was hell.

Grasslands
spread toward flowering meadows, rustling forests, and mountains nearly lost in
the distant haze. Back on Earth, paleontologists debated whether grass had
existed during the original reign of the dinosaurs, but here on Mintari it grew
in abundance. The faintest hint of sauropod necks rose through the mist, and
pterosaurs circled above.

Simone
paused and gulped.

"You
can do this, Simone LaRue," she whispered to herself.

Trembling,
she stepped out the gate, leading the way. The boys followed, riding the
chasmosaurus.

The
gate clattered shut behind them. Simone got the sudden impulse to fall to her
knees and beg the Rangers, "Let me back in!"

Before
she could embarrass herself, Simone walked down the dirt path, fists clenched
at her sides, chin raised high. Grunting and pausing now and then to graze,
Rosetta the chasmosaurus followed. They headed into the wild.

CHAPTER FOUR

Beasts in the Neon Jungle

Tobias Triplehorn,
CEO of the largest hunting supplies company on Cloventia, did not tolerate
fools lightly. And the man before him was certainly a fool.

"I
gave you my answer, Mr. Triplehorn." The fool raised his chin. "The
answer is no. My store has been with my family for three generations. Someday
I'll pass it on to my son. I won't sell it. Not to you. Not to anyone. Good
day, sir."

The
man walked toward the door.

"One
more thing, Mr. Fletcher!" said Tobias. "Before you go."

The
man paused. He turned back and glared up at Tobias. "What?"

Tobias
Triplehorn had built his office to include two levels. His chair rose on the
higher level. His guests had to stand three steps below. He liked to stare down
at his visitors. The chamber was so massive his voice echoed when he yelled at
underlings. Some people joked that Tobias had built himself a throne room.
Perhaps they were right. After all, had Tobias not built an empire? He had
immigrated here with nothing but the dirt under his fingernails, a young
bumpkin from Mintari. Now he was royalty.

He
leaned forward in his chair. The leather creaked. The chair was upholstered
with the scaly skin of a Tyrannosaurus rex. It was uncomfortable. It should
be uncomfortable. An emperor should not sit easy on his throne.

"Mr.
Fletcher, you own a small hunting supplies store, don't you? You sell … what
was it? Compound bows?"

The
rotund shopkeep raised his chin. "That's right. We sell the best bows in
the business."

Tobias
narrowed his eyes. "We shall see. Mr. Fletcher, I would like you to
approach the table to your left. Please pull the sheet back."

The
store owner huffed. "I've no time for your games, sir. I won't be selling
my business, and that's that."

"Oh,
I don't expect you to sell your store. Not anymore." Tobias smiled thinly.
"Before you leave, humor me. The table please, Mr. Fletcher. Call it a
parting gift. For your time."

Curiosity
got the better of foolish Mr. Fletcher. He approached the table, pulled back
the sheet, and his eyes widened.

"Do
you recognize that, Mr. Fletcher?" Tobias said.

The
storekeeper nodded. "One of our compound hunting bows. The Fletcher
Shooter Classic. My father designed this one."

"Pick
it up, Mr. Fletcher. And load an arrow. I suggest you move quickly. We're about
to see how good your bows truly are."

A
hiss rose from under the floor. The sound filled the cavernous room.

Mr.
Fletcher froze. He glared up at Tobias. "What is the meaning of this? Do
you think to scare me with parlor tricks?"

Tobias
checked his diamond-studded wristwatch. "Please hurry, Mr. Fletcher. It
only takes my pet sixty seconds to crawl from her enclosure into my
office."

Fletcher
ran toward the door. He grabbed and yanked the handle. Locked.

He
wheeled back toward Tobias, face red. "What the hell sort of game are you
playing, man?"

The
fool was feigning anger. His cracking voice revealed his fear.

"Twenty
more seconds, Mr. Fletcher. You claim you sell the best bows in the business.
Better than Triplehorn bows? We shall see."

Again
the hiss rose from below, filling the room like steam.

Fletcher's
red cheeks went sheet white. He grabbed the bow. Fingers shaking, he loaded an
arrow.

A
hatch slid open in the floor. It was large enough to drop a piano into. An oily
smell wafted into the room. Heavy breathing sounded in the shadows. Scales
chinking, the creature slithered up from below.

Fletcher
stumbled back, nearly dropping his bow.

A
reptilian head rose through the hatch. An enormous head, covered in green
scales. A head large enough to swallow a crocodile with one gulp. The
gargantuan serpent slithered into the room. Her body was so wide that if a man
dared hug it, his fingertips would not meet on the other side.

"Dear
God, what is that?" Fletcher shouted.

Tobias
poured himself a glass of Cabernet. He swirled the drink in the cup, letting
the wine breathe. "Just a snake, Mr. Fletcher. I've named her
Stella."

The
creature emerged fully into the room, and the hatch closed below. It was a
large room, but Stella filled it.

"That's
no snake, man!" Fletcher cried. "That's a dinosaur. They're illegal
on Cloventia, you Mintarian bastard. You know that!"

Tobias
inhaled the sweet aroma of the wine. Almost ready for drinking now. Only fools
drank wine and killed men too quickly. A good wine, like a good killing, needed
to be savored.

"Oh,
I operate entirely within the law, Mr. Fletcher. Don't worry. It's true that,
like the dinosaurs, the titanoboa comes from millions of years ago. Like them,
this magnificent species was restored with the miracle of time-casting. But it
is not, in fact, a dinosaur itself. Only a very old snake. And a very large
snake, as you probably noticed. Stella here is longer than a bus. She weighs thousands
of pounds. Fear not! The floor is reinforced. You're perfectly safe. Well, from
the floor breaking, at least. Whether you're safe from Stella or not, well …
that depends on the quality of your product."

Fletcher
fired his bow at the snake.

The
arrow snapped against green scales the size of saucers.

Stella
screeched, more in annoyance than pain. The sound was deafening. They could
probably hear it across the entire building. Tobias could have soundproofed his
office. He had chosen not to. He wanted his employees to hear.

The
titanoboa thrust her great head toward Fletcher. The fool was busy loading
another arrow, but his hands shook too badly. His arrow clattered onto the
floor.

Not
that it would have made much of a difference anyway.

Tobias
leaned back in his chair, sipped the wine, and swirled it through his mouth.
Ah, perfection. A lovely bouquet.

The
titanoboa detached her lower jaw. Her gargantuan mouth opened wide, revealing
teeth like daggers. But she would not use those formidable teeth today. No need
to chew this meal. A man was but a morsel for such a prodigious beast. The
ancient snake swallowed Mr. Fletcher whole.

Before
he vanished down the gullet, he let out a bloodcurdling scream. Tobias hoped
his employees heard that too.

The
snake closed her mouth and licked her chops.

Tobias
sighed. "You see, Mr. Fletcher, your bows are not very good at all. I'm
doing your business a favor." He frowned. "Mr. Fletcher, can you
still hear me? No? Oh, very well. I suppose you get the idea."

The
fool was still alive, squirming and screaming inside Stella's belly. They
usually squirmed for a while until the stomach acids did their work. Snakes,
like Tobias, knew how to savor a kill.

* * * * *

Between
sips of wine, Tobias lifted his telephone receiver. It was a historic artifact,
constructed from beautiful brass and silver. Today many men had neural
implants, could call one another telepathically. But Tobias preferred the
elegance of an older, more civilized era. Technology created many conveniences.
But the finer things in life were all old. Like this phone. Like the wine in
his cup. Like the animal digesting her meal below.

"Amissa,
dear?" Tobias said into the receiver. "I'm quite ready for your
demonstration."

"Already,
Dad?" came her voice over the phone. "The screams only started a
minute ago."

"Poor
Mr. Fletcher did not last long. Come now, Amissa, do not tarry."

"On
my way."

Tobias
hung up, sipped his wine, and leafed through the Cloventia Gazette. He
was one of the few men on Cloventia who still bought the paper edition. Ah, Ms.
LaRue had an article published today! Splendid. Something about the gang wars
down in the sewage system below the floating skyscrapers. She must have written
it just before her trip. A good piece. Pity they always buried her articles
past the wanted ads.

"You
are a fine journalist, Ms. LaRue," Tobias said softly, flipping the page.
"You will serve me well on Mintari."

He
was still reading the article when the door banged open.

"One
dead snake, coming right up!"

Amissa
Triplehorn strutted into the room.

She
was a tall, striking woman in her thirties. Her chestnut hair cascaded down to
her waist, and her eyes shone with blue fire. Her fans called her the most
beautiful killer in the world. So did her enemies, for that matter. And she had
millions of both. Amissa was the most famous—or infamous, depending on whom you
asked—huntress in the galaxy.

She
was decked out in Triplehorn gear today, all from the latest product line.
Camouflage pants with magnetic buckles to hold a variety of blades. Boots with
retractable claws for climbing and kicking. An armored vest with pouches full
of bullets. A machete hung across her back, and in her hand, she held the
latest Triplehorn bow. Artemis's Arch, they called it. Their new flagship
product. A compound bow augmented with hydraulic technology, capable of
delivering a bolt of kinetic energy that rivaled some grenades.

When
Amissa saw the colossal snake, she grinned, licked her lips, and bared her
teeth. Suddenly Amissa herself seemed reptilian. "Hello, Stella, my dear.
I've been waiting for this moment since you hatched."

Stella
spun toward her with a hiss. The titanoboa lunged, jaws opening for another
meal.

Amissa
did not flinch. In a single, fluid movement, she loaded an arrow into Artemis's
Arch, drew the string, and fired.

The
arrow—a shaft of steel wrapped in graphene—tore through Stella's upper jaw and
pierced the wall behind. The arrow moved with such speed it ionized the air,
leaving a trail of fire.

The
titanoboa bellowed, a hole in her snout. But the arrow had missed the brain.
Stella was still alive. She seemed to feel no pain, only fury. Gushing blood,
she lashed toward Amissa, as quick as an asp, as deadly as a cobra.

Amissa
grinned. She drew her machete, sidestepped, and swung the blade across Stella's
striking head. Scales clattered onto the floor like coins from a split purse.
The snake swayed. Amissa laughed, leaped onto the beast, and climbed the scaly
body, working her way up toward the head.

Stella
whipped her head from side to side, trying to shake off this pesky human. The
snake had a perforated jaw, a gash across the snout, and a heavy meal in her
belly. She needed this battle like a hole in the head. Which is exactly what
she got.

Amissa
planted her clawed boots firmly onto Stella's head, raised her machete high,
then brought the blade down hard.

The
mighty titanoboa, queen of the primordial jungle, crashed onto the floor,
shaking the building. Amissa stood atop the corpse. She licked the blood off
her blade, then tossed back her head and howled in victory.

"So
dramatic." With his handkerchief, Tobias dabbed a bit of blood off his
shoe. It had splashed far. "Do try to be more hygienic next time, Amissa.
These shoes are worth more than your inheritance."

She
spat and hopped off the dead snake. "The bow should have finished Stella
off with the first shot. It doesn't work."

Tobias
lifted his newspaper again and rustled the pages. "It works perfectly well
if you aim it properly. You missed the brain."

"Didn't
know your pets had brains."

"How
droll." Tobias licked his thumb and flipped to the finance section.
"Ah good! Triplehorn Incorporated stock is up. Your latest video, the one
where you slew the mammoth, made quite a splash. If only you could avoid such
splashes here in my office. The blood is everywhere."

"Dad,
I'm tired of hunting mammoths. You know what I want to hunt. Why won't you let
me—"

A
muddled whimper sounded behind her. Amissa turned around, stared at the snake,
and tilted her head.

"Oh
yes!" Tobias lowered his newspaper. "I forgot. Amissa, be a darling
and cut Mr. Fletcher out of the snake. I think he's learned his lesson,
wouldn't you agree?"

"Dad,
forget about snakes for a second, and listen to—"

He
cleared his throat. "Amissa! I asked you to do a chore. Now do it."

She
groaned, returned to the dead snake, and hacked at its scales with her machete.
She gutted the enormous creature like a fish. Organs spilled onto the floor. So
did poor Mr. Fletcher.

The
man was still alive. It could have gone either way. Tobias supposed this way
was better. Killing was good fun on frontier worlds, but after all, this was
Cloventia. This civilization was a bit queasy when it came to murder. That
didn't make much sense to Tobias, but well, as they said: When on Cloventia …

"Look
at me, Mr. Fletcher," he said, rustling his newspaper.

Amissa
grabbed the man's hair and yanked his head back. "You heard my pops. Look
at him."

Tobias
laid his newspaper across his lap, leaned forward, and squinted at the man.
"My my, look at those burns across your skin. Stomach acid is such nasty
business. But I assure you, Mr. Fletcher, this was merely a slap on the wrist.
I own other pets too. Pets that do not swallow men whole. They rip them to
shreds."

Mr.
Fletcher was shaking. Hyperventilating. "I—I—I'll sell you the store! Take
it. Take it! Oh God. You're insane! You're a lunatic! You—"

Amissa
twisted his hair. "Watch your language. This is a place of business."

Tobias
sipped his wine and returned to his newspaper. "Pleasure doing business
with you, Mr. Fletcher. Daughter, darling? See our guest out."

His
beloved daughter dragged the dripping Mr. Fletcher by the hair. When they
reached the door, she sent him on his way with a kick.

"All
right, Pops, I'm off to shower." She shook blood off her hands. "Got
another photo shoot tonight. This time with the saber-toothed tiger I hunted
last month. Got him stuffed and mounted nicely in the library."

"Amissa,
one moment please."

She
paused, one foot out the door. "What?"

"Don't
stand in an open door while talking to your father, darling. Show some
etiquette."

She
snorted. "I'm an outback girl. I don't do etiquette."

Tobias
rose from his seat. He knocked over his cup of wine. It shattered. Fury blazed
through him. "You are Cloventian now! Do you know what the old families
call us? Outlanders. Country bumpkins. Uncouth immigrants. To them, we're only
Mintarians."

Amissa
shrugged. "We are Mintarians."

"Not
anymore!" Tobias shouted. "We're civilized now. Act like it!"

Amissa
rolled her eyes. She affected an Old Money accent. "Very well, dear papa.
Shall I powder my nose before hunting my next pachyderm?"

Tobias
sat back down, taking deep breaths, struggling to regain control. "I do
not want you to hunt another mammoth. Amissa, it's time we talk about our
shameful past. About Mintari."

* * * * *

Tobias
Triplehorn had been living on Cloventia for over forty years now. He had lost
his rough Mintarian accent, and he spoke with the elegance of old Cloventian
nobility. Instead of uncouth safari outfits, he wore flowing crimson robes
embroidered with golden thread. He no longer squatted in a clay hut but lived
in a mansion. If not for his surname, nobody would guess at his heritage. He
had kept the name as a reminder—not for others but for himself. I rose from
the mud.

Tobias
had never forgotten Mintari. The memories still haunted him. The creatures that
roamed Mintari also roamed the deep caverns of his mind. The monsters. Every
night, he dreamed of what they had done. And he woke up trembling, fists
clenched, jaw grinding.

He
was a powerful man. He punished his enemies. He conquered boardrooms and skyscrapers
in the urban jungle. He dined with presidents and devoured corporations. But at
night, he was still a boy, running scared from dinosaurs.

He
knew the beasts would always haunt his dreams. So he must turn the tide.

"Amissa,
do you know how dinosaurs first came to Mintari?" he asked.

Standing
by the slain snake, she rolled her eyes. "Oh God, Dad, another history
lesson."

He
overlooked her attitude. This time.

"Time-casting!"
he said. "The greatest technological revolution since the spear. Actual
time travel! But the technology, you see, has limits. We can only send small
objects into the past. No larger than a gnat. And we cannot bring objects from
the past into the future. So how, do you ask, did the dinosaurs come into the
year 3041?"

She
heaved a sigh. "I didn't ask. Dad, I finished school long ago. Please stop
the lectures."

"By
sending back tiny electronic mosquitoes. We cast them back in time like
fishermen casting lures. The little drones collected blood from dinosaurs, then
burrowed underground. There they waited for millions of years until humans dug
them up, recovered the DNA, and—"

"Dad,
I'm leaving." She walked toward the door.

"Stay
where you are, Amissa. Behave."

She
let out a groan, tossed her machete onto the floor, and sat on the dead snake.
"Fine, fine! Drone on with your history lesson."

"Around
the same time, scientists discovered Nyx. A miraculous star system! A system
with four Earthlike worlds, all ready for colonization. This is rare in the
galaxy, Amissa. A true gift of fate. One planet—the very planet we're on now—our
wise ancestors gave to humanity. A place for families fleeing the slums of
Earth. The second planet they gave to modern animals—a world where tigers,
lions, whales, and their friends can live free. The third planet we gave to the
Ice Age creatures, and—"

"And
Mintari to the dinos, yes, I know." Amissa yawned. "Can you tuck me
in after my bedtime story?"

Tobias
leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers. "You've hunted many
creatures, Amissa. Elephants, tigers, and bears on planet Thalia. Mammoths and
saber-toothed tigers on planet Borealis. But you could never hunt dinosaurs. That
planet is too dangerous. Even for you. Not only because of the vicious
dinosaurs who roam there. But also because of the Mintari Rangers. They are
organized. They are militant. They are brutal. They hunt down poachers and
shoot them dead." Tobias leaned forward in his seat. "Jurassic Joe is
particularly ruthless."

Amissa
shrugged. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree. He is your son, after
all."

Tobias
leaped from his chair. Moving with shocking speed for a man of his age, he
raced off his dais, grabbed his daughter by the neck, and squeezed. She sputtered,
eyes bugging out, and clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip, baring his
teeth at the huntress.

"Joe
is no son of mine!" Tobias growled. "I have no son!"

He
released her throat and shoved her back. Amissa fell to her knees, gasping for
air.

"God,
Dad, what's gotten into you?" She rubbed her throat. Amissa was fearless
when it came to hunting beasts. But now Tobias saw the glint of fear in her
eyes. He had often seen such fear in her mother's eyes.

"Joe
betrayed our clan," Tobias said. "He shames us. He kills our
customers."

Amissa
glared at him between strands of her long brown hair. "You nearly killed me."

"Oh,
don't be so melodramatic. You're not so easy to kill. I just saw you hack a
titanoboa to death."

The
young huntress grinned. "That was pretty amazing, wasn't it? Even
for me."

"Walk
with me, Amissa. The corpse is starting to stink."

As
they left the office, Tobias signaled for a cleaning lady. The woman was busy
dusting a picture frame in the corridor.

"Please
clean my office, Dorothy," he said.

She
nodded. "Of course, sir." She hurried inside. From the corridor,
Tobias heard her gasp and drop her mop.

Robe
rustling, he walked with his daughter down the corridor. Her boots left bloody
imprints on the carpet, which cleaners quickly rushed forward to remove. Most
offices today used cleaner drones. But Tobias Triplehorn liked the charms of
the old world. To be on top, somebody must be at the bottom. On Mintari he had
learned that no ecosystem could survive without a food chain. Tobias made sure he
kept plenty of underlings around.

Along
the corridor, soaring windows afforded a view of Neotropolis, capital of
Cloventia. Tobias paused and admired the cityscape. Thousands of skyscrapers
sprouted from floating platforms. Millions of cars flew back and forth like
birds in an urban forest. Shadows cloaked the ground level where the working
class toiled. The tunnels underground, places of poverty and despair not much
better than Earth, were little more than myth. From up here, all you could see
was neon, steel, and glass.

"I
remember the first time I saw Cloventia," Tobias said softly. "I
never imagined such a place could exist. I had never seen a building larger
than a clay hut."

Amissa
yawned. "Yes, and you walked ten miles to school every day. In the snow.
Uphill. Both ways. Do you have any other large animals around I can kill? I'm
getting bored."

"Soon
you will kill the most magnificent beasts who ever lived," Tobias
whispered.

Amissa's
eyes widened. "Do you mean I'm finally allowed to …?" Words failed
her.

Tobias
kept walking. Amissa followed, as eager as a pup. They reached a mezzanine that
overlooked the main lobby of Triplehorn Incorporated. Employees were coming and
going below. Little soldiers in his empire. Soldiers? They wore soft robes, and
they had soft souls. They sold blades, guns, arrows, machines of destruction
and bloodshed. But their soft hands did not wield them. At the end of the day,
Tobias's soldiers were nothing more than salesmen. They did not understand the
savage brutality of the hunt.

But
Amissa understood. She had never liked wearing business robes. She would fall
asleep in boardroom meetings. She would mock Cloventian princesses who tottered
around in heels. She lived for the hunt. For the rugged outdoors. Tobias had
worked hard to smooth his Mintarian rough edges. But Mintarian blood flowed
hot. Amissa had perhaps been born and raised here in civilization. She had
never even set foot on Mintari. But the wilderness ran in her veins. Her heart
was as wild as that world of dinosaurs.

Her
fans loved her for it. Goddess of the Hunt, they called her. Whenever she posed
with a dead animal, millions of people took notice. Animal-rights activists
hated her. Hunters worshipped her. Teenage boys hung posters of her on their
walls. The bigger the animal she hunted, the more attention she got. And
attention was good for business.

Tobias
looked at the dinosaur skeleton that stood in the lobby. A real one too. Not a
creature brought back to life through time-casting. An actual fossil, seventy
million years old.

A
triceratops.

It
was the symbol of his clan. The origin of their name. On Mintari, every clan
had a dinosaur that represented them. The people here on Cloventia didn't
understand. To them, the fossil was a mere curiosity. His employees just walked
around it, ignoring the bones. But Tobias had never forgotten.

"They
killed your grandparents, Amissa," he said softly. "The
dinosaurs."

Amissa
lowered her head. "I know."

"I
was there," Tobias said, voice barely more than a whisper. "I
remember."

He
was there again every night. Seeing those armored tails break his mother.
Seeing those spikes impale his father.

His
eye twitched. Some people believed that dinosaurs were only animals. They were
not. They were monsters. And they must die.

"You
proved yourself today, Amissa." His voice was suddenly hoarse. "You
killed a titanoboa. You are ready. I want you to travel to Mintari. I want you
to hunt dinosaurs."

Tears
of joy flooded her eyes. She sniffed and hugged him. "Dad. Thank you. I've
waited so long for this. I promise that I'll hunt the biggest dinosaurs for
you. That …" She frowned, wiped her eyes, and tilted her head. "Wait
a minute. Why now? Don't tell me it's because of the titanoboa. I've killed big
animals before. Mammoths, saber-toothed tigers, dire wolves—a bunch of beasts. What
changed?"

Tobias
raised an eyebrow. "Why look a gift horse in the mouth? I thought you'd be
thrilled."

She
inhaled sharply and bared her teeth. "I am! But I must know. Why now? For
years, you forbade me from going to Mintari. Too scared of my little brother. I
told you I don't fear him! But you worried. That he'd try to stop me. That it
would be bad press." She barked a laugh.

"It
would be. If the media learned that Joe Triplehorn, my own son, is protecting
animals, is shooting at hunters, is fighting my own daughter …" He
sneered, the old rage filling him. "No. We cannot allow that. Some
publicity is bad publicity."

"So
why now?" she insisted.

A
thin smile spread across Tobias's face. "Because now we have a secret
weapon to wield against dear Jurassic Joe. You'll be quite safe from him."

He
leaned closer, and he whispered into her ears.

Gradually
a grin grew and grew across Amissa's face. "Simone LaRue? The girl we
broke all those years ago?"

Tobias
nodded. "The same."

Amissa
tossed back her head and laughed. "Dad, you are a genius."

"I
want you to kill many dinosaurs," Tobias said. "Take photos. Take
videos. Post your kills on QuickFame. I want the galaxy to see. I want to
inspire our customers. Amissa, every one of your fans must develop an appetite for
dinosaur hunting. Mintari is a whole new business frontier."

Her
eyes softened. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is this really about
business? Or is this personal?"

"All
business is personal, my dear. Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn't know a tarry
thing about business. Now go! Pack for your trip. You leave tonight."

* * * * *

Late
that night, only an hour before dawn, Tobias visited the family mausoleum.
Built in the style of a Greek pantheon, the mausoleum stood on a grassy
platform that floated high above the city—so high the air was thin, and even
the tallest skyscrapers topped out below them. It was the closest you could get
to actual heaven.

Two
marble triceratops framed the gateway, the ancient guardians of Clan
Triplehorn. Even here, so far from home.

Wearing
white robes of mourning, Tobias entered the mausoleum. Two sarcophagi lay in
the cold silence, side by side. They had died fifty years ago, but the pain
still tore at Tobias. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"Mom.
Dad." He fell to his knees. "Long ago, when I was a boy, I promised
to avenge you." He clenched his fists. "I will keep my promise!"

When
he finally left the mausoleum, it was noon. Nyx's light shone on the marble
triceratops statues, and Tobias made a sacred vow. He would not rest until the
only dinosaurs in the galaxy were made of stone.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kingdom of the Pterosaurs

"Will you
tell that beast of yours to stop licking me?"

Rosetta
the chasmosaurus had a tongue the size of a fire hydrant. Simone cringed,
leaped away, and looked at her new safari outfit. Saliva drenched her. She
cringed.

"What's
that, cheesecake?"

Triassic
Terry leaned out the howdah high above. The wooden structure was fastened onto
Rosetta's back. Simone thought of elephants in the old Hannibal movies.

"I
said—tell your dinosaur to stop licking me!" Simone cried up toward the
howdah.

"Ah!"
Terry grinned. "I heard ya this time. Sorry, cheesecake. Rosetta here
likes to explore the world with her tongue. You sure you don't want to ride up
here with us?"

"Ride
a creature that could knock over a mammoth? No, thank you. I'll walk. At a
distance."

Vainly
attempting to brush the saliva off (but only getting her fingers sticky),
Simone stepped farther from the dinosaur.

But
not too far. They were out in the wilderness of Mintari. And there were plenty
of creatures here who would do much worse than lick.

She
looked around her. Cycads grew from the reddish soil. They looked similar to
the palm trees at the Old Hawaii Lounge near the Gazette headquarters,
an establishment she sometimes frequented. They made good mai tais. But these
trees were much larger and thicker. And, of course, not made of plastic.
Ginkgos grew farther back, their semicircular leaves rustling. You could not
find such trees anywhere else. Like the fauna, the flora of Mintari had been
restored from extinction. More gifts of time-casting.

Something
rustled among some ferns.

Snorts
and sniffs sounded.

"A
predator!" Simone cried out. "Watch out, everyone, a predator!"

She
hurried closer to Rosetta. The chasmosaurus, delighted to have Simone back,
gave her an appreciative lick.

"For
pity's sake!" Simone said, shoving the enormous tongue away. "This is
not the time!"

The
dreaded predator burst out from the ferns. It raced toward Simone, letting out
a deafening roar. The monster's teeth flashed, prepared to rip into her flesh.

California
Cody leaned out the howdah. "Aww, he's cute."

Simone,
who was busy panicking, took a deep breath and a closer look. The "dreaded
predator" was no larger than a turkey. Probably another eoraptor like the
ones from the city. Or something similar, in any case. The mini-dinosaur let
out another "deafening roar." Just a squeak.

"You
all right, cheesecake?" Terry called down from the howdah.

"Of
course I'm all right! I was just joking." She took a shuddering breath and
smoothed her clothes, only getting more saliva on her hands.

A
screech sounded above.

Okay—this
one really was deafening. Simone was sure of that. Even the boys
flinched. Even Rosetta, a dinosaur shaped like a tank, grunted and stomped the
ground. Steam blasted out her nostrils.

It
emerged from behind a cloud with another terrible shriek. A flying monster.

Simone
screamed.

"Crikey,
that's a big one!" Terry shaded his eyes with his palm. "Pteranodon
by the looks of it. Female. You can tell by the brown color. Big old gal. And
she's hungry."

Simone
ran closer to Rosetta and clung to her scaly leg. The chasmosaurus swiveled her
head around and gave her a lick.

The
pteranodon swooped toward them, her beady eyes blazing. Big? The beast was
colossal. Her wingspan was wider than Simone's apartment back home. The
terrible beak opened wide, and Simone prepared to die.

The
pteranodon scooped up the eoraptor who had startled Simone,
gulped the little dinosaur down, then soared. Her beating wings blasted the
hair back from Simone's face and nearly blew the howdah off Rosetta.

Leaning
out the swaying howdah, Cody whooped. "That. Was. Gnarly! Dude,
dude!" He looked down at Simone. "Did you see that? It was so close!
Tell me you saw that."

"I
saw it," Simone whispered, voice trembling.

"I
think I caught it on camera," Cody said. "Everything was moving so
fast. Dude, this planet is totally epic."

Simone
wanted to go home. Rosetta licked her comfortingly, slobbering all over her
clothes. She was drenched by now. At least if Simone wet her pants in fright
nobody would notice.

"Terry,
dude!" Cody said, turning toward the tour guide. "How do those
pterodactyls get so big eating little chickens?"

"That
was a pteranodon, mate," said the tour guide. "Similar to a dactyl
but bigger and meaner. That girl was just snacking. When she gets really
hungry, she'll go after larger prey."

"Whoa!"
said Cody. "You think she could eat a human? That would be gnarly."

Terry
nodded. "We're near Collini Cliffs. Also known as the Kingdom of
Pterosaurs. You can find lots of human bones beneath those cliffs."

Simone
gulped, wishing the boys would change the topic.

"There
she comes again!" Cody said.

Simone
looked up and winced. The pteranodon circled the sun, then swooped.

It
all happened so fast Simone could barely react.

The
beast reached out her talons, gripped Simone by the shoulders, and lifted her
into the air.

"Crikey,
she's taking her back to her nest!" Terry cried.

Simone
screamed, kicking in midair. Her feet grazed Rosetta's howdah. The pteranodon
beat her wings, carrying Simone higher. Rosetta reared, thrusting her horns up.
Simone reached out, tried to grab the horns and cling on. Her fingertips just
brushed one horn … and then the pteranodon gained altitude.

The
ground dropped below her. Rosetta, an animal the size of a woolly mammoth,
shrank and shrank. Cody was screaming something, but Simone couldn't hear him
over the wind. The pteranodon held her in an iron grip, carrying her into the
distance.

* * * * *

As
the pteronodon carried her through the sky, something strange happened to
Simone.

(As
if being carried by a flying jippi-sized reptile weren't strange enough.)

She
stopped panicking.

Oh,
her heart still galloped. And her head still spun. But her mind was
perfectly clear. A calmness like a still pond filled her. It was the same
calmness she had felt during the Slum Wars on Earth, interviewing cannibal
warlords as bullets flew overhead. The same calmness she had felt that day long
ago on Cloventia, the worst day of her life—yes, she had been calm then too,
and the grief only hit her later. It was the calmness they said pilots got as
their planes went crashing down. The calmness those with the worst stage fright
felt once they actually started speaking to the crowd. It was a sort of terror
beyond panic. As if fear simply gave up, threw up its hands in resignation, and
walked away in disgust, allowing the rational mind to take the wheel.

Simone
was in mortal danger. She had no time for hysteria. She must act.

Words
Elize had told her came back to her. "So long as you can take another
breath, there is hope."

Her
twin had not taken another breath that day. But Simone took a deep breath now.
She was still alive. She must survive.

The
pteronodon could have gulped her down by now. Her beak was certainly large
enough. But instead, the reptile was carrying her toward a distant cliff.

Terry's
words echoed in her ears. "Crikey, she's taking her back to her
nest!"

All
right now, Simone told herself. Just hang on a
little longer. The pteronodon will drop me into the nest. And then I run.

The
panic again. It was tickling her. The anticipation of horror to come.

She
took deep breaths. So long as she could take another breath, there was hope.
She took another breath. And another. Her panic was still there but kept under
control. Like putting a lid over a bubbling pot.

They
flew closer to the cliff. And a mighty cliff it was. The sheer wall of stone
soared from a ginkgo forest. Those trees were taller than sauropods, but beside
this cliff, they looked like mere grass. A waterfall cascaded into a misty
lake. High above, topping the cliff, cycads soaked up Nyx's warm rays. At least
whatever sunlight made it through the clouds of leather wings. For here was the
kingdom of the pterosaurs.

Thousands
of the flying reptiles were here. Maybe millions.

They
came in every size. Some were small pterodactyls and dimorphodons, not much
larger than hawks or eagles. Others were the king-sized Quetzalcoatlus
northropi, known as Q-pis among the locals. Here was a flying terror who
stood taller than a giraffe, and its wingspan rivaled some planes. Large and
small, they flew here, cawing, feeding, mating, fighting.

The
pterosaurs had built a veritable city of nests, using twigs, rocks, mud, and
the bones of their victims. Like in every city, some neighborhoods were nicer
than others. The smaller, weaker pterosaurs nested below the cliff on the
beach. The slums. The larger, tougher pterosaurs lived on the cliff itself,
nesting in alcoves or on stone outcrops. The city center. The mightiest
monsters lived atop the cliff, lords ruling from on high. The luxury district.

Their
kingdom was not peaceful. They were a surly lot, the pterosaurs. Like humans
crammed together into a small space, they didn't seem to get along. A few
pteronodons were fighting over a carcass—it looked like a mutilated crocodile.
Every once in a while, a pterodactylus dived toward a lake below, then rose
with a beak full of fish, only for other dactyls to mob it, trying to grab the
meal for themselves. Two pterosaurs with colorful horns were fighting on a
stone outcrop, snapping their beaks and clanging their horns together. Perhaps
males battling over a female?

A
shadow fell. A gargantuan Q-pi was gliding above Simone. In its clawed feet,
the giant held a juvenile sauropod. The little herbivore must have just
hatched. He was no larger than a beagle, and fragments of shell still clung to
his head. The sauropodlet mewled pathetically for his mother, long neck swaying
from side to side.

Before
the Q-pi could even sit down to eat, an impudent hatzegopteryx shot up. Simone
recognized the species from her field guide. The flying beast was enormous—as
large as a dragon from old legends. With a screech, the hungry hatzegopteryx
snatched the wriggling sauropod from the Q-pi, then fled with its stolen meal.
Soon the sky echoed with angry shrieks. The two flying reptiles clashed in
aerial battle.

That's
all Simone was here. Lunch. Just like the fish, the mutilated croc, and the
sauropodlet. And sooner or later, a beak would close around her.

Soon
enough, a hungry pterosaur noticed Simone. She supposed her fluttering red hair
was hard to miss. The reptile came flying toward her, beak open in challenge,
revealing rows of teeth. Simone wasn't sure what kind of pterosaur it was. But
it was big. Just its beak was longer than her entire body. The terrible reptile
flew closer, closer, eyes bugging out, beak opening wide to reveal its waiting
gullet.

Simone
let out an award-worthy scream. Call the Cloventian Film Academy. Give Simone
LaRue the trophy!

The
great beak snapped shut. Simone curled her legs in. The beak missed her by inches.

The
pteronodon who held Simone let out an enraged screech. The big female was not
going to give up her meal. She wheeled in the sky and snapped her teeth at the
would-be thief.

The
two ravenous reptiles snapped at each other. Beaks lashed. Talons scratched.
Huge leathern wings whooshed through the air, buffering the pteronodon. Wind
blasted Simone.

A
screech pierced the sky. The pteronodon raised her claws in defense … releasing
Simone.

She
fell.

She
tumbled down, screaming. The pterosaurs still battled above. They didn't even
seem to notice they had lost their snack. The cliff raced alongside Simone. Any
second now, the ground would—

A
pterosaur shot up from the cliff.

Talons
grabbed her.

A
beak the size of a canoe let out a deafening cry. Simone screamed just as
loudly.

She
recognized this pterosaur species. She had read about them in the field guide.

Tupandactylus
imperator. They were hard to forget. Imperators
were among the most colorful animals on Mintari.

Millions
of years ago, back on old Earth, they lived in what would later be known as
Brazil. And they fully embraced the carnival spirit. This imperator was a
female, judging by her colors. She had a blue face, orange neck, and purple
eyes. Her wings were the color of sunset. But her source of pride was the
semicircular crest that rose atop her head like a sail. It was bright red with
golden stripes. This creature liked to show off.

Great.
As if flying ginger-eating reptiles weren't enough, this one also looked like a
clown. Simone's two worst nightmares rolled into one.

The
gaudy reptile carried her toward the cliff, whacking aside rivals with her
wings. Mean claws tipped those wings, ripping into the flesh of any pterosaur
that thought to steal the clown's meal. The wannabe food snatchers fell back,
wings lacerated.

The
imperator flew higher, victorious, toward her perch atop the cliff. Prime real
estate. The colorful pterosaur flapped toward an elaborate nest built of bones
and straw. Rib cages formed crude walls. A few of the bones buzzed with flies;
there was still some meat on them.

As
soon as I'm in the nest, I run for it,
Simone told herself. She would head to the trees and hide among the branches.

The
imperator soared, spun once in the sky, then began descending toward the nest.

Hungry
screeches rose from below.

Simone
looked down.

Baby
imperators filled the nest. They were the size of pit bulls. The creatures
opened their beaks wide, demanding food.

Simone
let out an earth-shattering scream.

The
mother imperator opened her claws. Simone tumbled toward the nest of hungry
hatchlings.

* * * * *

Long
ago, after the great tragedy of her youth, Simone suffered nightmares. Every
night. For years.

In
most of the nightmares, she replayed the terrible events of that tragic day.
She woke up crying, still holding the dying Elize in her arms. Only to discover
that her arms were empty. That her twin sister was gone.

But
in some dreams, there was no blood. No snapping teeth. No screams. In those
dreams, Simone was simply falling. Tumbling down and down into an abyss,
plunging toward an unseen danger in the dark. She would always crash down onto
a bed, wake up, and scream.

Falling
through the sky today reminded Simone of those dreams. But this time there was
no bed to catch her fall. Only the snapping beaks of baby pterosaurs. One
hatchling shoved back its siblings and rose high, gullet open wide for food.

As
she tumbled, Simone kicked wildly. One of her boots flew off her foot. It fell
into the baby pterosaur's mouth.

At
once, perhaps an act of instinct, the hatchling snapped its beak shut.

A
second later, Simone crashed onto the animal, then tumbled off into the nest.

It
was true. Hiking boots could save your life in the wilderness.

But
it was too early to celebrate. Baby imperators surrounded her. The big one spat
out her shoe. They all crept closer, snapping their beaks. They were smaller
than Simone, but not by much. And those talons and beaks looked sharp enough to
rip her apart. Their mother loomed above the nest, as large as a giraffe and infinitely
more terrifying. With beady eyes, she watched her hatchlings learn to hunt.

Simone
grabbed a bone from the nest. She swung it through the air like a club.

"Stay
back!" she cried.

Then
she noticed what kind of bone she held. A femur. A human femur.

Human
skulls lay at her feet.

Oh
God. Oh God. She was panicking. The nest was spinning. Her vision blurred.

A
hatchling leaped at her. Simone screamed and swung the bone with all her might.
The femur slammed into the hatchling's head, knocking the beast aside.

"That's
right!" Simone shouted. "That's right, you little buggers! Stay back!
Or I'll club you all."

She
swung the bone madly. She walloped another imperator on the head, only for the
femur to snap in two.

Something
leaped at her from behind.

Simone
crashed down, landing face-first in the nest's straw bedding. Something heavy
pinned her down. A screech filled her ears. Wings beat against her. A
hatchling! A hatchling had sneaked up on her.

Pain
blazed across her back. The young imperator was pecking at her.

Simone
grabbed a human skull and swung it over her shoulder. The skull thumped against
the hatchling. Teeth flew through the air. The little monster released her,
squawking in pain, and Simone leaped to her feet.

Her
knees wobbled. She took a few stumbling steps, tripped over something, and fell
down again. Her tailbone throbbed. She scampered backward, wriggling on her
bottom, until her back hit a barrier. She had reached the rib cage that
surrounded the nest. A rib cage indeed—a cage she was trapped in.

The
hatchlings tottered toward her, their talons clumsy. A few still had eggshells
clinging to their fuzzy bodies. They could not yet fly and barely walk. But
they could feed. They were very good at that.

Simone
sat with her back to the rib cage, weaponless. The hatchlings opened their
beaks wide, baring rows of razor-like teeth.

That's
when Simone noticed what she had tripped over.

An
egg.

An
unhatched egg.

That's
my ticket out of here, she realized.

She
leaped toward it.

A
beak pecked her shoulder, drawing blood. A claw slashed her arm. But she
managed to reach the egg, grab it, and lift it overhead.

"Stand
back!" she shouted. "Back or I crush the egg!"

Brilliant,
she told herself. As if they speak Nyxian.

But
perhaps the imperators understood her tone, if not her words. The mother, who
was still looking down upon the nest, let out a terrible cry. The hatchlings
froze and retreated.

"That's
right, stay back!" Simone said, holding the egg overhead. She looked up at
the mother. "You too, cheesecake, or I'll turn your baby into an
omelet!"

Cheesecake,
huh? she thought. I'm already dressed like a
Mintarian, and now I'm talking like one. I just need to be eaten by a dinosaur
to achieve the full trifecta. Not today, Mintari. Not today.

She
walked sideways, gripping her oval hostage, until she found an opening in the
cage of bones. Egg held overhead, she stepped out of the nest.

The
mother imperator leaned down, hissing. God, she was huge. Definitely big enough
to gulp down a redhead.

"Back!"
Simone cried. "Back or I'll drop your egg!"

She
held the egg menacingly over the cliff. The lake churned far below.

The
mother imperator let out a deafening shriek, blowing Simone's hair back and
nearly sending her tumbling down to her death.

"Now
I'm going to slowly walk toward those trees," Simone said. "Once I'm
far enough, I'll put the egg down and—"

Wings
beat.

A
screech tore the air.

A
pteranodon soared from a nest below, grabbed the egg right from Simone's hands,
and flew off with the tasty treat.

The
colorful imperator completely forgot about Simone. She beat her wings, racing
after the fleeing egg-napper.

Simone
ran.

She
had only one boot on. She was bleeding from hatchling pecks. But she ran faster
than she had ever run in her life. Maybe faster than anyone had ever run. Add
an Olympic medal to her best scream award.

The
pterosaurs battled above—one a mother protecting her egg, the other a hungry
opportunist. They clawed and bit and beat their wings. Simone ran under the
dueling giants and headed toward the cover of the trees.

Finally—after
what seemed an endless marathon, but was probably just a quick dash—Simone
reached the grove of cycads. She crashed to her knees among the trees, shielded
by their canopy of fronds.

For
long moments, she breathed heavily, waiting for her heart to stop pounding.

I'm
alive. I'm actually alive. Miracle of miracles.

A
hiss sounded ahead.

Simone
froze.

Slowly
she looked up. A little eoraptor stared at her, mouth opening to revealing tiny
but sharp teeth.

"Oh,
go to hell!" she shouted, pulled off her second boot, and hurled it at the
chicken-sized theropod.

The
diminutive dinosaur fled. Meanwhile, the pterosaur cries faded. Simone was
safe.

And
then the tears came. She trembled with trauma and relief. She was alive. She
could breathe. She could take another breath and another and another—all those
breaths denied to Elize. To her sweet twin who had died in her arms.

"I
should have saved you," Simone whispered. "If only I were braver. I'm
sorry, Elize. I'm sorry."

Footsteps
shook the grove.

A
rumble sounded ahead.

Something
was charging toward her—something much larger than a eoraptor.

Simone
rose to her feet. Her tears stopped flowing at once. She grabbed a rock and
raised it, prepared to fight if she must. It seemed you never did get much of a
break on Mintari.

Rosetta
burst out from the trees, halted, and reared like a horse. Her bony frill
flashed with brilliant blue and purple patterns. When the chasmosaurus brought
her front feet down again, she shook the grove. Cycad fronds fell and a trunk
cracked.

California
Cody leaped off the animal's back. It was a long way down, but the
shaggy-haired cameraman managed to land on his feet. He raced toward Simone and
pulled her into his arms.

"Dude!
Dude, you're alive. Thank God. I'm here, dude. I'm here to save you."

"Um,
thanks, Cody. I appreciate it."

He
stepped back, grinning. "Oh, by the way. Being snatched up by the
pterosaur? Totally. Gnarly. I got most of it on camera."

Triassic
Terry leaned out the howdah and grinned. "So, cheesecake, you wanna ride
on Rosetta from now on?"

They
headed east again, slowly making their way through the forest. Terry sat atop
Rosetta's head, leaning against the dinosaur's colorful frill. Simone sat
inside the howdah, huddling against Cody. In the distance, the forests swept
into a misty valley, and beyond rose the silver mountain where a legend was
said to live.

* * * * *

"Welcome
to Marshwood Forest!" Triassic Terry gestured around him theatrically.
"Named after Othniel Charles Marsh, one of history's greatest
paleontologists. Over a thousand years ago, back on Earth, Marsh discovered the
skeleton of a stegosaurus. Today, in these very woods that bear his name, the
stegosaurus lives again."

Simone
peered out the howdah, looking around the forest. She shivered. "I hope we
don't see one."

Riding
on Rosetta's head, Terry grinned. "Aww, they're harmless, cheesecake. It's
the ceratosaurs you want to worry about. They live around these parts too. They
eat stegosaurs."

"D-do
they eat humans?" she asked.

Terry
nodded. "Oh, they love any meat, especially if—"

"Dude,
chill!" Cody said to the guide. "You're bumming her out. And me too."
He patted Simone's shoulder. "You're safe, dudette. Don't worry. No
dinosaur will get close to you. Not with me here."

"We're
riding a dinosaur right now."

Cody
tilted his head. "Dude, you're right. I forgot. Okay. No dinosaur other
than Rosetta will get close."

Simone
shuddered. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw the terrible hatchlings again,
snapping their beaks at her. "I hope we're almost at Mudge Mountain."
She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Cody, I'm not sure how good a guide
Terry is. He didn't seem bothered when that pterosaur grabbed me."

"Terry?"
Cody whispered back. "He seems pretty harmless. Tactless, yes, but
harmless."

"Maybe
you're right," Simone said. "He just … doesn't seem to care whether I
live or die."

"I
care," Cody said. "You know that, dude, right?"

Simone
smiled and hugged him. "I know, dude. You've always cared. We've been
through a lot together, haven't we?"

"Totally!
We've had some gnarly adventures. But nothing like this! The way you fought off
those dinosaurs? That was bitchin'! I wish I'd had a camera in that nest."

"Cody,
next time a dinosaur kidnaps me, don't film it. Attack it."

"Oh.
Right." He nodded. "Totally."

Simone
hoped she'd reach Jurassic Joe soon. Between her cowardice, Terry's
nonchalance, and Cody's ditziness, she'd feel much safer around a seasoned
Ranger. It would be a miracle if they survived that far.

"Cody,
do you still have that map?"

He
nodded. "Totally do, dude. Let's see where we are."

The
cameraman had picked up the map outside the Tar Pit. Locals were selling them
for a handful of clovers. He unfolded it across his lap. The map was clearly
drawn for tourists, and mostly for the kiddos. Cartoon dinosaurs roared on the
margins. The volcanoes, trees, and canyons were all equally cartoonish. The
volcano even had an angry face.

Simone
tapped the map. "Here is Dinovia City, where we started. Here is Pterosaur
Kingdom." She shuddered. "Now we're here. Past the cliffs. In
Marshwood Forest."

Cody
nodded, studying the map. "Once we're past the forest, we just need to
cross Hell Valley. Then we're at Mudge Mountain. Where Jurassic Joe lives.
Dude, we're almost there!"

"Just
need to cross … Hell Valley." She gulped. "Assuming we even make it
out of Marshwood alive. What was that predator Terry said lives here?"

The
tour guide's voice came from outside the howdah. "Ceratosaurus,
cheesecake! Nasty bugger. Huge teeth. Designed for carving through flesh. I
once saw a pack take down a sauropod. They bit off his head."

"Whoa!"
Cody's eyes widened. "That's gnarly! Can they bite off Rosetta's head too?
Even with her horns?"

Simone
leaned out the howdah. "Stop eavesdropping!" she said to the guide.
"Both of you be quiet."

Thankfully,
nothing had attacked them in Marshwood so far. So far. Riding a living tank
with giant horns probably helped deter predators. Maybe, just maybe, Simone was
safe. At the end of the day, though she hated to admit it, hiring Terry might
have been a good idea.

She
leaned back in her seat, hugged herself, and closed her eyes.

The
hatchlings snapped their beaks at her. She could see their bloodshot eyes, hear
their terrible caws …

Stop
it.

Simone
forced her thoughts away. She brought to mind her twin. She thought of Elize's
cascading red hair, her laughing blue eyes, her infectious smile.

I
miss you, Simone thought. You were my other
half. I'm half a woman now. I'm lost without you.

In
her mind, she imagined that she could hear Elize's voice. I'm still here.
I'm with you. I'm watching over you. I'm here.

Simone
didn't know if she believed in an afterlife. But whenever she thought of Elize,
whenever she imagined her twin here, she felt soothed. The grief rose too, yes,
and she missed her sister so badly she ached. But she also felt a loving warmth
spread over her. Perhaps that was Elize's love, shining from a world beyond
like sunlight through clouds. Perhaps Simone only imagined it. Whatever the
case, she thought about Elize every day, keeping her alive in her memory.

When
Simone opened her eyes again, Nyx was setting. Beams of red sunlight cascaded
through the forest. Coos and caws sounded in the shadows. Ferns rustled.
Somewhere in the distance, yellow eyes shone, then a creature hooted and
vanished among the trees. Simone clutched Cody's arm.

She
stuck her head out the howdah. "Terry! I thought we'd reach Mudge Mountain
by nightfall. The map says it's just a day's journey."

Sitting
on Rosetta's head, the tanned tour guide looked over his shoulder. "Sorry,
cheesecake. They mean by jippi. My dear Rosetta takes her time." He patted
the dinosaur's lumpy head. "Takes my baby girl two or three days to reach
the mountains."

"Two
or three days!" Simone blurted out.

Terry
shrugged. "Slow and steady wins the race. Jippis go fast. Jippis get
knocked over easily. Rosetta is slow but steady."

Simone
sighed. She had barely survived her first day in the wilderness. Could she
truly survive two more? She looked out the howdah at the rustling ferns and
moving shadows. The sun was setting fast.

"Are
there any way stations along the way? Maybe a tavern or nice hotel?" She smiled
uneasily, daring to hope.

"Sorry,
cheesecake, but this is dino country. We're spending the night in the great
outdoors."

Simone
looked at the rustling ferns and lumbering shadows. "O-out here?"

Even
in the darkness, Terry's smile was bright. "Don't worry! I brought
blankets."

* * * * *

They
set camp among the trees. Simone didn't like the idea of sleeping in the woods.
A predator could be lurking behind every tree and boulder. Then again, the next
location on the map was called Hell Valley. So maybe Marshwood wasn't so bad
after all.

She
missed the slums of Earth. Sure, they were swarming with cannibalistic warlords
and deranged cyborgs. But at least there were no creatures who could decapitate
a sauropod.

Triassic
Tours came with complimentary dinner, which Rosetta had carried in her
saddlebags. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As Simone ate, the boys built a
campfire. They had nothing to roast, and the night was hot, but the fire would
deter predators, Terry explained. Once she heard that, Simone put aside her
sandwich and helped them stack firewood.

"Anyone
for scary campfire stories?" Terry asked once they were seated around a
crackling fire.

"No,
thanks," Simone said … just as Cody blurted out, "Totally!"

Apparently
Cody was louder, since Terry launched into full theatrics. He even placed a
flashlight under his chin for effect.

"You
want a scary tale, do you?" he intoned dramatically.

"Nope,"
said Simone.

"Well,
I'll tell you a tale!" Terry said. He probably rattled off the same show
for anyone foolish enough to hire Triassic Tours. "A tale of the most
dreaded dinosaur on Mintari. Some would say the most dreaded dinosaur who ever
lived. King Ivan! The devourer!"

Cody
whimpered and clung to Simone.

"Oh
for crying out loud!" Simone said.

Terry
leaned forward menacingly. The flashlight painted his face red. "You've
all heard of Tyrannosaurus rex. The most brutal killer in history. But Ivan is
no regular rex. He's bigger. Faster. Smarter. As smart as men. His scales are
black as night, his eyes as red as the blood of his victims. They say he's a
mutant."

"A
mutant!" said Cody. "Whoa! Gnarly, dude! Can he shoot lasers
from his mouth?"

Simone
rolled her eyes. "Oh for the love of—"

"He
doesn't need lasers," said Terry. "Ivan doesn't like to kill from
afar. He likes to get close to you. Maybe in a dark forest like this one."
He looked around theatrically, then leaned dangerously close to the fire.
"And when you least expect it, he leaps out. He's as big as a whale, but
he moves as silently as a shadow. You never see him coming. Before you know it,
his mighty jaws close around you. If you're lucky, he'll swallow you whole. If
you're unlucky, well … those teeth of his. Terrible teeth. Teeth longer than my
arm. But they're dull, you see. They're not sharp teeth. They're not designed
for ripping flesh."

"Phew."
Cody wiped his brow.

"They're
designed for crushing bone," Terry said. "When teeth are thick and
dull like his, they crush bones into powder. It hurts much more that way. Takes
you longer to die. Just how Ivan likes it. You see, Ivan doesn't just hunt to
eat. No. He hunts for pleasure. He enjoys inflicting pain. He enjoys the
screams of his victims."

Cody's
bottom lip trembled. He whimpered, grabbed Simone, and huddled against her.

"Oh
for crying out loud, Cody!" Simone said. "It's just a tall tale.
There're no such things as mutant T-rexes with superintelligence. Even I know
that much."

Terry
raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you should ask Jurassic Joe about it. He's met
Ivan before."

"Whoa,
and he survived?" Cody said. "Jurassic Joe is one certified tough
dude."

"He
survived, yes," said Terry. "But not his wife. Ivan devoured her. Joe
saw it happen. They say his wife was pregnant at the time. That it drove Joe
mad. That he fled into the wilderness, taking only his grief."

"Oh,
how horrible!" Simone blurted out. "Is this part real? Not just a
tall tale?"

"Oh,
Ivan is real all right. Never seen him myself. But I've seen the tooth …"
The tour guide paused for effect.

"The
tooth?" Cody whispered.

Terry
nodded. "Jurassic Joe carries one of Ivan's dreadful teeth. He wields it
as a sword. He used that very tooth, plucked from the mouth of the beast, to
stab Ivan across the snout! Ivan still carries the scar. He never forgot who
scarred him. He still wants revenge."

"Whoa!"
Cody whispered, eyes so wide they nearly popped out.

"One
day, they say, Joe and Ivan will meet again. They will fight an epic battle
atop the highest mountain on Mintari. If Jurassic Joe wins, he will usher in an
era of peace, and carnivores and herbivores will live side by side. Yet if Ivan
wins … all the land will fall under his dark domain, and evil will consume
Mintari."

Cody
gasped. "Whoa! Like, do you mean evil will literally eat the
planet, or do you mean consume like metaphorically?"

Simone
rolled her eyes. "I'm going to bed."

Terry
switched off his flashlight. "Both of you should get some beauty sleep.
I'll take the first watch. We'll take shifts. I'll wake you up for yours."

"We
need to watch?" Cody said.

The
tour guide nodded. "For dinosaurs."

Cody
whimpered and hugged himself. "Ivan!"

"Fine,
wake me when it's my turn," Simone said.

She
crawled into her sleeping bag. It was the same sleeping bag she had used on
Earth, sleeping in the trenches of the Slum Wars. Simone had always prided
herself on being able to sleep anywhere. A lumpy hotel bed, a cramped starship
seat, or even a war zone—plonk her down and she could doze off. Ah yes,
sleeping—her greatest talent. Yet tonight sleep eluded her. She tossed and
turned, and it seemed that no matter what she did, there was always some root
or pebble beneath her.

Cody
was soon snoring. Terry sat nearby on his dinosaur, smoking a pipe. Simone lay
in sleepless misery. No, it wasn't the pebbles or roots. It was the hatchlings.
Their terrible beaks still clattered in her mind. And every time a pebble
jabbed her, she imagined it was their bite.

Why
was she so afraid? She had survived the Slum Wars! She had walked across the
killing fields of Mars! She was a foreign correspondent. She was not some pampered
socialite who had never left the glittering skyscrapers of Cloventia. Why was
this planet getting to her?

But
she knew why. Of course she knew why. Because of what happened to Elize.
Because of … the incident.

That's
what the police had called it. The incident. Such a sterile word. Not a
tragedy that shattered a family, that tore Simone apart, that took her twin
from her. An incident. Just another report. Another statistic. One sister dead.
The other left with crippling zoophobia. No big deal. Move on to the next
incident. And soon everyone forgot.

But
not me, Simone thought. I'll never forget you,
Elize.

Her
twin smiled in her mind. Elize stood in a meadow, radiant in the sunlight. Her
red hair billowed in the wind, and her eyes gleamed. Her freckles were a field
of stars. And lying here in the dark forest, Simone no longer felt so alone.

She
fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, and even the hatchlings did not torment her.

When
she finally woke up, it was dawn.

"Huh?"
Simone blinked, yawned, and rubbed her eyes. "Terry, you never woke me to
watch?"

She
looked around, blinking until her eyes came back into focus.

"Terry?"

Cody
was sleeping beside her, holding a teddy bear.

Triassic
Terry and his dinosaur were gone.

CHAPTER SIX

The Butchers of the Jurassic

Simone and Cody
stood in the sunrise, looking at the camp.

"He
took everything," Simone said. "Our luggage. Our cameras. Our money.
Everything. All gone."

Cody's
eyes widened. "Did Ivan do this? Dude, did Ivan eat Terry and Rosetta and
our cameras?"

Simone
slapped him on the head. "No, Cody! Terry did it!"

He
tilted his head. "Terry ate his dinosaur?"

"Terry
rode off on his dinosaur. With our stuff. Leaving us to die."

"Ah."
Cody grinned and nodded. "That makes much more sense. I was wondering why
Ivan would eat cameras." He frowned. "Whoa. I think Terry robbed us,
dude!"

"Of
course he robbed us!" Simone snapped. "Cody, try to keep up with—"
She sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you. It's my fault.
I'm the one who hired him. You'd think that after interviewing cannibal
warlords, I'd be a little less trusting of humans, but there you go. Simone LaRue,
as gullible as always."

"At
least you didn't think Ivan ate the cameras," Cody said.

She
looked at him, arms hanging limply at her sides. "Cody, if I weren't so
terrified, I'd laugh."

"Don't
worry, dude. We'll find our way back to Dinovia. So long as I have my trusty
map, I—" He looked around. "Dude! He even stole my map! This is a
total bummer."

Simone
closed her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? The barkeep had warned her
against hucksters. And Simone LaRue, sophisticated genius that she was, hired
the first tour guide she ran across at the bar.

She
checked her backpack. Terry had rummaged through it, taking her money. He had
left the Mintari Field Guide. And thankfully, the conman had missed her
SmartSphere. She had stuffed the round computer into a sock to keep it dry.
Terry had not found it. Not that it was worth much anyway. Lots of people
bought expensive SmartSpheres with all the bells and whistles. Simone, who was
still paying off her journalism school loan, owned only the most basic
SmartSphere. The peach-sized computer included a basic camera, a calculator, a
few games, and that was about it. She couldn't even use it to call for help.

They
were stranded.

"We'll
go back to Dinovia," Cody said. "I'll find Terry and pound him! How
dare he steal my map?"

"He
left us here to die," Simone said.

"That
too."

"Without
Rosetta's protection, we're as good as dead." Simone sighed. "He gets
the expensive cameras. We get eaten. The perfect crime."

"Yeah,
well, he forgot one thing," Cody said.

Simone
looked at him.

Cody
stood, chin raised, armed crossed.

"And
that is …?" Simone probed.

"You,
of course! You're Simone LaRue, star of LaRue's News. You're famous.
You're tough. You survived being kidnapped by a pterosaur! Which was totally
gnarly. You're the most badass babe I know, and if anyone can get us back to
Dinovia alive, it's you."

Simone
smiled thinly. "You're not so bad yourself, buddy." She placed a hand
on his chest and looked into his eyes. "But we're not going back to
Dinovia City. We still have a story to cover. We're going onward. Eastward. To
find Jurassic Joe."

"Alone?"
Cody gulped. "With a mutant T-rex out there?"

"Not
alone. We have each other. If you'll go with me."

The
cameraman snapped to attention and saluted. "Always. To hell and
back."

"Good.
Because next stop is Hell Valley." She pointed. "East is that way.
Let's keep going."

* * * * *

They
walked through the forest. The ferns and trees rustled at their sides. Simone
was barefoot, having donated her boots to the pterosaurs. Soon her feet were
aching, but she pressed on.

There
was no path. No landmarks. And their compass had been in their stolen luggage.
But the sun rose in the east on Mintari—the opposite of Cloventia. Just like on
good old Earth. They simply must follow the light.

That
and survive the dinosaurs.

But
Simone figured there were dinosaurs ahead and dinosaurs behind. She might as
well go forward.

For
the first mile, she kept jumping at every rustle of leaves. But they only
encountered small animals. Furry cynodonts rustled among the bushes—little
fluff balls, grabbed from the Late Permian, who would later evolve into
mammals. Dragonflies the size of seagulls glided over rivers. Thankfully, the
largest dinosaur they saw was about the size of a turkey. According to the
field guide, it was a velociraptor, a harmless little thing. The feathered
theropod ignored them. It was busy chasing a dragonfly.

Gradually
Simone relaxed. Her thoughts strayed to Terry's campfire tale. Surely most of
it was hyperbole. But was there a grain of truth there? Had Jurassic Joe truly
lost his pregnant wife to a T-rex? To Ivan, a mutant T-rex?

There
were so many legends about the man. Even on Cloventia he was a mythological
figure. Hop online and the urban legends spread to the digital horizon. Maybe
Jurassic Joe was just a myth. Maybe Simone was on a wild-goose chase. But if he
was real, she would uncover the truth once and for all. She would understand
the man behind the myth.

A
grunt sounded ahead.

Simone
looked up and froze.

A
dinosaur. And not just a little feathered thing. A big one.

Her
heart seemed to stop in her chest.

"Darwin's
beard," she whispered.

The
dinosaur was the size of a jippi. Rows of dorsal plates, each the size of a
knight's shield, rose along its back. The head was surprisingly small for an
animal so large. But the tail made up for it. That thick, long tail ended with
four mean spikes. They looked like they could give Rosetta's horns a run for
their money.

Simone
didn't need her field guide to recognize this dinosaur. Every child on Cloventia
knew it. Here was the iconic stegosaurus. Simone even remembered what the spiky
weapon on its tail was called. A thagomizer. Named after the late Thag Simmons.
And this dinosaur's thagomizer looked powerful enough to shatter a brick wall.

The
stegosaurus was designed to stab, slash, lacerate, and poke. It was basically a
big spiky bundle of back off. But despite its fearsome appearance, the
dinosaur remained calm. It was peacefully eating some ferns. It didn't bother
chewing. Stegosaurus had no grinding teeth like other herbivores. The dinosaur
would place each fern in its mouth, then pull with its teeth, stripping off
delicate leaves, and gulp them down. Despite the animal's impressive size, its
neck was short, its head small. The leaves of the trees were unreachable. This
formidable dinosaur had grown so large by grazing on humble ferns and berries.

Of
course, large was a relative term here on Mintari. This stegosaurus
would not fit into Simone's apartment back home. But one of the patagotitans—those
gargantuan sauropods Simone had seen from the astrolite—could step on a
stegosaurus. Granted, it would probably feel like stepping on a Lego.

Simone
and Cody stood among the trees, gazing at the spiky dinosaur.

"Whoa,"
Cody whispered. "Dude, can I borrow your SmartSphere? I want to film
this."

Simone's
knees trembled, and her heart raced. But amazingly, she wasn't panicking. Only
days ago, a mouse would have made her scream. Now she stood gazing upon a
living, breathing dinosaur, and she was not fleeing in terror.

She
handed Cody her SmartSphere. The camera was basic. Nothing like the expensive
cameras Terry had stolen. But Cody started filming nonetheless. If anyone could
get a good video from a cheap old SmartSphere, it was California Cody. The
stegosaurus went about its business, munching on ferns and fruits, ignoring the
two humans.

"This
one isn't so bad," Simone said. "Not that I'd want that thagomizer
swinging anywhere near me."

The
stegosaurus grunted and took a few steps closer. But it wasn't attacking. It
was simply moving to a fresh batch of ferns. The dinosaur didn't even spare the
two humans a glance. Whimpers came behind the feasting herbivore, and Simone's
heart melted.

"Look,
Cody! Babies."

Three
stegosaurus hatchlings followed their mother. They were no larger than ponies.
The stegotots moved under their mother's tail for protection, found a patch of
ferns, and tucked in.

Simone
took a step closer. A strange desire filled her to connect with this gentle
mother. Maybe even to pat her.

Go
on, Elize told her, smiling in her mind. Her
sister's warmth filled Simone. Giving her permission to let go. To be brave.
Yet still Simone hesitated. This was after all an animal. Gentle, beautiful,
yes, but still an animal.

Forget
about the so-called incident, Elize said. Go pat
this magnificent creature.

Simone
stepped closer, hand held out. The stegosaurus kept eating, allowing her to
approach. Simone reached out her hand and—

A
deep rumble sounded in the forest.

Simone
scampered back.

The
stegosaurus raised her head and emitted a low bellow. Her babies mewled.

Footsteps
thudded in the distance. The trees swayed and leaves showered down. One trunk
snapped and the ginkgo tree crashed down.

It
burst out from the trees, howling for blood.

A
predator.

* * * * *

The
beast was enormous. As large as the stegosaurus, maybe larger. A big male, by
the looks of him. He ran on two powerful legs with three clawed toes. His arms
were short but tipped with scythe-like claws. A great horn thrust up from his
snout like a rhino, and two more horns rose atop his scaly brow. Crimson scales
covered his body, while a mane of yellow fuzz stretched along his back and
tail. The monster bared rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Simone
screamed.

She
recognized this dinosaur. She had seen it in her field guide, and Terry had
warned them that it hunted in these woods.

The
dreaded ceratosaurus.

The
horned theropod leaped toward the stegosaurus.

But
the herbivore, who had seemed so peaceful moments ago, was not so tame when
threatened. Especially not with babies to protect. With a furious cry, the stegosaurus
swung her spiky tail.

The
thagomizer lashed at the ceratosaurus. The predator leaped back, barely
dodging the spikes.

Then,
seeing an opening, the ceratosaurus lunged in attack. He was reaching for the
stegosaur's flank. But the herbivore tilted, raising her dorsal plates like
shields. The mighty predator's jaws, instead of finding meat, closed around one
of the plates. The teeth punched through the bone. The stegosaurus howled in
pain. The hungry predator bellowed, his teeth stuck in the plate. Trapped! He
had bitten into bone and now he was stuck. His claws lashed furiously, carving
through the stegosaur's flank, exposing a rib. Blood splashed the forest floor.

"No!"
Simone cried.

Cody
hushed her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a mossy log. They hid,
watching between ferns and mushrooms. The cameraman was filming everything.

The
stegosaurus was still alive. Her babies were wailing. They could not
survive without her. The mother swung her tail again.

This
time her assailant was trapped. The carnivore's teeth were still lodged into
the dorsal plate, holding him in place. The thagomizer plowed into the
ceratosaurus. Four swordlike spikes drove into the predator's flesh.

The
horned hunter bucked in agony, finally ripping out the stegosaurus's dorsal
plate. For a moment, he stumbled, head tilted back, his teeth still embedded
into the dislodged plate. Then he collapsed onto the ground.

The
spike wounds bled across his chest. He was down for the count.

Simone
breathed in relief.

But
her relief was short-lived.

Two
more ceratosaurs burst out from the trees, leaped onto the stegosaurus, and
began biting and slashing.

The
wounded mother fought hard, tail swinging. But she was losing blood. Her swings
were slowing down. She managed to slash one ceratosaurus on the leg. But while
she was doing that, the second theropod lunged, closed his mighty jaws around
her neck, and chomped down hard.

The
stegosaurus's eyes rolled back.

She
thumped down onto the forest floor. Her tongue hung out.

Her
babies mewled. They approached her, nudged her. But their mother was dead.

The
two surviving ceratosaurs did not feed upon the mother. Not yet. Her skin was
thick, her meat tough. There was a juicy appetizer to enjoy first. Licking
their lips, they stepped toward the succulent babies.

"No!"
Simone whispered, wishing there was something she could do. But she could only
hide and watch.

A
howl shook the forest.

Trees
collapsed.

A
male stegosaurus burst out from the foliage. He was larger than the predators, and
the fury of the gods burned in his eyes. He charged and swung his tail,
slashing one ceratosaurus across the flank. The dinosaur crashed down
dead, gutted like a fish. The second horned carnivore quickly lost his
appetite, turned tail, and fled.

Simone
and Cody watched from behind the log. The male stegosaurus limped toward his
mate. A gash from a ceratosaurus claw bled on his tail. Ignoring the
injury, the spiky male nudged his fallen mate with his snout. Flies were
already gathering over the female. The male nudged her a second time, then let
out a mournful cry.

The
hatchlings tottered toward their father and sheltered under his tail.

Gently,
the father uprooted some ferns. But he did not eat them. He placed the ferns
atop his fallen mate, nuzzled her, then woefully wobbled away. The stegotots
followed, walking under their father's tail. They disappeared in the brush,
leaving their dead.

Tears
filled Simone's eyes.

I've known such loss myself, she thought. Because my twin and I were prey. And Amissa was our predator. Amissa Triplehorn. And I know we'll someday meet again.

* * * * *

"We
should get going," Simone said.

Cody
looked around. "Maybe we should wait a while. Make sure those predators
are gone."

Simone
gestured at the dead dinosaurs. Flies bustled over the corpulent corpses.

"These
will attract scavengers. I want to be gone before they show up."

Cory
paled. "Do you think Ivan is a scavenger?"

She
grabbed him. "No, he only eats cameramen and gingers. Let's go."

Already
they heard rustling in the bushes. Small, feathered raptors emerged. But they
did not chase the humans. They leaped onto the meatier stegosaurus, shooed away
the flies, and tucked in. Cody and Simone hurried onward through the forest.

Mintari
was beautiful, yes, but hers was a feral beauty. The majesty of her dinosaurs
shone upon a savage kingdom of predation and bloodshed. As Simone ran through
the forest, she realized how small, how weak humans truly were. Without their
technology, without their domestication and civilization, they barely climbed
the first few rungs of the food chain. It was on Mintari that man was stripped
bare of all pretenses and ambitions, revealed for what he truly was: a naked
ape, afraid in the dark. It was in this Darwinian jungle that Jurassic Joe
lived, a man who found a way to climb the rungs, not only to survive but to
become a legend.

I
should be writing this stuff down, Simone thought. I'll
put some of this into my article. If I survive.

They
walked through the forest for hours. Simone thought they were moving eastward,
but with only the sun to guide them, it was hard to be sure. The sun always
just seemed up to her. Cody claimed he could tell east from the moss
patterns on the tree trunks. Something about how moss grew differently in the
morning sun and evening sun. To Simone, it all just looked like moss. Worry
grew in her that they were lost, that they would wander this forest until
starvation, thirst, or a hungry dinosaur killed them. The last option seemed
most likely.

Indeed,
several times they heard rumbles, grunts, and heavy footfalls, and they hid
under fallen logs or behind boulders. Once Simone even saw a ceratosaurus
prowling in the distance, and she hid among ferns, heart pounding, until the
horned predator wandered off.

Finally
the trees of Marshwood thinned out. In the afternoon, Simone and Cody stepped
onto a hilltop and beheld a grassy valley.

Cody
nodded in satisfaction. "Hell Valley. We made it. I told you, dude. I know
my way east."

Across
the valley, maybe a day's walk away, rose Mudge Mountain. Home of the legendary
wild man of Mintari.

Simone
and Cody just had to cross an entire grassy valley. With no cover of trees. No
places to hide. Two delicious humans in the open. For hours. What could go
wrong?

It's
suicide, Simone thought.

She
gulped and almost returned into the forest. Then she remembered the theropods
who hunted among the trees and the pterosaurs on the other side. There was
danger everywhere on Mintari. The only exception seemed to be Dinovia City—if
you ignored the hucksters and thieves. Maybe there was no safe place after all.
She missed her apartment. She could be relaxing in her bath now with a mai tai,
romance novel, and box of chocolates. But no, crazy Simone "Death
Wish" LaRue just had to visit a planet of dinosaurs.

"Maybe
we should stay in the forest until nightfall," Simone said. "Then
move across the valley under cover of night."

Cody
gulped. "Terry said that Ivan hunts at night."

"Ivan
probably doesn't even exist." Simone patted her cameraman. "Just a
myth."

"If
Ivan is just a myth, so is Jurassic Joe."

"Touché.
All right, Cody. I suppose predators hunt around the clock on Mintari. There's
danger ahead and behind. At night and by day. Let's make a dash for it. The
grass is tall. If we spot a predator, we'll crouch and hide."

"Maybe
we should crawl the entire way," Cody said. "In case Ivan is
awake."

"Sure,
if you want to only reach the mountains by winter." She held his hand.
"Come on, Cody. I'm the world's biggest scaredy cat. If I can do this, so
can you."

They
left the cover of trees, heading into the valley under the afternoon sun.

* * * * *

They
called this place Hell Valley. But a grassy valley this size was more like
Herbivore Heaven. As Simone and Cody walked across the grasslands, they were
far from alone. Hundreds of dinosaurs roamed around them, feasting. Simone
leafed through her dinosaur guide, and she recognized some of the species.

"Look!"
Simone pointed. For a moment, wonder replaced her fear. "Para … Parasau
…" She squinted at her guide. "Para-sau-rolo-phus! That's it. Parasaurolophus.
What magnificent animals."

The
Para … Parasaurflufa … something? Simone already forgot. She
decided to call them parasaurs. The parasaurs were herding along a
riverbank. Simone glanced down at her guide. They were a type of hadrosaur,
also known as duckbill dinosaurs. With their big bills, they plucked reeds and
horsetails. They were heavy animals, roughly the size of elephants.

Their
most striking feature, however, was not their size or hungry bills. It was the
crests that grew from their heads, curling backward like pompadours. Those
crests were as long as elephant trunks. While the dinosaurs' skin was greenish,
their crests were bright red, yellow, and blue. Their purpose soon became apparent.
A female parasaur, her crest a relatively tame yellow, approached a group of
males with larger, showier crests. She waddled right up to the male with the
biggest, most colorful crest, and they proceeded to mate.

"Cody!"
Simone laughed. "Can't you give them some privacy?"

The
cameraman crouched in the grass, aiming the SmartSphere. "Gotta capture
the majesty of nature, dude."

They
kept walking. Many other herbivores were here. Iguanodons lumbered through the
tall grass, munching away. They were heavyset, scaly dinosaurs with a seemingly
unending appetite. Their jaws were full of molars designed to chew, chew, chew.
A handful of cycads grew along a watering hole, and the iguanodons placed their
front feet on the trunks, stretched toward the fronds, and stripped them bare.

The
iguanos were massive animals—easily the size of mammoths. But they were dwarfed
by the sauropods who wandered the valley.

"Whoa!
Dude!" Cody pointed at the long-necked titans. "Those are totally
epic!"

Simone
leafed through the Mintari Field Guide. "I'm not sure what kind of
sauropod they are. I think … yes!" She tapped a page.
"Brontosaurus."

They
were truly titanic. When one lumbered by, his feet shook the earth. Even Cody,
a tall man, could walk between their legs without ducking. Their tails alone
were as long as buses. Their necks put giraffes to shame.

The
brontos were slow behemoths. A human could easily outrun them. Every step took
immense effort for an animal this big. Understandably, they didn't move much.
When a brontosaurus found a good spot, he planted his feet firmly on the
ground, lowered his head toward the vegetation, and went to town. The neck
swayed from side to side, sweeping across the grasslands. The head sucked up
grass, bushes, ferns, anything it could reach. The animals were essentially
living vacuum cleaners. Once the area was clear of vegetation, the brontosaurus
took a few slow, lumbering steps, found a new grazing spot, and proceeded to
vacuum up the vegetation there too.

"I
always thought their long necks were for reaching the treetops," Simone
said. "I was wrong. They're for grazing large areas from a standing
position. It saves them energy. A creature this large can't afford to walk too
much. The neck does most of the moving. Like an elephant's trunk." She
watched in wonder. "Look at how much they eat! Everything about them is
optimized for this one task. Eating."

"Like
me at the buffet." Cody's stomach rumbled. "Speaking of which, I'm
famished. I wish we still had Terry's sandwiches. Say what you like about that
sneaky dude, but he made a mean PB&J sandwich. Do you think Jurassic Joe
has peanut butter and jelly in his cave?"

Simone's
own stomach growled. They had not eaten all day. She wasn't quite hungry enough
yet to graze along with the herbivores, but another day or two and she'd be
down on her knees with them, munching away.

They
kept walking across the grasslands, giving the dinosaurs a wide berth. These
were herbivores, true, but they were still dangerous. The herbivores of Mintari
were no weaklings. These were no timid sheep. They wielded an array of spikes,
horns, claws, and tails that could whip, club, or lacerate an enemy. On
Mintari, herbivores were brawlers, just as deadly as carnivores. Simone and
Cody kept their distance. If a herbivore so much as looked their way, they hid
in the grass until it was safe to proceed. A territorial iguanodon could kill
them just as surely as a hungry tyrannosaur. Herbivores they might be, but
iguanodon thumbs sprouted claws as mean as any T-rex tooth.

They
didn't dally long, however. The sun was moving westward, and Simone did not
relish the idea of spending another night in the wilderness. They pushed on
hard across Hell Valley. Cody's legs were longer, but Simone was probably more
desperate and she kept up.

Finally,
covered with burrs and bug bites, they reached the foothills of Mudge Mountain.
The vegetation was thicker here, perhaps because the steep hillsides were hard
for sauropods to walk on. Plant paradise. Ferns, brushes, and conifers covered
the landscape. But farther east, the vegetation gave way to the soaring
mountainside. Far above, the mountaintop shone with snow.

The
sun dipped lower in the sky, sinking toward Marshwood Forest. The sunset
painted the sky red, gilded the mountainside, and cast long shadows.

"Are
you on that mountain, Jurassic Joe?" Simone said. "Watching us?"

Cody
sucked his teeth. "It's a long climb, dude. But I figure Jurassic Joe
would be living on the very top."

"Why
is that?" Simone said. "For all we know, he lives at the bottom of
the mountain."

Cody
shook his head. "Not with Ivan roaming around. Safest up on the snowy
peak. We can set camp tonight, and tomorrow morning, we can—"

A
chorus of grunts and rumbles sounded behind them.

Simone
turned around.

The
herbivores were fleeing.

The
crested parasaurs raced toward the distant forest. The iguanadons lumbered away
as fast as their thick legs could carry them. Only the mighty sauropods, who
stood in the grassland below the foothills, did not flee. They were too big for
running. But they reared, stamped their feet, and raised their heads high,
ready to fight.

Simone
narrowed her eyes. "What is it? Do you see anything, Cody?"

They
looked around, scanning the wilderness.

Nothing.
No predators. Only …

Then
Simone saw it. She pointed at a patch of foxtails, bushes, and ginkgos. The
vegetation was rustling. A creature was skulking. Maybe several creatures. And
they were moving closer.

"It's
Ivan!" Cody cried.

"Quiet!"
Simone whispered.

But
the cameraman's cry alerted the predators. They burst out from the brush,
rumbling for meat.

Simone
clutched Cody and let out a scream nearly as loud. She would definitely lose
her voice before this trip was over.

It
wasn't Ivan. But surely these creatures were just as horrible.

At
first glance, they looked similar to T-rexes. But they were smaller. Only a
quarter of the size, Simone estimated. Which was still bloody massive. Easily
massive enough to eat Simone. Maybe just with a few bites instead of one. Their
arms were proportionately longer than T-rex arms, and their hands sprouted
scythe-like claws. Their teeth looked like a set of steak knives. Their skin
was green and scaly, and spikes rose along their backs. Everything about these
creatures seemed designed to stab, slash, or slice.

Simone
recognized them from her book. Her heart nearly stopped.

"Allosaurus,"
she whispered. "The Butcher of the Jurassic. Run!"

* * * * *

They
turned and ran up the foothills, heading through the brush toward the soaring
mountainside.

The
allosaurs bellowed behind them, chasing them among the trees.

Simone
tripped over a root, screamed, and nearly fell. She managed to keep running.
Cody ran at her side, eyes bugging out, his shaggy hair damp with sweat. When
Simone glanced over her shoulder, the predators were closer. Darwin's beard,
those dinosaurs were fast. They bounded easily over boulders, fallen logs, and
bushes, charging toward the two humans.

Simone
focused on running. Her arms pumped. She considered climbing a tree, but the
conifers had smooth trunks. She would never make it. Hiding was no use. The
predators would simply follow her scent. Her only hope was to reach the
mountainside, climb the rocky slope, and hope allosaurs couldn't climb
mountains.

The
grumbles sounded behind her. Closer now.

Simone
leaned forward, running with all her strength. She could not die here. Not
after all this. Her side ached. Her lungs burned. But she forced herself to
keep going.

You
are Simone LaRue. You are a survivor. Run.

The
trees and ferns parted ahead.

Another
allosaurus burst out from among the brush.

The
bushes rustled at her sides. Two more allosaurs leaped out from cover.

An
ambush, Simone realized. They herded us into
an ambush.

She
skidded to a halt. Cody stopped running too, panting. Six allosaurs surrounded
them. The predators no longer needed to run. Their prey was trapped. They
closed in slowly, salivating.

We
brought you back to life! Simone wanted to shout. We
humans restored you from extinction! This is how you repay us?

She
barked a laugh, and tears sprang into her eyes. A ridiculous thought. She was
going to die now. Like Elize. Two sisters. Both killed by animals.

Cody
lifted a rock. The tall cameraman snarled. His long hair was caked with leaves
and dirt. Suddenly he seemed like some wild man of the mountains. He let out a
howl and waved the rock menacingly.

"Get
out of here!" he shouted. "I am a man! I am a predator! I'm not your
prey. Get out of here!"

He
hopped up and down, trying to make himself seem big and intimidating. Which was
no easy task when surrounded by dinosaurs.

"Cody,
no!" Simone cried.

He
turned toward her. Tears were flowing down his cheeks. "I'll hold them
off. Simone, run."

Then,
with a howl, Cody charged toward an allosaurus. He hurled his rock with all his
strength.

The
rock hit the allosaurus on the chest, then thumped onto the ground. It did the
dinosaur no harm. It was like a mouse throwing a pebble at a cat. Cody stood
before the dinosaur, holding Simone's SmartSphere. Even now, he was filming.

Moving
with lightning speed, the allosaurus lunged and closed its jaws around the
cameraman.

"Cody!"
Simone screamed.

The
predator raised its head high, clasping Cody in its mouth like a dog biting
down on a bone. The cameraman was still alive. Screaming. Kicking.

The
allosaurus crushed him between its teeth. Another allosaurus ran up and bit at
the dangling legs. A third joined the feeding frenzy. They gulped down chunks
of meat, gurgling as they feasted.

A
severed hand fell onto the ground.

It
was all that remained of California Cody.

His
hand was still holding Simone's SmartSphere. The round computer rolled to her
feet. She lifted it, numb.

With
his death, he created an opening in the circle of predators.

Blind
with tears, Simone ran.

She
ran between the conifers and ferns, heading to the mountainside. And the
allosaurus pack followed. One human had not sated them.

The
sun was almost gone now. Darkness cloaked the foothills, but they had her
scent. And she could not outrun them.

One
allosaurus leaped over a fallen conifer, landed in front of her, and hissed.
Two more flanked her. They drew in closer, closer. Their teeth gleamed in the
sunset, still red with blood.

Simone
stood still and raised her head, waiting for the end. She would die standing
tall.

I'll
be with you soon, Elize.

A
deep rumble shook the forest.

Not
the sound of another allosaurus. This cry was even deeper. A rippling bass.

The
trees shook.

The
allosaurus pack hissed and recoiled.

With
a trumpeting cry that rocked the mountain, a dinosaur burst out from the
shadows.

A
huge dinosaur. A dinosaur like a tank. Its head was bigger than a grand piano.
Great stomping feet cracked boulders and snapped logs. Horns thrust forward
like medieval pikes. The animal charged to battle.

Simone
recognized it at once. An iconic dinosaur. Perhaps the strongest dinosaur on
Mintari, rivaling even the mighty King Rex.

A
triceratops.

* * * * *

When
Simone was very young, her family had visited a museum of Earth culture. The
museum floated among the skyscrapers of Cloventia, traveling the planet so that
Cloventians everywhere could learn about their heritage. It had been five
hundred years since the first Earthling colonists arrived on Cloventia, fleeing
the barbarity of Earth. On the new world, they established a new civilization,
one built on foundations of knowledge, cooperation, and excellence. A utopia.

It
wasn't quite as successful as they had dreamed. Below the floating skyscraper,
an underworld festered in the shadows. Nor was it always peaceful. Cloventia
had fought a terrible civil war two hundred years ago, toppling the Sanhedrin
and giving rise to the reign of the Silk Emperors. But in some form, at least,
the founders' dream had come true. Cloventia was now a thriving planet. Far
more industrious, cultural, and affluent than Earth. Billions of humans lived
in privilege that Earthlings—those poor humans who remained behind—could barely
envision. Cloventia was neon and wine and science. Earth was dust and famine
and superstition.

Many
Cloventians argued that they were indigenous, that they could not possibly be
related to the cannibals, warlords, and dirty child soldiers of Earth, the ones
they saw on the news. Sometimes on LaRue's News. Cloventians must be a
breed apart. A breed of higher humans who had evolved right here. Some
begrudgingly accepted that, perhaps, Earthlings and Cloventians shared a common
ancestor. But surely they weren't the same species.

That
always made Simone roll her eyes. And they said Earth was ignorant …

The
Museum of Human History sought to enlighten Cloventians. To show them where
they came from. One day, when Simone was eight or nine, the museum floated
close to her home. She went with Elize and her parents to visit. They saw many
historic artifacts from ancient Earth. The Statue of Liberty's head filled the
lobby (the body had been lost in the biogenetic wars), and you could actually
step inside it. Unfortunately, you could not sit inside Earth's first flying
car. Too many teenagers used to make out in there, so now a steelglass cage
protected the artifact. The Voyager spacecraft was on display too, one
of the earliest objects humanity had sent into space.

One
artifact that stuck in Simone's mind was relatively unimportant. Just standing
there in the food court, abandoned between Happy Cow Shawarma, Dr. Nuggets, and
Shakshuka Sheik. A bronze sculpture of a charging bull, larger than life.
Apparently the bull had once stood outside the New York Stock Exchange. To this
day, Simone didn't know what the New York Stock Exchange was. But as a child,
the fierce statue dazzled her. The bull's head was lowered, his nostrils
flaring, his horns ready to gore. For a long time, young Simone stood before
that bull, hands on her hips, both fearing and challenging that bronze behemoth.

Today,
when Simone saw the triceratops charge, she remembered that metal bull. Once
more, she felt like that little girl in the museum, facing the majesty of a
ferocious beast.

Of
course, all of Mintari was essentially a museum. A planet-sized museum for
creatures brought back from extinction. But this triceratops was no statue. No
relic. He was alive. A big male. Bigger than that bronze statue. And he was
furious.

He
charged from the shadows, heading toward the allosaurus pack, rumbling for
battle.

For
a moment, the predators stood in place, uncertain whether to flee or fight. One
moment was all the triceratops needed. Tons of horned fury bulldozed into one
allosaurus.

The
theropod never stood a chance. The triceratops was the size of a tank. His horns
put the mightiest claymores to shame. Those dreaded horns crashed through the
allosaur's green scales. The triceratops tossed his head back, raising the
mighty predator overhead. An allosaurus weighed as much as a rhinoceros. And
the triceratops lifted the beast on his horns, then hurled it through the air
like a rag doll.

The
allosaurus, this legendary Butcher of the Jurassic, was dead before it hit the
ground. The corpse slammed down near Simone. She leaped aside, nearly crushed.

Four
allosaurs still lived. And the trike's element of surprise was gone. The
predators, working together, were a force to be reckoned with. The pack closed
ranks. The carnivores bared their teeth and moved closer, ready to attack the
mighty herbivore.

The
triceratops pawed the ground, lowered his head, and snarled. He was ready for
more.

The
horned brute charged.

The
allosaurs scattered, fleeing death by goring. One came at the triceratops from
the side, hoping to bypass the terrible horns. But the triceratops was
surprisingly nimble. His head swiveled around with remarkable speed, turning
his horns toward the attacker. The allosaurus skidded to a halt. Too slow. A
horn lashed it across the chest. Green scales flew through the night. Blood
splattered the ferns. The allosaurus yelped and fell, chest ripped open.

The
three other allosaurs lunged.

The
triceratops reared and swung his head from side to side, struggling to keep
them back. One allosaurus managed to close his teeth around the triceratops's
bony frill. The carnivore tugged the frill, perhaps hoping to rip it off. The
triceratops bellowed. The allosaurs gained heart, attacking with more fury.

A
boom shook the forest.

Simone
gasped.

A
gunshot!

That
was a gunshot!

The
allosaurus released the frill and fell back, a feathered dart in its neck.

Through
the darkness and terror, Simone had not seen it until now. But there he was. A
man. A man was riding the triceratops!

The
mighty herbivore stomped closer and knelt, lowering his enormous belly toward
the ground. The man leaned down from above, holding out his hand.

"Get
on!" he shouted, his face still cloaked in shadow. "There are more
predators among the trees. Get on if you want to live!"

Simone
grabbed the proffered hand.

The
man pulled her onto the triceratops. This dinosaur didn't have a howdah. Not
even a saddle. They rode bareback.

"Run,
Dozer!" the man shouted. "Take us back home!"

The
trike seemed almost disappointed. Simone guessed that an animal so strong never
ran from a fight. She recalled something she had read in her book. The only
animal T-rex feared was the triceratops. Tonight she saw why.

But
then more allosaurs burst from the forest, their feathered crests standing on
end. Their dreaded jaws snapped. And even the mightiest triceratops could not
defeat an army.

Bellowing,
Dozer ran between the trees. Branches whipped Simone. She clung to the shadowy
man who sat before her.

An
allosaurus leaped out from the shadows ahead, lunging toward the triceratops in
a banzai attack. True to his name, Dozer bulldozed over the predator, first
goring the butcher with his horns, then trampling him.

One
thing was certain. On Mintari, you didn't have to eat meat to be tough.

The
trike kept running. They emerged from the forested foothills onto the bare,
rocky mountainside. For a dinosaur so large and bulky, the triceratops was
surprisingly nimble. His massive feet clung to the mountainside, allowing him
to propel his significant girth upward.

Simone
looked over her shoulder, seeking the predators.

The
allosaurs stood among the trees below, eyes shining in the shadows. They did
not follow.

"Allosaurus
is an ambush predator," said the man on the triceratops. His voice was
deep and grainy. "They won't follow in open country under the moonlight.
You're safe. For now. It was tarry foolish being out there alone."

"I
wasn't alone," she whispered, and tears filled her eyes.

The
man slapped the dinosaur's hide. The triceratops rumbled to a halt, grunting.
Steam rose from his nostrils. The dinosaur knelt, lowering his gargantuan head
toward the ground. The man slid off the dinosaur, then all but yanked Simone
down with him. She nearly fell and broke her neck, but the man caught her, then
placed her firmly on the ground.

They
stood in the shadows. The man wore a wide-brimmed ceratop hat, and the
moonlight did not touch his face. He ignored her, whispering to the dinosaur,
soothing him, checking him for wounds. A gash was bleeding on Dozer's hide. The
man reached into a pouch and smeared ointment into the wound. Dozer grunted and
stamped his feet but took his medicine.

"Go
back to your grazing, old friend," the man whispered, caressing the
dinosaur's beak. "Go and feed and mate and heal. I'll call you back when
the time comes."

Darwin's
beard, that animal was enormous. The head alone was a good nine or ten feet
long. The horns were a foot in diameter, tapering to sharp points. This
gargantuan beast nuzzled the man, who seemed so small beside him, but it was
clear who was master. With a quick look at Simone and another grunt, Dozer
rumbled away into shadows.

The
man stood among the trees, staring at Simone from under the shadows of his hat.
The moonlight touched a tarnished crest pinned to his lapel. A triceratops
head. A double-barreled rifle hung across his back, and a machete hung from his
belt. No, not a machete—an enormous tooth with a hilt attached. A T-rex tooth.

"Who
are you?" the man growled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"My
name is Simone LaRue, reporting for the Cloventia Gazette." She
held out her hand. "And I came here to meet you, Jurassic Joe."

CHAPTER SEVEN

L'Enfant Sauvage

Figaro knew she
was no ordinary dinosaur.

Most
days, like today, it didn't matter much.

The
pack had adopted her. Raised her. Defended her. So what if she looked
different? She didn't have sharp pointy teeth. She didn't have any claws to
speak of. She certainly had no feathers or scales, only black hair that grew
atop her head. Oh, she knew she was different. That she looked more like some
strange, bipedal mammal than a dinosaur.

Who
cared? She was pack. She was loved. She belonged.

The
day was hot, and the prey was thirsty. The herbivores must leave the cover of
the trees and head to the watering holes. A good day for hunting. The pack
raced across the plains. Figaro rode atop the big alpha male. Running on her
own short legs, she would slow the pack down. But riding the alpha, she was as
fierce as anyone in the pack. She bared her little teeth, and she raised her
tiny fingernails in challenge. With her pack, she hunted.

The
other hunters raced around her. The wind rustled their long red feathers. Their
nostrils flared, inhaling the scent of prey. Saliva was already dripping
between their teeth. Vicious teeth those were, serrated and long, optimized for
slicing meat off the bone. Like Fig, the other hunters were bipedal. Each foot
sported four sharp claws. Three of those claws ripped through the earth as they
ran. But one claw, longer and sharper than the others, rose like a sickle. This
claw was not for running. This claw they saved for slashing their victims.

They
were achillobators. Predators the size of horses. Among the deadliest dinosaurs
on Mintari. They were smaller than the big hunters like King Ivan, whom they
feared. Smaller even than allosaurus, the Butcher of the Jurassic. But working
as a pack, they were a force to be reckoned with. Figaro was proud to count
herself among them.

Her
own feet did not sprout claws, only stubby little toenails she sometimes
nibbled when bored. But she did have a sickle claw of her own. She had ripped
it off the cold, dead foot of White Feather, a huntress who had died battling
an ankylosaurus. The claw was curved and longer than Fig's entire hand.
Normally, she kept the weapon tucked into her belt—just a vine she had wrapped
around her waist. But today Fig raised the claw overhead. So what if she looked
different from other achillobators? She could kill as well as anyone. There was
no room for weaklings in the pack.

The
achillobator she rode gained speed, racing downhill toward the river. The land
rose and fell around them. The wind whipped Figaro, fluttering the red feathers
she had sewn into her hair. She tightened her legs around her mount. She
resisted the urge to clutch a handful of feathers and cling on. She needed her
hands for the hunt, and she dared not show weakness.

Among
themselves, achillobators had no names. But Fig had invented names for them in
her mind. The one she rode was named Red Scar. She had named him after the
livid scar along his snout. Fig had given him that scar herself, carving
through his scales with her sickle claw. He had tried to devour her that day.
It had been winter, and they were all hungry. He came at her, jaws salivating.
She could read his thoughts in his blazing eyes. You are no bator! You are
just food.

She
showed him what she thought of that. With a slash of her sickle claw, she had
opened his snout from nostril to eye. Bleeding and whimpering, he knelt before
her. You are strong. You are pack. She had scarred the beast that winter
day, tamed him, made him her mount. Since then, she had ridden him on every
hunt.

Red
Scar's nostrils flared. The big alpha male tossed back his head. He gave three
short yowls. The call meant that food was near.

The
pack echoed his cry. Prey! Blood! Flesh!

Fig
squinted, struggling to see in the sunlight. Her eyes were weaker than theirs.

There!
She saw them!

A
parasaurolophus family by the river. Fig licked her lips. Parasaurs were
her favorite.

They
were a type of hadrosaur. Duck-billed dinosaurs. The big herbivores heard the
pack, raised their bills from the water, and bugled in fear. Unlike other
dinosaurs, even other hadrosaurs, parasaurs did not vocalize using their
throats. Instead, they blew air into elaborate crests that rose atop their
heads. The air flowed like wind through a canyon, loud and eerie. They
essentially had trumpets growing from their heads.

When
she was very young, Fig had found parasaur crests frightening. They were longer
than her entire body, bright red with yellow stripes, and they made awful
sounds. But over time, she had learned that the crests were harmless. They were
just color and noise. That was all. They were used for communication,
intimidation, and display. Not as weapons. Harmless. In fact, Fig had learned
to love parasaur crests. There was good meat on them for nibbling.

Her
belly grumbled, already aching for the meal. Fig tossed back her head and let
out three short cries.

"Yi!
Yi! Yi!" Prey! Prey! Prey!

The
parasaurs began to flee.

The
pack howled and followed, their clawed feet ripping out grass and soil. They
yipped for meat.

"Yip,
yip, yip!" Fig cried out. Meat, meat, meat!

The
parasaurs were panicking now. They were much larger than the achillobators. But
the crested herbivores were no fighters. Big, dumb, and meaty. The perfect
prey. Fig was already salivating. It had been a hard, long winter. Her limbs
were stick thin, and her ribs pressed against her skin. Whenever she studied
her reflection in still water, she saw a gaunt face, her eyes too large. But
now spring was here. And the pack would put meat on their bones.

The
bators ran faster. Bloodlust had seized them. Fig grinned and leaned forward as
she rode, revealing as many teeth as she could. Her teeth might be smaller than
her fellow pack members. But her heart was just as fierce.

The
parasaurs fled toward the cover of the cycad grove. So predictable. They never
learned.

The
herbivores were almost at the trees when the rest of the pack pounced.

Five
more achillobators burst from behind the trees, yipping for meat.

The
parasaurs stopped running, reared, and blew more air into their crests. The
clarion calls filled the grove, an eerie orchestra. The hatchlings crowded
among the adults, mewling miserably. The parasaurlets were especially
delicious.

Fig
raised her sickle claw. It was time to kill.

With
hungry shrieks, the pack of bators fell upon their prey.

It
was Red Scar who drew first blood, biting the flank of a big male parasaur. The
duckbill dinosaur reared, pawed the air, and lashed his tail. Fig ducked. The
scaly tail swung over her head, rustling her hair. It had come close to
crushing her skull. With a snarl, she leaped off Red Scar, vaulted through the
air, and landed on the parasaur's back.

The
herbivore bucked madly. Mad with hunger and the heat of the hunt, Fig drove her
sickle claw into the parasaur's back.

The
claw sliced through scaly skin and rubbery fat.

The
parasaur howled and ran across the grass, wobbling on his two meaty legs. He
was a big, juicy bull, weighing several tons. With sheer size and brute force,
the duckbill barreled past Red Scar, breaking through the circle of bators. The
crested duckbill ran across the plains, bugling in terror.

But
Fig was still clinging to his back, riding the beast.

She
grinned savagely, pulled her claw free, then drove it down again and again,
tearing through scales. The living meat of the parasaur pulsed below the skin.
Snarling, Fig pressed her face into the wound, grabbed a chunk of meat between
her teeth, and ripped it out.

The
parasaur yowled, still running. Fig climbed his neck until she reached the
head. The dinosaur's crest rose before her, a blue trumpet taller than her. She
wrapped her legs around the crest, then dangled upside down. Her short dark
hair fell back from her grubby face. Clinging on with her legs alone, Fig
slashed her claw across the parasaur's neck.

Blood
spurted.

The
dinosaur fell, shaking the earth.

Fig
leaped off the corpse, tossed back her head, and howled in triumph. Hot blood
dripped down her chin.

And
she had almost thought herself a mammal! Like the little fluffballs that lived
in the dirt! Ridiculous. Of course she was no mammal. She had red feathers
strewn through her hair. She had a sickle claw. She was an achillobator, one of
the pack. And today she had killed. She had taken down a giant.

The
other bators were still fighting. Yellow Eyes, a fierce female, cornered a
parasaurlet and lashed her sickle claw. The hatchling collapsed, belly slashed
open. Red Scar and two other males took down a lumbering old cow, the matron of
the herd. But only Figaro, the runt of the pack, had taken down a big bull in
his prime. Hers was the greatest kill.

The
other bators stared at her, yipping. They knew it. They bowed their heads
before her.

They
let the other parasaurs go. Achillobators were not mindless killers. It was not
good to overhunt, to leave meat to rot. Rotting meat attracted dangerous
scavengers. Better to let the others flee, breed, and return with more
hatchlings another day.

This
day, they had plenty of meat. This day, the pack feasted.

The
rest of the pack joined the banquet. Not just the hunters but also the elders
and juveniles. The youngest bators were so small Fig could cradle them in her
arms, but their claws were sharp, and they carved off slices of meat and gulped
them down.

One
old male had only a handful of teeth left, and he must content himself with
guzzling the soft entrails. He used to be an alpha male. Sad to see. Come
winter, if he became too much of a burden, the old male would end up feeding
the pack. Bators were not cannibals by nature. It was a last resort. But if
times got tough enough, the pack would do whatever it must to survive. No meat
was to be wasted. Not even grandpa.

Fig
knew how precious meat was. But she was a picky eater. She had learned long ago
to avoid some meats. Some parts of the prey, while good eating for the others,
made her ill. One time, during a drought, the pack had stumbled across an old
carcass. During lean times, bators were not above scavenging. They had swatted
away the flies with their flightless wings, then buried their snouts into the
old meat. Fig too. The other bators savored the well-seasoned meal. But Fig had
lain for days in the nest, feverish, vomiting. Since then, she had learned what
she could digest. Parasaur crests were good eating. So were fish. Old meat and
offal made her ill. She would not touch them.

A
soft stomach. It was another way she was different. Another weakness. She knew
that physically, she was weakest in the pack. But not in every way. She was a
slow sprinter, but she could run for longer distances. Her stamina put the
others to shame. She was also the smartest, if she might say so herself. She
was best at planning an ambush. Long after the others forgot, she still
remembered the paths of the herbivore herds. Her hands were deft and her mind
quick. She could cleverly use branches, vines, bones, and rocks to build traps.
With a vine, stick, hooked claw, and worm, she could fish in the streams. She
had even sewn herself a dress of red feathers that protected her soft skin.
Nobody else could do such things. Nobody else could lift, manipulate, build.
Just another way she was different. Little Figaro, the oddest achillobator who
ever lived.

She
looked at the pack. They were tucking into the duckbill dinosaur, stripping the
meat off the ribs. Blood covered their snouts and dripped down their feathers,
and their claws scratched through the earth.

Fig
looked at the claw in her hand. It did not grow from her body. She held it.
Another thing she could do that the others could not. Hold things.

What
am I? she wondered.

The
hunger had faded, clearing her mind. With her belly full, these pestering
thoughts rose again. Lately, they never seemed to leave her for long.

She
shoved them aside. Who cared? The day was hot, the eating was good. Fig leaned
against a mossy boulder, nibbling on a parasaur crest. A true feast. Her
favorite meal. She inhaled deeply, blew air into the crest, and heard the eerie
sound emerge. She grinned. Ah, parasaur crests. They were so much fun.

That
was when she saw it.

A
figure on a distant hill.

Not
a dinosaur. A figure that looked like her.

* * * * *

Figaro
ran.

Her
bare feet kicked up dirt. Her dress of feathers fluttered around her thighs.
Heart pounding against her ribs, she raced toward the figure on the hill.

The
rest of the pack did not follow. They were busy munching on the parasaur
carcasses. Nothing short of a charging T-rex would move them now.

And
it would probably take a charging T-rex to stop Fig. Her infamous curiosity,
another trait that set her apart, roared inside her, propelling her onward.
Running was costly in the wilderness. It burned precious calories, the currency
of Mintari. You never knew where the next meal would come from. Dinosaurs ran
for two reasons. To catch prey or escape predators. Nothing else was worth the
cost of calories.

Fig
ran for curiosity.

The
figure stood there on the hilltop, watching her.

Fig
halted a safe distance away, crouched, and raised her sickle claw. She stared,
ready to fight or flee.

The
figure on the hilltop stared curiously. Yes, this creature too was curious. Fig
recognized the look in her eyes. Curiosity. An achillobator sometimes exhibited
some inquisitiveness, but always in the hope of finding food, water, or a mate.
Not curiosity for its own sake. That was what Fig saw in this strange animal's
eyes.

Amazingly,
this creature's spine was vertical. Like Fig's. She had never seen anyone else
who stood upright. Many dinosaurs were bipedal. Bators were too. But their
spines were always horizontal. Here on the hilltop—another animal that stood
erect!

It
was some kind of mammal, Fig suspected. A female cub, by the looks of her. But
not like the little cynodonts who scurried underfoot. No, this wasn't just some
fluffball. This mammal was bigger. As big as Fig. And her only fur grew from
her head.

No,
not fur, Figaro thought. A memory tingled her, and
she touched her head. Hair. Like mine.

It
was undeniable. This strange creature looked like her. The soft skin. The small
teeth. The hands with five fingers and opposable thumbs. This stranger even
held something—a furry carcass with dead black eyes. Fig had never seen a
dinosaur able to hold anything. Bator hands were made for slashing, not
holding.

The
cub waved. "Hello. I'm Emily." She raised the furry carcass she held.
"This is Mr. Stuffings, my teddy bear. Oh gosh, are you wearing a dress of
feathers?"

Fig
snarled. She crouched lower, prepared to pounce, and bared her teeth. She
sliced the air with her sickle claw.

"Yip!
Yip!" she barked. A challenge. She clawed the soil with her foot and
growled.

The
strange mammal tilted her head. "You're funny. What's your name?"

Fig
let out a low growl. She snapped her teeth at the stranger.

Who
are you? What are you?

She
had so many questions, but she didn't know how to ask. So she only yipped and
snorted and growled.

The
cub held out her carcass. "Here, you can have Mr. Stuffings. You seem
lonely. Do you live out here alone?"

A
voice sounded from across the hill.

"Emily!
Emily, get back here! No wandering off. Do you want a T-rex to get you?"

The
cub looked over her shoulder. "Mom, there's a girl here!"

"Emily,
get back here now! Do you want your father to come get you?"

A
deeper voice sounded from the valley. "Let the girl play, Beverly."

"She
can play once we're back at the hotel. Until then I don't like her leaving the
jippi."

"You
never give her any independence. She's seven years old, and you still mother
her."

"Greg,
can we not do this now? We came on this vacation so we can …"

The
voices kept going. Fig was amazed that she actually understood them. How could
she understand the strange speech of these mammals?

Emily
heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry. I have to go." She placed the carcass on
the ground. "Here, Stuffings will keep you safe out here. My mom says that
dino country is dangerous. My dad says she's neurotic." The cub turned to
leave, then looked back. "Oh, before I go. What's your name?"

Fig
stared at her blankly, saying nothing.

"Emily!"
came the voice from the valley.

"Coming!"
the cub said and ran off, disappearing down the far side of the hill.

Fig
bounded after her. But on the hilltop, she heard grumbles and smelled smoke.
Predators! Forest fire! At once, she crouched in the tall grass and stared into
the valley.

No
predators. No fire. The strangest dinosaur she had ever seen stood on the
ground. It was made of some gleaming material like basalt or granite. Its six
legs were round, and its eyes shone like two stars. Smoke rose from its
backside.

Strangest
of all—the dinosaur was hollow. Two more mammals, similar to Emily but larger,
sat inside it.

"Emily,
get into the jippi now!" said one of the larger mammals. The female, it
seemed.

The
cub hopped in. "Mom, I saw a girl. Honestly, she was right there!"

"Where
is your teddy bear? Did you lose it? I swear, Emily, if you keep losing your
toys, I will—"

"I
didn't lose it. I gave it to the strange girl with feathers."

The
big male mammal laughed. "She's got an active imagination, our little one,
that's for sure."

The
big female groaned. "I'm glad you find this amusing, Greg. I hope you're
also amused when a T-rex eats us."

"No
T-rex is going to eat us, Beverly. Calm down."

"Don't
tell me to calm down! You got us lost. Why did I ever agree to this vacation?
We could have holidayed at Blue Moon Resort again. Now we're lost in dinosaur
country, miles away from the other tourists, only God knows where our guide is,
and—"

"Beverly,
I know exactly where we are. I got my GPS here, and—"

"GPS
doesn't work on Mintari, Greg. This isn't Cloventia. There are no
satellites."

"Well,
my compass still works, and besides, I know exactly where we are. We just need
to drive toward that grove of conifers, then …"

Belching
smoke, the hollow dinosaur—this jippi—rolled away on its round legs,
carrying the bickering family away.

Fig
remained on the hilltop, watching the strange mammals disappear in the
distance.

But
no. They were not strange mammals. They were familiar. Somewhere deep inside
her, a memory flickered. Knowledge she had almost forgotten bloomed again like
seeds after a long winter.

Humans.

Those
were humans.

Fig
trembled. Her head spun and her heart raced. Emily's question echoed in her
mind.

What's
your name? the cub had asked.

Tears
flowed down Fig's cheeks.

My
name. I have a name.

She
opened her mouth, and for the first time Figaro could remember, she spoke. Just
a single word. A word that shook her to her core.

"Fi-ga-ro."

* * * * *

The
achillobators were still bumming around their kills, lounging in the sun and
digesting their meal. Mostly likely, they would remain there all day. Instead
of returning to the pack, Fig walked downhill and approached the river. The
same river the hapless parasaurs had been drinking from.

Fig
shooed aside frogs, parted the reeds, and leaned toward the water. Her
reflection gazed back at her. Mud, bits of leaves, and parasaur blood covered
her face. What a mess! She ducked her head under, scrubbed herself clean, then
looked again. Ah, there she was.

She
saw a round, gentle face. No scales. No fangs. Just soft skin like a newborn
bator. Her eyes were large and brown. Black fur grew from her head instead of
feathers. She often cropped it short with sharp stones, but it kept growing and
falling over her eyes. No, not fur. Something called hair. She remembered. A
memory from before time.

Yes.
She looked like the cub on the hill. A little older, maybe a little larger. But
so similar it scared her.

"Coo,
coo?" she said to her reflection. A bator's inquisitive call.

Who
are you, strange hunter?

She
tilted her head. A breeze ruffled the red feathers strewn into her hair.

A
girl, she thought, the word rising from
somewhere deep in her memory. A human girl.

No.
No!

She
was an achillobator. A proud, fierce huntress. She was a little smaller, yes. A
little different. But still a member of the pack.

She
bared her teeth at her reflection and growled. There you go. See? Totally a
fierce bator.

A
fish swam by. She reached down, caught it, and gutted it on the riverbank. She
ate the soft pink flesh. Fish was good food. Food she could eat without
vomiting. She glanced around, made sure nobody was watching, and plucked some
berries from a bush. She stuffed them into her mouth. Berries were a rare and
secret treat.

Then
she realized what she was doing. What kind of predator ate fruit? No
self-respecting bator would eat berries! She spat them out, ashamed. Eating
berries was something a human would do. Not her!

Fig
vowed to eat lots of parasaur this spring. Fish was fine too. She would put
some meat back on her skinny little bones. It had been a hard winter. But soon
she would feel like a proper bator again. And all this human nonsense would go
away. Maybe finally this year her feathers would grow, and she wouldn't need to
collect fallen feathers and tie them onto her body.

Belly
full, she bounded back toward the pack. They were still lazying around the
parasaur carcasses, gnawing on ribs.

Ah,
good. Fig raised her chin, feeling better at once. Fellow bators! Here was
where she belonged. With her kind.

Lightning
Foot, the fastest young male in the pack, and White Feathers, an albino, were
battling over a wishbone. Half Tail, who donated half his tail to an allosaurus
three springs ago, was snoring on a pile of bones. Four Tooth, the pack elder,
was chewing on the softer tripe, doing the best he could with the four teeth he
had left. An ankylosaurus had knocked out the rest, and they had never grown
back. Fig doubted the old bator would last another winter.

She
walked among them, collecting fallen feathers to add to her collection. She
planned to tie a few new ones over her arms. Just until her own feathers grew
in. Any day now.

A
jarring caw disturbed her search. Crooked Wing rose from a carcass,
snapping her teeth in challenge. Strands of meat dangled between her bloodied
teeth.

"Caw!
Caw!" Crooked Wing cried.

She
was a large female, strong and merciless. If not for her crooked left arm, she
might have led the pack. Bators mostly relied on their powerful back limbs.
Their arms were shorter and thinner, covered with feathers, essentially forming
flightless wings. They were used to seize prey while hunting. Crooked Wing had
broken one of her front limbs last winter, tumbling down a mountainside. It had
not healed right, leaving her with one crooked wing. Even the feathers on that
limb were bent and bristly.

The
bator blamed Figaro for causing the landslide, tumbling the first stones with
her clumsy, clawless feet. A ridiculous accusation, of course. Fig could no
more cause a landslide than a volcano eruption. But Crooked Wing considered Fig
a runt, and what were runts good for other than scapegoating?

"Caw!"
the big female repeated, glaring at Fig with her beady red eyes. She placed a
talon on the parasaur carcass. That foot was massive and tipped with claws. The
three smaller claws pierced the meat. The fourth claw, the sickle claw, rose in
the air, ready to strike.

A
clear message. Mine. No meat for you.

Fig
was already full. She had only been looking for feathers, not meat. But she
could not back down from a challenge. If she showed submission now, Crooked
Wing would only escalate her torments. This wasn't just about meat. It was
about the hierarchy of the pack.

Crooked
Wing leaned across the carcass and snapped her teeth at Fig. The sickle claw
twitched. The big bator leaned closer, growling. Her feathers bristled, making
her look larger, more intimidating. Bloodlust filled her eyes.

A
shadow darted.

Red
Scar leaped forward. His jaws opened wide, displaying rows of serrated teeth.
Strings of saliva dangled like harp strings. The big male let out a deafening
screech.

The
message was clear. Do not touch the runt! She is under my protection.

Crooked
Wing whimpered and stepped back. The aggressive female lowered her head.

Figaro
leaned forward, opened her own humble jaws, and roared.

"Ra!
Ra!" she barked and snapped her teeth at Crooked Wing.

Back,
back! Back or I'll bite!

Crooked
Wing kept her head lowered. But she glared at Fig with venomous eyes. She bared
her teeth, and a low growl rolled from her throat. Still showing some spirit
then.

Fig
drew the sickle claw from her makeshift belt, growled, and sliced the air.
Crooked Wing looked at the ground.

"Gra!"
Fig said. She stepped closer, roared again, and sliced the air. "Gra!"

Down!

Crooked
Wing was sufficiently cowed. She rolled over, exposing her underbelly. The
showdown was won.

Fig
tucked her sickle claw back into her belt. Good. The big female knew her place.

I
showed her, she thought.

Of
course, it was easy to be brave when Red Scar stood behind you. The big alpha
male nuzzled Fig with his snout, cooing softly.

I'm
proud of you, little one.

Absentmindedly,
Fig patted his scaly snout, running her fingers along the scar she had given
him. The scar that had tamed him, turning him from her tormentor to protector.
She had won another challenge today, taming another beast. But worry gnawed on
Figaro like a young bator on a parasaur crest.

Red
Scar was growing older. He would not be around forever to protect Fig. Sooner
or later, there would be another power struggle. And while Fig was fierce and
brave, she was the runt of the pack. She must keep fighting for her
place. A runt's war never ended.

Sometimes
achillobators tolerated a weak member. In the salad days of spring, when meat
was plentiful and the weather warm, it was easy to overlook flaws. An elder who
bit weakly might still remember the migration paths. An old female who could no
longer lay eggs could perhaps still sniff out distant prey. Even a runt might
have her uses—she could tend to the nest, groom for ticks, pull thorns from
talons. But when the winters were long, and the hunger grew great, well …
Figaro had seen it happen. The weak could end up as dinner.

She
shuddered. Best not to spend too much time thinking about that. Fig was strong,
and she would keep fighting for her place. She had no intention of ending up
inside the bellies of her pack mates.

* * * * *

That
night, they returned to the nesting grounds, bellies full. They dragged back
some meat for the hatchlings and elders. The pack migrated every fall, finding
a place to winter, then lay eggs in the spring. This year, they lived on a
stone outcrop that thrust out from a mountainside. Here they had built nests
from branches, moss, vines, and old feathers. Places to sleep. To lay eggs. To
slowly digest a good meal. Bones lay across their lair, buzzing with flies.

It
would have been nice to find a cozy cave. Especially during the winter storms.
But caves were rare in the wilderness. When you did find one, there was fierce
competition. The bigger predators—titans like giganotosaurus,
carcharodontosaurus, or tyrannosaurus—monopolized the caves, and woe beheld
anyone who encroached on their lairs. Achillobators were fierce. They were the
terror of many. But they knew their place. They did not challenge the kings.
One year, they had found a cave too small for the giants, only to find
territorial raptors already inside. No. Caves were just not an option for a
pack of bators.

But
Figaro didn't mind living outdoors too much. She liked feeling the sun on her
skin, and the rain soothed her. The winters were hard, but she collected many
feathers for warmth, and she nuzzled among her pack when the snows fell, tucked
under their wings. And on warm nights like tonight? This was happiness. She
would much rather lie under the stars than inside some stuffy cave.

Everyone
in the nesting ground had their usual perch. Their spot. The place they slept,
mated, or hunkered down for winter. Location inside the nesting ground was
strongly hierarchal and fiercely enforced.

The
most desirable spots were nearer the mountainside. Soft moss covered the ground
there. The mountainside shielded you from the wind. A few trees grew there, and
their branches and errant roots whisked away the rain, preventing puddles. The
pack reserved these spots for their eggs.

Fig
kept her distance from those desirable parts of the nesting grounds. The
mothers didn't like rival females approaching. Or anyone, for that matter. Last
spring, an oviraptor had sneaked into the nesting ground and devoured three
eggs before they crushed the little thief. Since then, the female bators had
been extra protective. If Fig even looked at an egg, they would snap their
teeth and slash the air. Away, runt!

Often,
Fig wondered when she herself would begin to lay eggs. She was fifteen springs
old, by her count, though she might be off by one or two. In any case—more than
old enough for egg laying. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing happened.
Maybe once her feathers finally grew in. Any day now, any day …

Fig
walked to her own spot in the nesting ground. The spot was, on the surface, not
particularly desirable. It was near the edge of a stony outcrop, exposed to the
wind and rain. If the wind was strong enough, it could even knock you over the
ledge. The sun beat down during the day without any shade. The ground was rocky
and hard. But to Fig, this was the perfect place. From here, and only from
here, she could look over her territory. She could see the rolling grasslands
by day and the stars at night. From here, she could gaze upon Mintari, this
land that she loved.

And
Red Scar slept nearby. That was another benefit. The alpha male did not need to
seek shelter from the elements like a roosting mother, elder, or hatchling. He
chose this spot despite its discomforts. With this choice, he broadcast his
strength. From here he reigned. Fig was honored to live at his side.

A
yawn rolled through her, stretching her body from head to toes. It had been a
long day. They were all tired. Red Scar fell asleep beside her, snoring, his
feathered body rising and falling. Most of the other bators lay down to sleep
too. As always, a few remained awake to keep watch. The pack had
well-established shifts. The young females kept first watch. Then the young
males. Then the elders—until dawn.

The
alpha of the pack got to sleep all night. The perks of command. Red Scar
perhaps forfeited a bed of moss under a tree, but he did enjoy sleeping all
night.

Like
always, Fig kept first watch with the other young females. She leaned against
the sleeping Red Scar, soothed by the rising and falling of his chest. His
feathers were soft and warm and the color of fire. Fig picked her teeth with a
fish bone, watching the stars.

These
were peaceful times for her. Her favorite times. Every night was different.
Some nights the stars shone so brightly Fig thought she could reach out and
touch them. Other nights lightning split the darkness and thunder boomed, and
Fig nestled under Red Scar's feathers, peeking out at the sheets of rain. Some
nights luminous ribbons of blue and purple danced across the heavens. Fig would
sit here every night, watching, wondering.

So
many questions filled her. What were the stars? Could they be the distant eyes
of fallen achillobators? Where did lightning come from? She sometimes imagined
that a great dinosaur lived above the clouds, casting down his fury in a storm.
Her curiosity burned inside her. But how could she learn the truth? In her
mind, she could pose these questions. But there was no one to ask. How did you
ask a dinosaur a question?

Often,
Fig suspected that she was the only achillobator who had such thoughts. The
others seemed only concerned with earthly matters. Feeding, sleeping, mating,
laying eggs, and repeating the cycle. They never watched the skies in wonder.
They never gazed at their reflections, contemplating their identities. Tonight,
watching the stars, her mind full of questions, Fig felt very alone.

The
thought rose unbidden in the night.

A
girl. I met a human girl.

She
thought of Emily, the human cub on the hill.

She
recalled seeing her reflection in the water. A soft face. No snout to speak of.
No scales or feathers.

A
human.

Impossible.

And
yet in the darkness, the memories rose. Just vague images. Echoes. Whispers as
soft as a bator's underbelly feathers.

Memories
of her time before the pack.

Fig
screwed her eyes shut, trying to banish those haunting memories. But something
had happened today. She had met a human cub. She had heard humans speak—and
understood them. Now, in the night, as the others slept, the memories rose.

* * * * *

The
memories were few and vague.

Memories
of a human.

A
large human. Or maybe Fig had simply been very small.

She
remembered the smells most. Smells of crushed berries and spices and herbs. She
remembered sounds too. Chinking bracelets. Clattering necklaces of teeth and
claws. Matted hair strewn with bells. Lips that chanted prayers.

Not
much else. A face? Could she remember a face?

Yes.
There it was. Big green eyes and painted cheeks. Just a wisp of memory. The
wisp faded to nothing.

A
woman. A human woman.

A
mother? Was this Fig's mother?

She
thought hard, trying to remember. The wisps rose again, wove into pictures in
her mind, and she was a cub again. The woman was rocking her in her arms.
Nursing her like a mammal. Nuzzling her and loving her.

A
mother? No. Not a mother. Figaro somehow knew that. Remembered that. Not a
mother. A guardian.

What
had happened to her?

If
I am a mammal, how did I …

And
then she saw it.

Fig
shouted in the night. Her cry was so loud that Red Scar awoke, snorted, and
looked around. The other achillobators rose to their feet, feathers bristling.

But
there were no predators around. Their nostrils flared but smelled nothing. They
glared at Fig, snorted, and returned to their slumber. But Fig would get no
sleep tonight. She trembled.

The
memories. The girl on the hilltop had unlocked the memories. Now they flooded
her.

She
remembered.

She
had been four years old. Yes, she was sure of that. Four.

They
were in a hut in the woods, and a fire crackled among stones. Not a wildfire
from a lightning strike or a summer drought. A fire the human had put there. A
fire she could control. A fire to heat food and keep dinosaurs away.

But
it had been a long winter. And the achillobators were hungry. Hungry enough to
overcome their fear of fire.

Fig
remembered. She could still see it. Their red eyes in the storm. Their claws
tearing down the walls. Their toothy mouths opening wide.

Little
Figaro had never seen such horrors. Not in all her four years. How she had
screamed! The creatures from her nightmares had taken flesh. The achillobators
broke into the hut, crazed with hunger. The old guardian tried to protect her
ward. But the demons devoured the woman by her flames.

But
they did not devour the child.

Softer
memories filled her.

Snouts
nuzzling her. Feathers draping across her. She rode a beast through the snow,
clutching the feathers so tightly. A human cub in the wild. Taken in by the
pack.

It
had been many seasons since then. And Figaro sat on the ledge of stone in the
night, no longer a little girl. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She looked at Red
Scar, this proud dinosaur who lay at her side, growing older, weaker every
winter. Her tears splashed his snout, and she stroked his feathers.

You
spared me, she thought. Why? You could have eaten
me too. Or you could have left me for the scavengers. But you took me in. Why?

And
then another memory rose.

She
remembered her favorite garment as a child. A hat woven with red feathers.

Fig
lowered her head, trembling and crying.

You
mistook me for a hatchling. But I'm not one of you. I'm not.

She
looked up at the stars through the veil of tears.

"I
… am … human."

Figaro
pulled her knees to her chest and hugged her legs. She sat like that all night,
gazing at the stars until the dawn dried her tears.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Man on the Silver Mountain

Joe walked the
narrow mountain paths, not pausing to see if Simone followed.

"Jurassic
Joe?" Her voice rose from behind. "Jurassic Joe, sir? Can you please
slow down?"

He
did not even look over his shoulder. "It's almost midnight. The time when
the megaraptors hunt. Keep up. Or join your cameraman in the belly of a beast."

"M-megarators?"
she whispered.

He
kept walking, a low growl in his throat.

Those
foolish tourists! Coming here. Causing trouble. A lump filled Joe's throat.

He
had killed today. Riding his triceratops, he had gored an allosaurus, slaying
the theropod. Why? The predator had simply been doing what predators do.
Hunting. Now it lay dead, and there was blood on Joe's hands.

I
should have let the tarry woman be eaten,
he thought.

"Sir?
Please! I'm barefoot, and I think I sprained my ankle, and—"

He
spun around, fuming, and glared at the woman. She stood on the narrow path,
covered in dirt and old blood. She wore some ridiculous mockery of a safari
outfit, probably purchased at some Cloventian high-fashion shop in a floating
skyscraper. Mud caked her red hair, and weariness filled her blue eyes.

"What
happened, cheesecake?" he growled. "Tossed away your high heels?
Realized they slow you down when a dinosaur chases you?"

She
crossed her arms and raised her chin. "For your information, mister, I was
wearing hiking boots. A pterosaur ate them."

"Too
bad it didn't eat you too. Keep up. Or maybe one will."

Joe
had sent Dozer back into the forest. Triceratops were good at many things, but
mountain climbing was not one of them. Turning away from Simone, Joe kept
trudging up the mountain.

Nyx
had set, but Hypnos and Thanatos, the twin moons of Mintari, lit the night. The
snowcapped peaks shone like burnished silver above. Far below, shadows cloaked
the foothills and sprawling Hell Valley. The mountain path was narrow and
steep. It was not a proper trail, just a path he had carved over the years,
stamping down dirt and kicking aside stones. He had walked this way countless
times, and he moved confidently in the night. The tarry Cloventian was another
story. She was making a racket. With every footstep, she sent scree cascading
into the darkness. Every raptor on the mountain could probably hear her.

Why
did I bother saving her? Joe thought. I should
have let nature take its course. Let the dinosaurs eat her.

But
he knew the answer. He still wore the badge on his chest. The badge shaped like
a stegosaurus dorsal plate. Tar it, he was still a Ranger, even after all this
time. His vows still mattered. He had sworn to protect life on Mintari. Even
crazy redheads from another planet.

"Jurassic
Joe, will you please slow down!" Simone called up from the shadows.

He
snorted. "Would you ask an allosaurus to slow down? You're a long way from
home, cheesecake. You're on Mintari now. You don't have servants to order
around here."

"I
am not some spoiled Cloventian princess! And I do not have servants. I'm
a journalist. I'm—" She fell silent. "What was that?"

She
froze and gulped.

A
deep bellow echoed across the mountainside. It sounded like rolling thunder.

Joe
glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "The megaraptors. They're the size
of giraffes, their claws are the length of your arms, and they're excellent
mountain climbers. I suggest you move fast, cheesecake."

She
paled so much her freckles stood out like stars. She began to climb faster.
"I told you already—my name is Simone LaRue. Not Cheesecake!"

"And
my name isn't Jurassic Joe. Now keep up."

The
megaraptors howled again.

The
princess hurried up.

Of
course, the megaraptors didn't hunt this high up the mountain. Not much to eat
up here aside from the odd pachycephalosaurus, and those dome-headed dinos were
good at headbutting predators (and often one another) and sending them crashing
down the mountain. So the raptors stuck to the foothills, where they prowled
the darkness for slumbering iguanodons. But their cries often echoed up the
mountainside, sounding eerily close. Best if the woman thought they were
snapping at her heels. Maybe she'd walk faster.

Tarry
tourists. They were nothing but trouble. If Joe had his say, none would be
allowed on Mintari. He didn't like other humans period. And clueless
Cloventians, stumbling over themselves in the wilderness, were the worst. The
governor said the tourists brought in money. That they funded the Mintari
Rangers. If you asked Joe, the tourists were more trouble than they were worth.

It
was midnight when they reached the cave where Joe lived.

From
the outside, the cave was unremarkable. They were far above the tree line, and
nothing but some scrub grew here, stubbornly clinging to the mountainside.
Caves were prime real estate on Mintari. Joe had claimed this one as his own.
Many dinosaurs would have loved to move in. The opening was too small for a
rex, but a pack of raptors would be comfortable here, even this high up. For a
mountain-loving pachycephalosaurus, this cave would be heaven.

To
deter them, Joe had installed steel bars across the cave opening. A few bars
were bent where a domehead had headbutted them. Another bar was scratched where
a raptor had clawed it. But the fortifications had held.

Simone
looked at the dents and dings on the bars. She gulped. "Did dinosaurs do
that?"

"No.
These marks were made by redheads I left outside my cave because they kept
asking too many questions."

She
rolled her eyes. "So clever, Jurassic Joe. You enjoy tormenting redheads,
don't you?"

"I
told you!" he growled, reaching into his pocket for his key. "My name
isn't Jurassic Joe. Tarry foolish name the tourists use. Half the animals on
Mintari aren't even from the Jurassic period. They're Cretaceous
dinosaurs."

"Well,
excuse me, Mr. Joe Triplehorn." She placed her hands on her hips and
raised an eyebrow. "Better?"

"It
would be better if you had never shown up."

He
turned the key, then cranked a winch. The bars slid upward like a portcullis.
He stepped inside.

The
woman did not follow.

Joe
paused, his back to her. He took a deep breath.

"Well,
are you coming inside?"

Her
voice sounded behind him, soft, almost timid. "I'm not sure. I'm wondering
if I'll be safer with the raptors."

Joe
spun around, a growl on his lips. But when he saw her face, his anger flowed
away.

She
was scared. Not of dinosaurs this time. But of him.

All
his fury melted like snow down the mountainside.

"I
won't hurt you," he said. "I saved your life just a few hours
ago."

She
still didn't step inside. "For all I know, you saved my life so that you
could take me home and stick me in a cage."

Now
the old anger came back, just a flicker. "Fine! Stay outdoors. I'm closing
the gate. Step back or step forward. Just don't stay in place or you'll get
crushed."

He
began turning a second winch, this one inside the cave. The portcullis began
descending.

The
woman hurried inside, and the metal bars slammed shut behind her.

* * * * *

"Well,
I made my choice," Simone said, standing inside the cave. "Where's my
cage?"

Joe
snorted. "Your cage is back on Cloventia. Whatever little apartment you
princesses trap yourselves in, far from the wilderness, floating above a sea of
concrete and neon—that's your cage."

A
crooked smile found her lips. "Says the man who lives behind steel
bars."

Joe
snarled at her. "You have a sharp tongue. Has anyone ever told you
that?"

"And
a sharper pen. I'm here to write a story about you, Joe Triplehorn. So be
nice."

He
barked a laugh. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I give you an
interview. You can stay the night. That's it. Tomorrow morning, I'm calling the
Rangers to pick you up. Make yourself comfortable, because at dawn, you're
out."

She
looked around the cave, and her eyes widened. "Darwin's beard! This is a
nice place. Not what I expected."

Joe
walked toward the fireplace and began poking the embers. "Don't touch
anything."

A
nice place. Yes. It was. She had made it a nice place. Mina. Back then,
the cave had been just a way station. A place to rest on ranges. To spend a
night. Joe never imagined he would spend fifteen years here.

He
froze, poker in hand, as sudden pain stabbed him. Yes, it was fifteen years
since Mina had died, and the pain never left him. How many years since he had
even talked to another woman? Joe had lost count.

He
didn't want this Simone LaRue here. This was his home. Mina's home. He
shouldn't have brought her.

"Well,
well." Simone placed her hands on her hips, and that infernal eyebrow of
hers rose again. "Mr. Triplehorn, your home is downright cozy! A rug on
the floor. A crackling hearth. A bed topped with blankets. And—"

Simone
let out a scream.

Joe
cursed. He unslung his weapon from across his back. He never went anywhere
without his sleep-or-die. The rifle had two barrels. One for shooting
tranquilizer darts at dinosaurs. The other for shooting bullets at hunters. He
swept the rifle from side to side, seeking danger.

"What
is it?" he growled.

She
pointed a trembling finger. "A d-d-dinosaur. Inside the cave."

She
clung to him, shaking.

Joe
lowered his gun with an eye roll. "Oh, for crying out loud, lady! You
almost gave me a heart attack."

"A
dinosaur!" She gripped his arm so tightly it hurt. "Look!"

He
groaned. "That's just Vinnie. My pet. He's just a velociraptor. He's
harmless. For pity's sake, cheesecake, from how loud you screamed, I thought
there was a tarry allosaurus in here."

The
velociraptor looked at them, tilted his head, and cooed. Vinnie was roughly the
size of a turkey. Blue and green feathers grew across his body. His tail flicked
behind him, bristling.

Simone
wouldn't release her grip on Joe's arm. "Nice try, mister. But I've heard
about velociraptors. They're vicious predators."

He
wrenched his arm free. "Ya hear that, Vinnie? You're a vicious predator.
Maybe act like it and catch a mouse now and then." He barked a laugh and
looked at Simone. "You've watched too many movies, lady. Velociraptors are
no more harmful than dogs."

"I'll
have you know that I'm terrified of dogs." She raised her chin. "Of
all animals, in fact."

"I
got bad news for ya, cheesecake. You're on the wrong planet."

"I
know," she said softly. "Trust me, I know."

Joe
frowned. She had lost somebody to the allosaurs. A friend? Maybe Joe had been
too harsh on her. He could almost hear Mina's voice in his mind.

Be
nice, Joe! She's scared, grieving, and alone. Show some compassion.

Joe's
anger faded. But then he remembered the battle. Having to gore an allosaurus.
To kill one of the dinosaurs he was sworn to protect. Because of this woman's
stupidity. Any flicker of compassion he had felt faded.

Vinnie
sensed his turmoil, as he always could. The velociraptor leaped onto Joe's
shoulder, cooed softly, and nuzzled him. It helped. It really did. Joe ruffled
the raptor's feathers.

"Look
at you, vicious predator," Joe mumbled, burying his face in the soft blue
feathers. "Can't even kill time, can ya, buddy?"

Simone
watched from a few steps away. A shaky smile shone on her face like Nyx shining
through the clouds after a storm. "You're different with Vinnie. You show
him your softer side. You're not as wild as they say, are you?"

He
glowered at her. "What were you expecting? A lair strewn with human bones?
That can still be arranged."

She
took a step closer, smiling crookedly. "You don't scare me, Joe
Triplehorn. You're a softie. I can tell. You act like a tough dinoboy, but deep
down, you—"

"You
know nothing about me!" He bared his teeth. "Your quaint little
observations might fool your readers, cheesecake, but they don't fly here on
Mintari. I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

Vinnie
hissed at her and snapped his teeth.

She
backed away, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "All right, all
right, boys. I won't pry for dirty details." She winked. "Yet."

"The
only thing dirty here is you, cheesecake. You're covered in more mud than a
sauropod's foot."

* * * * *

Joe
returned to the fireplace. He added a log and busied himself with stoking the
fire. Meanwhile, Vinnie plopped himself down on the rug and began pecking at
his feathers, looking for mites.

Standing
by the fire, Joe closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. The pain was like
dinosaur claws inside him.

She's
pretty, he thought. Beautiful, even. Ah, who
cares? She probably uses her looks to get what she wants. She won't get
anything from me.

Simone
looked around the cave, hands on her hips. "You know what this cave needs?
A name. How about … Dino Den. No, that's silly. The Burrow! No, too big. Maybe
the Cozy Cavern? Too sappy."

"My
cave doesn't need a name," Joe muttered.

"Sure
it does. I know." She smiled wistfully. "The Last Home Hollow. That's
the name."

Joe
rolled his eyes. But he had to admit the name fit. This was something of a last
home for him. A place he had come to hide in. To die in.

"Nice
place, the Last Home Hollow." Simone wandered around the cave, touching
everything. "Beautiful crystals. Did you find them yourself? Ooh, a
dinosaur egg! I hope it's fossilized. It is fossilized, isn't it? It better not
hatch while I'm here. And is that—" She gasped. "Is that a T-rex
skull?"

She
ran toward the back of the cave. Until now, shadows had cloaked the area, but
with Joe rustling the fire, new light filled the cavern, illuminating the
enormous skull.

Joe
had been living on Mintari for thirty years, and he still marveled at the sheer
size of a T-rex. The skull in his cave was as long as a man was tall. The teeth
were like bananas, thick and dull. Not sharp teeth for slicing meat. Lesser
predators had sharp teeth for slicing. The T-rex had teeth for crushing bones.
Joe had seen such teeth crack the frill of a triceratops—and that bone was as
thick as a wall.

He
carried such a tooth as a sword. Though the tooth he carried was much longer
than the ones on this skull. The skull in his cave, fearsome as it was, had
belonged to an ordinary T-rex. The tooth hanging from Joe's belt came from the
jaws of King Ivan himself. A mutant. A freak. That T-rex was bigger, meaner,
and still very much alive. Out there in the dark. Somewhere.

Simone
reached the skull and gasped. "You turned it into a chair! How clever! And
morbid."

The
skull's jaws were open wide. The top part formed a backrest. On the inside, the
skull was upholstered and topped with cushions.

"Don't
sit on it," Joe said.

She
shuddered. "As if I would voluntarily step into the jaws of a T-rex."
She gingerly touched one of the teeth, then pulled her hand back as if bitten.
She looked at Joe. "I never pegged you as a man to keep trophies of dead
animals."

"I
didn't make this chair. I confiscated it from a poacher. The man was an
Earthling. Some hotshot general. Came to Mintari to kill something bigger than
other Earthlings. I put a bullet in his neck."

Simone
stared into his eyes. "I know the type. I've been to Earth. I saw the Slum
Wars."

"Well,
he's dinosaur coprolite now. He shot the T-rex, chopped off its head, and made
this chair. He planned to take it back to Earth, to make it his throne."
He looked at the enormous, morbid armchair. "It makes me sick to look at.
I don't know why I kept it. I should get rid of the tarry thing."

Simone
stepped closer to him. She hesitated, then touched his arm. "Maybe you
kept it because of what happened. Because of what a T-rex did to—"

"Watch
your words!" Joe growled, leaning closer to her, teeth bared.

She
paled and took a step back. "All right. Sorry. I probed too hard."

He
grabbed her arms and glared. "Let me tell you something, cheesecake. You
mind your own business. You pampered tourists. I had to kill a dinosaur because
of you. I had to gore that allosaurus and leave him for the scavengers. That
blood is on your hands, not mine." He shoved her back. "I'm going to
bed. At dawn, you're outta here."

Tears
welled up in her eyes. Joe didn't care. He turned and stomped away.

* * * * *

Simone
stood by the T-rex skull, watching him step deeper into the cave. The shadows
were dark there. But she could just make out a bed. Joe climbed into it and lay
still.

What
an awful man.

So
much for the legend. Jurassic Joe was supposed to be a hero. Instead, she found
a brute. Venom filled every word he spoke. He was no better than his sister!
Just another cruel Triplehorn. Simone doubted she could sleep tonight. There
was a good chance he'd slit her throat.

Then
again, she thought, he did save my life.

He
had ridden in on his triceratops. Had saved her from the allosaurus. He had
taken her in for the night.

He
was a brute, yes. But there was kindness to him too, she thought. And there was
pain. So much pain. What could drive a man to live out here in the wilderness?

No.
He was not like Amissa. Not like the woman who … who …

Simone's
eyes dampened. No, she was not ready to relive that memory. Not here. Not now.

Her
belly gave a sudden growl.

She
was hungry. Ridiculous! She was trapped in a cave with a wild man of the
mountains, dinosaurs roamed outside, her beloved cameraman was dead—and she was
worried about her belly. But there it growled again.

"Have
you got anything to eat?" she called to the shadows.

Joe
did not move on his bed.

"I'm
going to look for food!"

Again
he did not acknowledge her.

Simone
sighed. She walked around the Last Home Hollow, exploring the cave. Maybe he
had something to eat. She would just nibble a little. It wouldn't be stealing,
would it? He had invited her in! Surely his offer included room and
board.

Well,
maybe it was stealing. But she was famished. Surely it wasn't a crime for a
starving woman to steal some bread?

There
were several chambers in the cave, all with craggy, curved walls. Simone walked
around, exploring, looking for the kitchen.

As
she passed by a stalagmite, she paused. A framed photo hung on the stone
pillar. A photo of a young woman. Smooth black hair. Dark almond-shaped eyes.
She wore scrubs and had a stethoscope around her neck.

Triassic
Terry's stories returned to Simone.

"His
wife," she whispered. "Ivan the T-rex killed her."

Guilt
filled her. Was she intruding on something private? A ridiculous thought for a
journalist. It was her job to dig! But the pain she had seen in Joe's eyes …
Simone had seen such pain on Earth. Seen it in the eyes of the survivors of the
Slum Wars. People who regretted surviving. Who had lost everything to the
machine guns, the cannibals, and the roaming cyborg killing squads.

She
turned away from the photo.

"Food,"
she whispered. "I wanted food."

Sniffing,
she detected the whiff of something good. Following her nose, she entered a
chamber deeper in the caves. Jackpot! She found shelves of canned goods,
flour, sausages, preserves, lentils, dried fruit—enough supplies to last for
months. Funny. She didn't imagine that canned pork and beans grew on trees out
here. Clearly Joe visited Dinovia City sometimes. Not completely wild after
all, was he?

A
caw sounded behind her.

Vinnie
burst into the pantry, hissed, and bared his teeth.

Simone
screamed and stumbled back, hitting a shelf of cans. The cans clattered down
around her. It made an unholy racket. A sack of flour burst open with a puff of
white.

Simone
stood there, frozen in terror.

A
moment later, Joe rushed into the pantry, his face red with fury. His fists
clenched at his sides.

"Um
… sorry?" Simone said. She could feel herself blushing. And when somebody
as pale as her blushed, she turned as red as a tomato. "Caught with my
hand in the cookie jar."

She
looked down at a jar of pickles. It had shattered.

"Or
pickle jar, at least," she whispered, wishing the ground would swallow
her.

Joe
advanced toward her, fists raised. Simone took a step back. She grabbed one of
the fallen cans and raised it as a weapon, prepared to bonk him on the head.

Joe
took one step closer, murder in his eyes … then started to laugh.

Simone
blinked at him. "Excuse me, are you completely insane?"

He
laughed harder. "Look at you! You got flour in your hair."

She
held out strands of her red hair, examining them. At least they had been red.
They were now white with flour.

"Oh,
for crying out loud!" she said. "Joe, I'm sorry. I'm honestly so
sorry. I'm a klutz. A schlemiel. A nincompoop. You can toss me into the jaws of
a megaraptor. I deserve it."

He
was still laughing. "No. It's my fault. I should have offered you dinner.
Be careful! You're barefoot and there's glass on the floor."

He
lifted her, carried her out of the pantry, and set her down.

"I'll
buy you more food," she said. "Please don't murder me."

He
heaved a sigh. "I'm not going to hurt you, Ms. LaRue. It's not your fault.
None of this. People don't understand Mintari. Don't understand the delicate
balance of this world. They stumble around the planet, and dinosaurs die.
People die."

Simone
lowered her head. "I'm sorry for everything. Not just for the food. You're
right. I don't understand Mintari. I thought that if I could survive Earth,
then a big nature reserve would be a piece of cake. But I blustered about, an
ignorant foreigner, causing trouble wherever I went. Now dinosaurs are dead.
And my cameraman is dead. He was more than my cameraman. He was my friend. A
good friend." Tears flowed down her cheeks. "I can't even bury him.
There isn't even a corpse to bring back to his family. Those animals, they
ripped him apart."

"They
did what dinosaurs do," Joe said, but there was no anger in his voice.
There was compassion. "Don't blame a dinosaur for doing what a dinosaur
does."

Simone
looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "How can you love dinosaurs? They're
monsters. They killed my friend. They killed … your wife."

She
ended with a whisper. And she regretted those words at once. He had warned her
to mind her own business. Not to pry. She expected him to rage, maybe even to
strike her. But his eyes were soft.

"They're
animals. They do what's in their nature. It's humans who can tell good from
evil—and who choose evil. Dinosaurs have hurt me. But humans have hurt me
more."

She
hesitated, then reached out and touched his cheek. "How have humans hurt
you?" she whispered.

He
stepped back from her. His face hardened. "We'll clean up this mess
tomorrow. Get some sleep. There's only one bed. But you can sleep in the T-rex
skull. If you curl up, it's comfortable enough."

She
gulped. "I'm not sleeping inside a dinosaur's mouth!"

"It's
the skull or the floor."

"The
floor."

"Very
well. Good night, Ms. LaRue."

He
turned and left the pantry. Simone stared at the shadows where he had vanished.
"Good night, Mr. Triplehorn."

She
tiptoed out the pantry and looked at the upholstered T-rex skull. Not a chance.

She
snatched a few pillows from inside the terrible jaws, then lay on the rug. The
fireplace crackled, the smoke rising through a hole above. Simone yawned. She
was bone tired. Despite the horrors of the day, she wanted nothing more than to
sleep.

But
there was one more thing she must do.

She
tiptoed toward the edge of the cave. The bars were closed, protecting them from
dinosaurs. But when Simone held out her SmartSphere, she got a signal.

Cloventia
was several light-minutes away. There was a delay. But she could still make a
call home.

She
called Cody's parents.

They
appeared on-screen. A lovely couple in their fifties. They were having
breakfast when Simone called. Orange juice and poached eggs.

And
she told them. About their son dying. About there being no body left to bury.
Several minutes later, as the signal came back to her, she saw them break down.
They wept. And Simone wept with them.

That
night, she found no rest in slumber. All night she dreamed of the allosaurus
attack. But in her dreams, the dinosaurs were not devouring Cody. It was Elize
who died between their teeth.

CHAPTER NINE

Predators

Tobias Triplehorn
stood on the rooftop of Triplehorn Incorporated headquarters, high above the
floating city. He paused for a moment, holding his shotgun, admiring the view.
The sight from the rooftop always took his breath away.

Neotropolis,
capital of Cloventia, sprawled below him like a sea of neon. Five hundred years
ago, when the first humans arrived to colonize this planet, it was nothing but
fields of clover as far as the eye could see. Today the only things growing on
Cloventia were houseplants, and even most of those were plastic. They produced
some food in labs, but they imported most of it from Dagon, the massive farming
planet that orbited Nyx with them. Cloventia herself was too beautiful to
tarnish with farmlands. Humanity had created a wonder here, not only taming the
wilderness but slaying it, building upon its corpse a paradise of light.
Cloventia had become a synthetic planet, a monument to modernity.

"Man
has always sought to slay nature," Tobias said softly. "Since Saint
George slew the dragon, we've been slaying beasts. That is why I founded
Triplehorn Incorporated. To carry on this legacy of triumph."

Standing
nearby, Isaac Carmichael chuckled. He was a big, beefy man. His silk robes
shone with electric embroidery. He held a shotgun with his big, jeweled hands.

"Well,
you're certainly out-slaying me today!" the big man boomed. "What's
the score now? Fourteen doves to me, sixteen to you?"

Tobias
smiled thinly. He could be beating the man a hundred to fourteen by now. But it
was unwise to beat him too severely. Isaac Carmichael was the editor of the Cloventia
Gazette, among the largest media companies in the Nyx system. Tobias sold
guns and arrows and blades. But he knew that the pen was mightier than the
sword. And the Gazette owned a whole lotta pens. Tobias was still a new
shareholder. It took time to grease the wheels.

"I
believe you are correct," Tobias said. "Fourteen to sixteen. Maybe
you'll catch up this turn. Ready? On three. Two. One."

Tobias
opened the cage door. Ten more doves fluttered out and took to the sky.

Doves
were expensive on Cloventia. Tobias imported them all the way from planet
Thalia. Each one cost more than a nice dinner at La Maison Volante.
Normally Tobias tested his weapons on sparrows, which were cheaper, smaller,
and harder to hit. But to entertain the editor of the Gazette, a few fat
and beautiful doves were well worth the cost.

The
animals flew slowly. Tobias had clipped their wings in just the right way,
allowing them to still fly—but clumsily.

Carmichael
thrust out his bottom lip, raised his chin with a jiggle of his jowls, and
aimed his shotgun. He closed one eye, the one with the monocle, and placed the
butt of the shotgun against his ample belly. With a finger that twinkled with
rings, he pulled the trigger.

The
shotgun boomed.

The
pellets flew out.

The
doves kept flying.

"Goddammit all!" the editor blustered.

Tobias
had secretly implanted little electrodes inside the doves' heads. Pretending to
adjust his tie, he tapped a hidden button. Three doves fell from the sky, dead.
They vanished into the neon sea below.

"Ah,
looks like I got a few after all!" The editor chuckled. "Jolly good
show. Why, looks like I'm ahead of you now, Tobias. Seventeen to sixteen. I
seem to be getting the hang of this hunting business."

Tobias
smiled thinly. "You're a natural, Mr. Carmichael."

Yes,
doves were expensive. But far more costly were shares in the Cloventia
Gazette. Five hundred years ago, when Cloventia was still a fledgling
colony, the Gazette had begun as a simple newspaper. Printed on actual
paper. Today the Gazette controlled so much more. Holographic streams.
Music labels. Virtual reality worlds. The company even owned QuickFame, the
largest social media network on the NyxNet. The same network where Amissa
pleased her millions of fans.

Most
importantly, Mr. Carmichael owned a young journalist by the name of Simone LaRue.

Tobias
licked his teeth, loading his shotgun. He remembered the young LaRue. There
used to be two of them. Twin girls. They were never apart. At least until that
unfortunate incident with the dog. Tobias would see them at his daughter's
school, feisty little redheads. One was now buried in the lower levels beneath
the neon sea, the place they dumped trash, toxic waste, and the bodies of the
poor.

The
surviving LaRue would serve Tobias well.

I
sell many weapons, he thought. Guns.
Bows. Blades. But the greatest weapon in the galaxy is a beautiful woman.

He
released more doves.

He
fired.

He
missed. He could have hit them all, of course. But he chose to miss.

"Ah,
bad luck!" Carmichael said. "Looks like I'm still ahead."

Tobias
smiled a tight smile. "You're a natural, Mr. Carmichael."

The
big man placed a meaty, heavily jeweled hand on Tobias's shoulder. The touch
disgusted Tobias, but he kept his smile.

"Toby,
old boy, you've shown me a good time today. I'm glad to have you on our board
of directors." He barked a laugh. "With the amount of shares you're
buying, you'll soon own more of the Gazette than I do."

"I
would not dream of it," said Tobias. "I'm merely a humble investor.
Of course, if you do need to raise more money … my coffers are always
open."

His
coffers were almost empty. Buying eleven percent of the Gazette had
ravaged them. Tobias had drained his life savings for this. But his fortune had
purchased more than just a media company.

It
purchased a beautiful redhead.

"How
is our Ms. LaRue doing?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "Is her
trip to Mintari going well?"

Carmichael's
face fell. "Toby, old boy, I meant to talk to you about that. I had a talk
with the lawyers. Planting hidden recording devices is a legal gray area.
Espionage, they call it."

Dammit
all!

Fury
flared inside Tobias. The fool had talked! Now Tobias must track down those
lawyers. Make sure they kept their mouths shut. It would be messy business. If
they refused to cooperate, the pits below the neon sea might gain a few more
bodies.

Tobias
forced his rage down. Feigning nonchalance, he raised his eyebrows.
"Espionage, sir? No." He forced a laugh. "I'm merely concerned
about my son. That's all." He heaved a sad sigh. "Young Joe Triplehorn
has disavowed me. He refuses to see me. He won't even call me. But if Simone
can reach him, could let me know he's okay, my burden would feel a little
lighter. I'm simply worried about my boy."

Carmichael
licked his lips nervously. "I understand, Toby. I do. Such a terrible
thing—for a son to renounce his father." He cleared his throat.
"Don't worry. We won't say more of this. I assure you, Simone LaRue is a
fine journalist. One of my best. She'll find your boy." He slapped Tobias
on the back. "Now—looks like there are still a few doves in the cage! What
say we go for one more round? The loser pays for dinner."

They
shot a few more doves.

A
few carcasses fell into the neon sea. A few lucky birds got away. Once they
were far enough, the implants in their heads would detonate. Tobias didn't want
too many loose birds around.

After
all, birds were the offspring of dinosaurs. And Tobias had vowed to wipe the
dinosaurs off the face of the galaxy.

I
will smite them down like an asteroid,
he vowed. For you, my parents. This is all for you.

Carmichael
shot his final bird, laughed uproariously, and slapped Tobias on the back.
Hard.

"Well,
Toby, old boy, looks like I won. Beginner's luck, huh?"

Tobias
forced a tight, twitching smile. "Looks like dinner is on me. Grilled
doves, perhaps?"

* * * * *

Amissa
Triplehorn was no stranger to hunting.

She
had slain a woolly mammoth with a simple compound bow (the Artemis's Arch,
15,999 clovers at all Triplehorn stores).

She
had taken down a grizzly bear with only a hunting knife (the Triplehorn
Tactical Blade, only 999).

In
a daring feat, she had slain an entire pride of lions. She had needed a shotgun
for that one (the Triplehorn Slugger, 19,999 clovers, financing available), but
it was still one for the record books.

Her
fans loved it.

Whenever
she posted a video of herself slaying an animal, millions watched. Sometimes
billions. Whenever she posed over a kill, triumphant, the photo spread across
Earth and Cloventia. Teenage boys hung posters of her on their bedroom walls.
Teenage girls aspired to be like her—as beautiful, as rich, as deadly.

Her
father ran Triplehorn Incorporated. He was the company's heart, soul, and mind.
But Amissa was the face. Who could resist a woman so beautiful and deadly?

Amissa
appeared in the company commercials, her chestnut hair flowing in the wind, her
blue eyes narrowed with concentration, her arrows flying true. She smiled from
billboards, one boot upon the corpse of an animal. There was even an Amissa
Triplehorn virtual reality game (Goddess of the Hunt, only 199 clovers).
Players controlled a virtual Amissa, hunting elephants, lions, and bears.

She
was the most famous huntress in the galaxy. But she had never killed a
dinosaur.

Not
with her big brother and his Rangers running around. Jurassic Joe was ruthless.
Amissa knew this. He had murdered many hunters. Some had been her friends. She had
seen the body bags come home to Cloventia. She had attended the funerals.

Her
fists clenched. "You murdered people, big brother. To protect lizards you
murdered men. But your little act of defiance against your clan is over."
Her face split in a grin. "If you try any of your games on me, I will
shoot you down like a dog!"

The
flight attendant cleared her throat. "Excuse me, ma'am. This is a family
flight. And you're yelling."

Amissa
blinked and looked around.

Oh.
Right. She was still on the starship. She had forgotten. Rows of seats
stretched around her, full of tourists. Her thoughts sometimes took hold of
her, carrying her to another realm.

"Get
lost!" Amissa snapped at the flight attendant. "Or I'm going to buy
this spaceline and demote you to scrubbing the toilets. Go! Wait." She
grabbed the woman's arm. "First serve me coffee. Then go."

When
she was sipping her coffee, Amissa pulled out her SmartSphere. She tapped a few
buttons, and a hologram burst out from the circular computer. A grin spread
across her face. She took another sip.

"What
was it you called that LaRue girl, Dad? A secret weapon?" She laughed.
"Brilliant."

Triplehorn
Incorporated made and sold many weapons. Compound bows. Blades. Guns. But the
greatest weapon they wielded, it seemed, was a beautiful redhead.

"Simone
LaRue," Amissa said. "You were a brat in high school. But you've
become such a good little servant."

She
could see the gullible ginger in the hologram. The so-called journalist was
sleeping soundly, completely unaware. She was curled up on a rug, her head on a
pillow. Her red tresses spread out around her. The crackling fireplace painted
her porcelain skin a golden hue.

"Look
at you," Amissa hissed. "You were so proud of your looks when we were
schoolgirls. Always prancing around." She licked her teeth and fingered
her hunting blade. "Once I'm done using you, maybe I'll carve up your
pretty little face."

The
stewardess cleared her throat. "Excuse me, ma'am, but all weapons must be
stored in the overhead compartment in a sealed bag during the—"

"Get
lost!" Amissa snapped. "Or I'll drive this blade into your
heart!"

The
stewardess fled like a frightened bird to join her flock. The spaceship staff
crowded together, whispering among themselves, sometimes tossing glances at
Amissa. She overheard snippets.

"She
threatened me with a knife …"

"…
don't you know who that is? Her father is …"

"
… worth a billion clovers …"

Amissa
shook her head in disgust. Flying in a commercial spaceship, even in business
class, was demeaning. Other rich Cloventian families had private spaceships.
Why should she debase herself by flying with the masses?

But
the flock of stewardesses was wrong. Clan Triplehorn was not worth a billion
clovers. Not even close. Bribery was expensive. Greasing the wheels of power
came with hefty costs. The clan was in debt, sinking deeper every day. Just
recently, Tobias Triplehorn had sold the family's resort on Emerald Orbital
Ring. And to make things worse, the taxman kept nipping at their heels,
demanding more, more, more.

But
Mintari was a goldmine. If Amissa could defeat the Rangers, then open up the
planet to hunting, the clovers would flow. And Amissa would have her private
starship. She vowed to hire these same stewardesses. She would make their lives
living hell.

She
looked back at her SmartSphere. Simone LaRue was still sleeping soundly,
unaware she was being watched.

"Pops,
you are a genius," Amissa said.

Last
year, Triplehorn Incorporated had purchased a substantial amount of shares in The
Cloventia Gazette. It had emptied the clan coffers. But Tobias Triplehorn
now had a seat on the board.

Amissa
caressed the hologram that hovered above her SmartSphere, pretending to caress
Simone's freckled cheek. "You work for me now, precious little
sweetheart."

Simone
was completely oblivious. What a fool! No idea she was being watched! No idea
she was just a puppet! And Amissa was pulling the strings. Clan Triplehorn now
owned eleven percent of the Gazette. That gave them special access.
Using the shareholder codes, Amissa had personally entered the Gazette warehouse,
had bugged everything Simone was taking to Mintari. The cameras. The
microphones. The computers. All of it was constantly streaming everything to
Amissa.

Most
of the equipment was lost now. That pea-brained cameraman got himself devoured.
What was his name? California Cory? Cary? Something ridiculous like that. Half
his gear was now rattling around inside an allosaurus's belly. Still
transmitting too. And it was not a pretty sight.

But
Simone had saved one device—her personal SmartSphere. Just a humble little
computer, no larger than a peach. Primitive compared to the latest model, which
Amissa owned. But Simone's SmartSphere, old and cheap as it was, still had a
camera and microphone. The circular computer rested right beside Simone now,
and Amissa watched her sleep.

"So
beautiful," she whispered. "So innocent. Did you think I forgot what
you did?"

She
remembered that day. It was long ago now. Amissa closed her eyes and dug her
fingernails into her palms as the memories flooded her.

They
had been only sweet sixteen. Just innocent little flowers blooming for the
first time. Well, Amissa had been more of a thorn than a flower. Even then she
had been spiky. But the LaRue twins? Daisies. Both of them.

Amissa
had never cared for the pair. They came from a poor family. They did not belong
at Clover Heights Academy. Let the lower classes remain below the neon sea! The
lower levels were where they belonged. In the grime. But sometimes Clover
Heights plucked up some dregs. Tried to nurture them. To save them from the
underworld. If you asked Amissa, it was ridiculous.

Oh,
she had made sure the twins knew they did not belong. She knocked over their
milk cartons. Once she framed them for cheating on a test, had nearly gotten
them expelled too. But the twins clung on. Like leeches. So vain! So proud of
their red hair! Always fluttering around, flirting, flaunting their looks.

Until
that fateful day when Amissa met them outside of school.

She
had brought company. Her dog, Boomer, growled on his leash. He was a
genetically engineered pit bull and a big one too. Such dogs were outlawed on
Cloventia, but when your father was Tobias Triplehorn, the law made exceptions.

She
had not planned to kill one of the twins, of course. Just to scare them
a little.

Boomer
barked on command. He bared his teeth. But Amissa held him back on his chain.
Her dog never touched the girls. Not a hair on their precious ginger heads! Was
it her fault that Elize LaRue fled into traffic? The girl was an idiot. She
deserved to get run over. Boomer never hurt anyone.

But
Clover Heights Academy blamed Amissa. Of course they did. All Simone LaRue had
to do was bat her eyelashes, toss her pretty red hair, and put on a show. Oh,
how Simone had cried her crocodile tears! How her lips had quivered! Please,
headmaster, please ban Amissa Triplehorn. She killed my sister.

Rubbish.
But the headmaster had bought the act. And Amissa was expelled. If not for her
father pulling strings, she might have ended up in juvie too. Charged with
manslaughter. Ridiculous.

Worst
of all—they had put Boomer down.

Poor,
precious Boomer. The dog had done nothing but bark. And because of Simone
LaRue, he was dead.

"One
day very soon, I will make you pay, sweet slum princess," Amissa
whispered, staring at her sleeping rival. "But until then, you are
mine."

* * * * *

Amissa
flew her own astrolite down to the planet.

The
Galaxia Spacelines mothership could not enter an atmosphere. Normally, people
shuttled down in small, cramped landing craft. Included in the price. But
Amissa wouldn't be caught dead in one of those tin cans. She had brought her
own astrolite from home, thank you very much. During the long flight between
planets, her astrolite had waited in the hangar bay.

Her
clan did not yet own a private starship. But she sure as hell could afford an
astrolite.

The
flight had been long and wearisome. Thirty-six hours trapped in her seat,
suffering the indignities of rude stewardesses, snot-nosed tourists, and meals
she wouldn't feed her dogs. There wasn't even a NyxNet connection, allowing her
to escape into virtual reality. Amissa would have stayed in the hangar bay,
hiding inside her astrolite. But they shut down life support in the hangar
until arrival. And her astrolite only contained enough air for an hour or two.
What a nightmare!

But
the ordeal was over. Now she was back in her astrolite, a sleek machine she had
named Huntress.

Finally,
after all these years of dreaming—there it was below her.

The
promised land.

Mintari.
A world of dinosaurs. A hunter's paradise.

She
had slain many deadly beasts. Tigers. Hippos. Mammoths. But nothing could
compare to dinosaurs. Here were the most magnificent animals in history. The
most dangerous predators. The grandest of herbivores. A cornucopia awaited
below.

Amissa
checked her makeup, brushed back her hair, then pointed her camera at herself.
She clicked a button, initiating a live stream, and smiled at her millions of
fans.

"Hello,
fellow hunters! This is your girl, Amissa Triplehorn, reporting in from the sky
of Mintari. Yes, my dear Tripletots, I'm finally here. And it is
spectacular." She pointed the camera out the windshield. "Look."

The
astrolite glided over a lake and grassy valley. Sauropods were wading through
the water. The beasts were truly titanic. Amissa had thought that mammoths were
large. One of these sauropods could step on a mammoth. When they saw the
astrolite fly overhead, the sauropods raised their ridiculously long necks and
brayed.

Amissa
clutched her rifle, her fingers tingling.

"Look
at them, my Tripletots! Aren't they magnificent? This species is Brachiosaurus
altithorax. If the astrolite window could open, I would shoot one for you
now." She laughed. "But we must be patient, Tripletots. I'll make
sure to face them up close, to show you their true grandeur—from the ground—before
I take one down. I can barely wait. I know you're eager too."

Her
likes and comments came flooding in. Hundreds of thousands of fans were
watching her live stream. They flooded her with love. Every second, more
comments poured in.

"Go
get 'em, Dino Huntress!"

"Queen
Amissa, slay!"

"Can't
wait to try out the new Triplehorn rifles."

"Gorgeous!"

Of
course, the usual trolls were there too. The animal-rights activists were
having their usual meltdowns, uttering their pathetic little threats.

"Murderer!"

"How
could you possibly kill such beautiful animals?"

"How
would you feel if somebody hunted you?"

"Die,
you monster!"

Amissa
blew a kiss to the camera. "And this is for my haters. I love you too.
Someday you'll become Tripletots as well. Mwah!"

She
winked. More hearts flooded her video. Along with much more hate. She basked in
them both.

She
pointed the camera outside again. She flew the astrolite over a canyon. Cycads
grew on the canyon's edges, and a river snaked through the deep gorge. Hundreds
of pterosaurs bustled there. They nested on the canyon walls, swept down to
catch fish from the river, and fluttered among the trees. Amissa zoomed in.

"Look
at those!" she said. "Simple pterodactyls. Not much larger than me.
I'll let these ones live. I plan to find the mighty quetzalcoatlus, a flying
reptile large enough to swallow a human whole. According to legend, the beating
of its wings brings storms. That is the pterosaur I plan to hunt."

Her
live stream flooded with comments.

"Can't
wait!"

"Shoot
yourself, not a beautiful animal!"

"Kill
the quetz, kill the quetz!"

"Somebody
needs to hunt you!"

Amissa
pointed the camera at grasslands. "Look at those. A herd of herbivores.
Triceratops?" She zoomed in. "Nope! Only two horns. A herd of
nasutoceratops. I would love to mount one of those skulls on my wall."

"Mount
your own head."

"Killer
Queen!"

"T-rex,
T-rex, T-rex!"

Within
seconds, that last comment got hundreds of likes. Soon hundreds of her
followers were posting the same thing, over and over.

"T-rex,
T-rex, T-rex!"

Amissa
laughed, turned the camera toward her face, and blew her fans a kiss.
"Yes, I hear you, Tripletots. You want me to hunt a T-rex." She grew
serious. "A Tyrannosaurus rex is the deadliest predator that's ever lived.
The most ruthless killer evolution has ever produced. Do you think I can truly
do it?"

"I
hope a T-rex kills you!"

"You
got this, babe."

"T-rex,
T-rex, T-rex!"

Amissa
pouted. "Well, if you don't think I can do it …"

"You
can do it, baby!"

"You
da best!"

"Don't
let the haters get you down."

"Eat
her, T-rex! Team T-rex!"

Amissa
wiggled two fingers in an imitation of a T-rex's arms. "Well, Tripletots,
you'll have to wait and see. My astrolite is landing now. See you later, my
lovelies! Kisses!"

She
kissed the screen and shut off the live feed. Nearly eight million views this
time. She would have to bump those numbers up. Once she got a few dinosaur carcasses
to pose with, she would be getting a hundred million live viewers.

She
looked at her tablet. Simone LaRue was still sleeping. A private show for one.

Dawn
had risen. Behind the redhead, in the shadows, Amissa could now see it. A bed.
A man waking up.

Amissa
grinned. "Hello, big brother."

* * * * *

Most
visitors to Mintari landed in Dinovia.

It
was the only city on Mintari. If you could call it that. The place was built
like a prison. A moat, towering walls, an electric fence, and guard towers defended
the humans within. Most Mintarians cowered within those walls, fearful of
dinosaurs. Pathetic. Weren't Mintarians meant to be tough?

Not
only the locals sheltered within the city walls. Tourists and even poachers
stayed in Dinovia's hotels. They liked their soft beds, their breakfast
buffets, and the safety of stone walls around them. When they felt adventurous,
they left the city in armored jippis, then rushed back to their feather beds at
night.

Cowards.

Amissa
was different. She was made of tougher stuff. She had no use for a city full of
weaklings. She landed her astrolite in the wilderness. If Joe could survive out
here, so could she.

She
had to admit it. Jurassic Joe was no weakling. He was like her. Strong. A
fighter. Grudgingly, she gave him this respect.

It's
too bad you chose to fight on the wrong side, brother,
Amissa thought, slinging her rifle across her back.

She
hopped out of her astrolite onto the soil of Mintari. Grasslands rolled toward
conifer forests and beyond them blue mountains. A river snaked in the east,
gleaming under the sunlight. Flowers rustled around her boots, and the song of
crickets filled the air. A flock of pterodactyls glided across the blue sky.

Amissa
tilted her head back, inhaled deeply, and sighed. Fresh air. The smell of
flowers and grass. You didn't get that on Cloventia.

Amissa
tossed her SmartSphere into the air. The plum-sized computer hovered before
her, filming her.

"I'm
here. And it's beautiful." She smiled, eyes closed, and tilted her head
back, letting the wind play with her hair. "I love the great outdoors.
People think that hunters hate nature. That we destroy nature. But I know
that's not true. I love nature with all my heart, and it's here where I feel
most at peace. It's here that I can connect with my ancestors, my past, and my
soul. It's here that I can be one with the universe. We are predators, we human
beings. We've always hunted—ever since the first human lifted a rock and hurled
it at a deer. Here, I'm connecting with what it means to be human."

Holograms
of little emojis floated out of her camera. Mostly they were hearts. Her fans
loved it. And they loved her.

Amissa
made sure she was beautiful for them. She had worn her favorite hunting outfit
today. Camouflage pants, snug enough to accentuate her curves. A tactical vest,
low enough to reveal some skin. Her long brown hair fluttered in the wind, and
her makeup was perfect. Yes, she was putting on a show for the fans. But she
had spoken the true words in her heart.

"Nature
is where I belong," she said. "Where I feel strong."

Snorting
sounded behind her.

Amissa
spun around, and her heart soared.

Dinosaurs.

Amissa
didn't need her field guide. She had spent years studying dinosaurs. Learning
their names. Their habits. Their vulnerabilities. She recognized this species
at once.

"Look,
Tripletots!" she whispered. Her camera still hovered nearby, filming
everything. "Amazing! I only landed a few minutes ago. And already I see a
beautiful family of nodosaurs."

There
were four. A mother and three juveniles. They trundled forward, coated in heavy
armor and spikes. Their thickly armored heads dipped down to feed on ferns.

"Beautiful!"
Amissa whispered. "They don't fear me. With so much armor, they don't fear
predators. Nodosaurs lived across North America throughout the Jurassic and
Cretaceous periods. They're a type of ankylosaurian dinosaur. Look at all those
spikes and armored plates!"

She
stepped closer. Her camera hovered behind her. The mother dinosaur looked up,
grunted, and puffed air from her nostrils. Amissa took a step back.

"She's
a fierce one!" she whispered to the camera. "She's protecting her
hatchlings. Even fully grown, nodosaurs are small for dinosaurs. This one is
about the size of a hippopotamus."

Comments
came flooding in. They floated above the camera like wisps of steam.

"Aww,
she's cute."

"Shoot
her, shoot her!"

"Don't
you dare harm her!"

"Beautiful
babies. I want one!"

Amissa
barely paid any attention to the comments from fans. She crouched in the grass
and leaned forward, examining the animal. The nodosaur was now munching on
grass.

"These
animals are small. But look at how they evolved to survive! They're built like
a tank, low and thick and covered with armor. Those spikes across their backs
and sides could cause some serious damage. And see their coloring? Brown and
yellow spots. That's camouflage. Consider that fact, Tripletots. An animal
wearing so much armor, with such fierce weaponry, still needed to evolve
camouflage. That's how dangerous some of the predators on Mintari are."

Amissa
plucked some ferns and held them out. The baby nodosaurs approached. One began
to eat out of her hand.

The
comment section exploded.

"Awww,
cute!"

"Hungry
little fella."

"Watch
out for mommy!"

The
adult nodosaur stomped closer. She opened her mouth in an angry roar. Her
spikes thrust out like scythes, and she raised her tail menacingly. That tail
was a formidable weapon—muscular, fast, and covered with spikes.

Amissa's
heart burst into a gallop. She stepped back from the hatchlings.

"Easy,
girl. Easy. I just want to show you to my viewers."

The
mama nodosaur grunted and pawed the earth. Her deadly tail swung from side to
side.

Amissa
had faced animal mothers before. Once she had battled a grizzly bear protecting
her cubs. Back then, Amissa had thought the grizzly a monster. A true terror of
claws and fangs. Now she realized how small and weak grizzly bears actually
were.

The
nodosaur was bigger, covered in armor, and sprouted spikes that could put a
rhino's horns to shame. Evolution had built a tank. And when a living tank
growled at you, it was a little intimidating, Amissa had to admit. Even she,
the great huntress, the slayer of many beasts—even she was taken aback.

She
forced down her fear.

Control
yourself. You are an apex predator. You can defeat this beast.

"Nodosaurs
survived for tens of millions of years, facing the toughest predators nature
ever produced," Amissa told her followers. "They survived in a world
swarming with allosaurs, megaraptors, and even T-rexes."

The
armored dinosaur burst into a gallop, charging at her.

"But
they never faced me."

Amissa's
heart raced. Her hands were slick with sweat. Her knees shook. The tanklike
dinosaur was charging right at her, bellowing for her death.

With
trembling hands, she managed to raise her rifle and fire.

She
was firing the Triplehorn Dinoslayer, a new rifle specifically designed for
dinosaur poachers. A bullet the size of a shot glass blasted forth at
hypersonic speed, rippling the air. It slammed into the charging dinosaur.

Amissa
had aimed for the head. But the slug went too high and slammed into the
nodosaur's armored back.

The
Dinoslayer could shoot through brick walls. The slug shattered the animal's
armor. Bony spikes flew through the air.

But
the dinosaur still lived. She kept charging.

Amissa
inhaled sharply. Impossible. Impossible! This gun could take down a mammoth!

Bellowing,
the nodosaur lunged at her.

Amissa
rolled aside, heart pounding. A scythe-like spike slashed her thigh, tearing
her pant leg, scratching her skin. Not a deep cut. Tarry close though. Could
have easily carved off her entire leg.

Comments
hovered over her floating SmartSphere.

"Woo,
go dino!"

"Team
Nodosaur! Get her, Nody!"

"Amissa,
you got this! Slay, queen!"

The
dinosaur was big, heavy, and tough. But also slow and dimwitted. The dinosaur
ran several more steps before realizing she had missed Amissa. Grunting, the
nodosaur made a U-turn, pawed the earth, then charged toward Amissa again.

"Go,
Nody!"

"Fight
fight fight!"

"This
is barbaric. I can't watch."

"A
hundred clovers on Nody!"

Amissa
wanted to run. Every instinct in her body screamed to flee, to reenter her
astrolite, to slam the door shut.

No.

Not
her. Not Amissa Triplehorn.

She
cocked the gun, loading another bullet.

The
dinosaur charged closer. Closer. She was a second away, and the spikes thrust
toward her, and—

She
pulled the trigger. The boom deafened her. Amissa flew backward and hit
the ground.

Had
the nodosaur gored her? Was she dying? Her ears rang. Her head spun. She
glanced down at her body.

No
blood. She was unhurt. In her haste, she had failed to shoulder the Dinoslayer
properly. The recoil had knocked her onto her backside. She blushed, feeling
like an amateur. But at least she was alive.

A
groan sounded ahead.

Amissa
pushed herself to her feet. The nodosaur lay before her, a mountain of armor
and spikes. The bullet had entered the dinosaur's head.

The
mythical animal looked up at Amissa with one eye, gave one last grunt, and
died.

Amissa
placed her foot on the dinosaur's head, raised her rifle overhead, and howled
in victory.

Her
fans went wild. Holograms of clapping hands spun in a tornado around her
camera.

Amissa
struck a few poses. She turned her back toward the camera, looked over her
shoulder, and blew a kiss. She climbed onto the dead dinosaur's back and
flashed a V sign. She compared the length of her arm to one of the nodosaur's
spikes. The photos would circulate across QuickFame for days, racking up
millions, maybe billions of views. Her haters would help spread the photos.
Their fury multiplied her publicity.

A
ticker symbol flashed above her camera. Triplehorn Incorporated stock just went
up three percent.

Whimpers
sounded behind the corpse. The baby nodosaurs were nudging their mother. The
camera captured it all—the whole tragic affair.

Amissa
stared gravely into the camera. "This is the brutal reality of nature.
Nature can be beautiful, peaceful, even inspiring. But nature can also be
cruel. Sometimes even the strongest animals meet their match. These babies,
only recently hatched, will have to survive without their mother. If they're
strong, they will pass on their DNA to the next generation. If they're weak,
nature will select them for death. This is the reality of the great Darwinian struggle
that has shaped nature for billions of years, giving rise to the dinosaurs. And
to us. This is Amissa Triplehorn, your Dino Huntress."

She
gave a scout's salute—one of her trademarks—and ended the feed.

Her
subscriber count shot up by twenty thousand.

For
the first time, she had killed a dinosaur. A small one. There would be many
more.

She
knew that her brother would hear of this. Jurassic Joe would hunt her like she
hunted dinosaurs. A smile twitched her lips, and she gripped her shotgun with
both hands.

"Bring
it on."

* * * * *

That
night, Amissa parked her astrolite on a forested hilltop, covered it with vines
and leaves, and secured herself inside. The hull was thick enough to withstand
atmospheric entry. No dinosaurs were getting through. As for the Rangers, well …
a few cowboys driving around in jippis, peeping through binoculars, were not
going to find her.

Normally
on a hunt, she slept outdoors under the stars. Not on Mintari. Everything on
this planet was trying to kill you. Sleeping inside the astrolite it was.

She
peeled off her hunting clothes, wincing as the fabric brushed her bruises. Her
father had beaten her a week ago now, but the bruises were still raw. She had
deserved it. She had talked back to him. The pain taught her to respect the CEO
of Triplehorn Incorporated.

She
looked at herself in the mirror. She was still beautiful, she thought. Even
with the bruises. Even in her thirties.

Oh,
Amissa knew she was still young. Many hunters were older than her. But for a
QuickFame Queen, she was aging. On QuickFame, fans wanted to see youth and
beauty. Amissa took care of herself. Her hair was long, brown, and lustrous.
Her makeup was always impeccable. She trained daily to stay in shape. But she
could not stop the ticking of the clock. When she hit forty, game over. The
fans would move on to the next hot young huntress. And Amissa would be left to
rot.

She
must do something great by then. She must hunt a true monster. Not just little
dinosaurs but a true titan. On QuickFame, your fame came quickly, but it also
left just as quickly. During her time in the limelight, Amissa would make her
mark.

After
lying down in bed, she unfolded her SmartSphere. But this time she did not
activate the camera. She did not take selfies or stream a video to her fans.
She pulled out an old photo. A photo from three decades ago.

The
photo showed herself as a baby. Joe, a somber boy of nine, was holding her.

It
was the last time they had seen each other. After that photo was taken, their
mother fled Cloventia. She took Joe with her to Mintari. And she left Amissa
behind.

Tears
splashed the old photo.

"You
left me," Amissa whispered. "You and mother. You left me to a man who
beats me. You abandoned me."

Rage.

Rage
flowed through her, drying her tears. She clenched her fists.

"I'll
make you pay," she vowed. "You thought you could return to Mintari
without me. But I'm here now. And this whole tarry planet will burn."

Another
sob fled her lips. Outside in the night, dinosaurs grunted and shuffled and
slumbered. Inside her astrolite, Amissa Triplehorn closed her eyes and wept.

CHAPTER TEN

Mudslinging and Megaraptors

The smell of
cooking woke Joe up.

His
eyes snapped open. Judging from the light shining between the cave bars, it was
just past dawn.

He
normally slept throughout the morning, rarely waking up before noon. Why wake
up any earlier? He used to be an early bird. Back when Mina was here, they
would wake up at dawn. But since she was gone, Joe found fewer and fewer
reasons to wake up early. To wake up at all. Sometimes he spent all day in bed.

Sleep
was better than waking hours. Sleep brought some relief from the grief and
loss. Sometimes Joe wanted to sleep forever.

But
now the smell of cooking filled his nostrils, pulling him from bed. He rose,
grumbling, and rubbed his eyes.

"What's
going on?" he muttered.

He
dragged himself out of bed. He had slept in his clothes again. Khakis, a tan
buttoned shirt—the uniform of a Mintari Ranger. He had even slept with his
ceratop hat. He passed his hands over his clothes, absently smoothing out
wrinkles. How long had it been since he'd washed the uniform? Perhaps he should
change into a fresh one. Maybe trim his beard. Maybe wash. There was a woman in
the cave, after all.

Ah,
who cared? So what if he was a bit disheveled? He was a man. A Mintari man.
Mintari men were meant to be a little dirty. What was he, some kind of
Cloventian sissy? A soft lad who showered daily, shaved his beard until he
looked like a boy, and splashed himself with perfumes? If the woman didn't care
for wrinkled clothes, a scruffy face, and musky odor, she could buzz back to
Cloventia. The sooner he got rid of her the better.

He
sniffed, smelling the food again. Meat. And eggs.

He
shuffled toward the fireplace. Simone stood there, her back to him. She wore no
pants, but an oversized, buttoned shirt hung halfway down her thighs. His
shirt. Her red hair cascaded down to the small of her back.

"What
the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

She
turned around. She held a frying pan topped with eggs and sausages.

"Cooking
breakfast."

"That's
my food," he said. "And my shirt."

She
shrugged. "Do you want me cooking breakfast in my muddy safari
outfit?"

"I
want you out of my house."

She
pouted. "Aww, big tough Jurassic Joe is grumpy when he's hungry. Sit down!
I'm serving you breakfast."

"I'm
not—"

"Sit
down!" She pointed at the table.

Joe
sat down with a grumble. "I was saving those sausages."

She
smiled. "For me? How sweet."

Simone
rummaged along a shelf, found some clay dishes, and placed them on the table.
She ladled the food onto the plates. She had also found the coffee. A pot was
brewing. She had even fed Vinnie. The velociraptor was munching on sausages
from his bowl on the floor.

Joe
just stared at his plate. But Simone tucked in.

"I'm
famished." She stuffed eggs into her mouth. "Mmm. Wish you had some
pepper, but I think I did a good job."

"Did
you use the eggs from the top shelf?"

She
nodded. "Sure did." She scooped up another mouthful.

"Those
are velociraptor eggs."

Vinnie
whimpered.

Simone
paled, gulped, and winced. "I'll stick to the sausages." She lifted
one on her fork. "Don't tell me this is dinosaur meat."

Joe
said nothing.

Simone
looked at him. "Well?"

"You
didn't want me to tell you."

Simone
blinked, then shrugged and bit into the sausage. "I'm better off not
knowing how the sausage is made. I think that's true for all sausages."

Joe
still did not touch his food.

"You
don't have to do this, you know," he said.

"I
know." She sliced through the sausage. "The woman cooking for the
man? So old-fashioned."

"I
mean you don't have to be here at all. In this cave. On this planet. I'm not
giving you a story." He growled at her over his plate. "You can take
your tarry camera back to Cloventia and cover the latest celebrity scandal.
That's all you journalists care about it, isn't it? You're all
scavengers."

"Whoa,
whoa, dinoboy, you haven't even touched your eggs yet. Please at least try the
food before you eviscerate my career."

Joe
didn't have an appetite. He wanted to grab the knife off the table and stab
something. Why had she come here? He was happy enough on his own. Okay, not
happy, but he found his ways to forget the pain. Like sleeping. Drinking.
Shooting poachers. A redhead who stole his clothes, ate his food, and pried
into his business was not part of that equation.

A
voice spoke in his head, soft yet admonishing. Be nice, Joe. She's nice to
you.

It
was Mina speaking. Probably just a figment of his imagination. But she spoke to
him daily.

She's
a buzzard, he replied to her. All journalists
are. This whole breakfast routine is just flattery. A way to loosen me up.

Mina
smiled. Or maybe she's just hungry and made enough food for two? Eat, Joe.

Simone
was watching him, her blue eyes soft.

He
glowered at her. "Why are you staring at me?"

"You're
just … not what I expected."

He
grunted. "And what were you expecting, cheesecake?"

"A
hero. I saw a boy on the flight over with a Jurassic Joe action figure. On
Cloventia, I saw Jurassic Joe posters. There was even a cartoon for a season.
The mythical hero fights bad guys, helps damsels in distress, and teaches kids
to say no to drugs."

"I
do fight bad guys. I shoot poachers. And I saved your backside. As for kids,
well …"

I
almost had a kid, he wanted to say. Until
Ivan devoured my pregnant wife.

But
he could not bring those words to his lips. Often, even to this day, he thought
about his child. A girl. They had done the ultrasound. She was a girl. She
would have been fifteen now.

His
eyes stung. Vinnie seemed to sense his pain. The small theropod padded under
the table and rubbed against Joe's legs. His blue and green feathers were soft
and soothing.

To
hide his pain, Joe lowered his head toward the plate and began to eat.

"Ah,
there you go." Simone smiled. "Big tough dinoboy needs a big
breakfast."

"Do
you ever shut up?" he grumbled between mouthfuls.

Her
smile grew into a grin. "Not until I get what I want."

Joe
stared at his food, trying to ignore her. So she was pretty. Beautiful, even.
So what? So she cooked him breakfast. Big deal! He didn't want her here. He
would call the Rangers headquarters right now. They'd send someone to pick her
up in a jippi.

He
pushed his plate aside.

"Sorry
to disappoint you, Ms. LaRue. Thank you for breakfast, but I'm calling you a
cab."

He
patted his pockets, looking for his communicator. Where was the tarry thing? He
had left it around here somewhere. He rummaged around his shelves, pushing
aside empty bottles of booze. Where the hell was it?

Mina
spoke in his mind again. When I was alive, you would never remove your
communicator from your belt. Only when you slept, and even then, it was on your
nightstand.

Joe
shoved aside some fossilized dinosaur eggs on a shelf. So what? That was
years ago. I was young and uptight, that was all. I'm more mature now. More laid-back.

His
wife was silent.

As
he was searching, his hand knocked into something.

A
framed photo fell. He caught it before it could shatter.

His
last photo of Mina. She was pregnant and beaming. Joe stood beside her. No
white streaked his temples back then. His uniform was freshly ironed, his beard
neatly trimmed. And he had to admit—his belt was a few notches wider now. That
young, innocent man was beaming, his hand on Mina's belly.

Fifteen,
he thought, throat constricting. You would have been fifteen now, little
girl.

"She
was beautiful."

A
voice from behind. Joe spun around to see Simone.

"Are
you sneaking up on me?" he snapped. "Mind your own business."

She
stepped back, going very pale. "Sorry," she whispered.

"There
it is." He put the photo back and snatched his communicator from the
shelf. "I'm calling the Rangers to get you now. Hopefully they toss you
off the planet. I—"

He
froze, staring at his communicator.

Five
missed messages from Fort George, the Rangers headquarters.

All
were marked urgent.

He
read the first message.

Joe.
We need you. Your sister is on Mintari.

* * * * *

"You're
not coming with me." Joe stomped down the mountain, his sleep-or-die slung
across his back. "Get back into the cave."

Simone
hopped after him on one foot, pulling her boot on. No, not her boot. One of
Mina's boots, which she had found in the cave. They were the same size.

"You
already locked the gate!" Simone cried. "I can't go back in."

He
tossed her the key. "Here."

She
tried to catch the key while hopping on one foot, wobbled, and fell. Scree
cascaded down the mountain, and she yelped.

Joe
kept trudging down the path. "Will you be quiet? You'll alert every tarry
raptor on the mountain."

Vinnie
raced after them. The little velociraptor was no larger than a beagle, but he
fashioned himself a Ranger too. He let out a little cry.

"I
don't mean you!" Joe said. "I mean the megaraptors."

Vinnie
puffed out his feathers and let out a little screech. Simone squeaked in fear.
The journalist managed to pull both boots on, and now she was struggling to
button up her safari shirt. All while racing after Joe. The wind blew off her
straw hat, and when reaching to catch it, she faltered and nearly tumbled down
the mountainside. Vinnie had to catch the back of her shirt and pull her to
safety.

Simone
screamed. "Your dinosaur bit me!"

"He
saved your backside. Vinnie, you have orders not to save her again. Now get
back to the cave, lady!"

"Have
people ever told you that you're abrasive?"

"I
mostly stay away from people. I wish you did the same."

Joe
walked faster, trying to ignore her. His heart shook in his chest.

Amissa.
Here on Mintari.

The
greatest huntress in the galaxy, she called herself. That she was not. But she was
perhaps the most famous huntress. Even Joe, who lived in a cave, kept hearing
about her kills. Rangers, tourists, other poachers—they all talked about her.

Five
rocky planets orbited Nyx. Two belonged to humans: urban Cloventia and rural
Dagon. Three planets belonged to animals. Using time-casting, scientists sent
robotic mosquitoes into the past, collected DNA samples, and recreated extinct
animals in modern times. They gave planet Thalia to the victims of the Holocene
extinction event. Rhinos, elephants, lions, dodos—all those animals humans had
driven to extinction in modern times. The second planet, Borealis, they gave to
Ice Age animals.

Until
now, Amissa had kept to Thalia and Borealis. She delighted in hunting bears,
giraffes, mammoths, pandas, and a thousand other creatures big and small. When animal-rights
activists condemned her, she only laughed, blew them a kiss, and winked.

But
until now, despite all her fame, Amissa had stayed away from Mintari.

Something
changed.

Now
she was here. On Joe's turf.

His
communicator beeped. The Rangers were all sending messages back and forth.
Amissa was doing another live stream.

Joe
paused on the mountain path. He stared at his communicator's screen, disgust
roiling in his belly.

Amissa
stood with one foot on a dead nodosaur's head. Grass rustled around her, and
mountains soared behind her. Joe recognized the place. Laramidia Fields. Only
fifty kilometers southeast from here.

He
had not seen his sister in years. She had not changed much. She was
thirty-three now, but she still looked the same, youthful and beautiful. She
could have passed for twenty. Probably using a good dose of filters and
definitely a lot of makeup. She had always been vain.

She
looked into the camera, speaking gravely.

"I
know that many people condemn what I do here," Amissa said, broadcasting
her words to her millions of followers. "I get the hate mail. The death
threats. But these so-called animal-rights activists are ignorant. They sit in
their cozy little apartments, living in cities built on animal graveyards,
judging people like me who live in nature. I don't hate nature. I'm restoring
the natural balance. Nature chose dinosaurs for extinction. Scientists played
God, recreating these ancient animals in their labs. I'm simply doing what is
natural. What humans have done since the dawn of history. Hunting."

Rage
flowed through Joe. His hand shook around his communicator. He nearly crushed
the little device.

Simone
rushed up to him. She caught the last bit of Amissa's words.

"What
a load of garbage!" Joe said.

Amissa
seemed to be staring right at him through the screen. A thin smile touched her
lips. "Are you watching me, my brother? If you are, I would like to tell
you something. I will keep hunting. I will keep showing the beauty of nature to
my fans. And if you or anyone else tries to stop me …" She leaned forward
and grinned. "You are welcome to try."

Joe
stood there, head spinning, teeth grinding.

Simone
reached into her pocket for her SmartSphere. It was a cheap SmartSphere, but it
still included a hover option. When Simone tossed the circular computer into
the air, it floated between her and Joe.

"Is
there anything you would like to say to your sister, Joe?" Simone said
softly.

He
nodded.

Simone
tapped the floating SmartSphere, turning on the camera app. It began to record
him. Live.

Joe
stared at the lens.

"Listen
to me, Amissa Triplehorn, and listen well. You know who I am. You know what I
do to poachers. Leave this planet now. Or I will do what Rangers do."

On
her own live feed, she looked up and smiled in delight.

Joe
gripped Simone's floating camera and nearly crushed it while shutting it off.

"There,
you have your sound bite," he snapped at Simone. "Happy? Now get back
to the cave! I've got a poacher to shoot."

He
stomped downhill, already regretting losing his cool. He had allowed the
journalist to manipulate him. From now on, he hunted in silence.

* * * * *

When
he reached the foothills, Joe climbed onto a boulder, stuck his fingers into
his mouth, and let out a loud whistle.

He
stood, watching the forest.

Simone
froze at his side, pale. "Don't forget the megaraptors!" she
whispered. "You'll alert them!"

"Good!
Maybe they'll eat you."

She
crossed her arms. "Not funny, Mr. Triplehorn."

Vinnie
let out a cackle that sounded almost like laughter.

Joe
wasn't worried about attracting predators. They didn't respond to whistles. The
only animals that whistled around here were archaeopteryxes—feathered dinosaurs
who, on Earth, eventually evolved into birds. The archies were small, quick, and
fled easily, and the big predators rarely bothered hunting them. So no, Joe
wasn't worried about attracting anyone with his whistles. And in case any
predators did come near, Joe took extra precautions.

Simone,
who had been preoccupied with pulling on her clothes, finally seemed to notice
his "extra precautions." She sniffed, frowning.

"Something
stinks around here."

Joe
nodded. "It's T-rex urine." He pulled a bottle from his pocket. Amber
liquid swirled inside. "Want some?"

She
gagged and took a step back. "Disgusting! Don't tell me you drink that
stuff."

"What?"
He frowned. "Of course not. I splash a few drops on my boots whenever I
leave the cave. Raptors recognize the smell. It terrifies them. And they keep
away from my trail."

Simone
snatched the bottle from him and began dousing her boots. Mina's boots.

"Hey,
hey, go easy on that stuff!" Joe said, pulling the bottle back. "Just
a few drops are enough. This is hard to come by."

"I
can imagine," Simone said. "I don't want to know how you got
it."

Joe
scanned the foothills. "Come on, where are ya?" He whistled again.

A
rumble sounded in the forest. The trees rustled and bent. And there he came,
charging through the woods.

Dozer
the triceratops.

Simone
had ridden the dinosaur before. But she still gulped, gripped Joe's arm, and
hid behind him. Joe didn't scoff. He had to admit: the sight of a triceratops
bearing down on you was terrifying. Right up there with a tyrannosaur's open
jaws.

But
Dozer would not harm them. The burly dinosaur ran up the hill, reached them,
and reared. Even when standing on four legs, he was so big that his beak was
higher than Joe's head. And when he stood on his back legs, Dozer was truly a
titan. He was bigger than a woolly mammoth—several tons heavier and far more
muscular. His horns were a foot wide at their base, tapering to deadly points.

Dozer
didn't fear the smell on Joe's boots. A triceratops feared nothing.

Dozer
knelt and lowered his head, forming a ramp. Joe grabbed the trike's horns,
yanked himself up, and climbed onto his back.

"Get
back to the cave!" he told Simone and kneed the triceratops.

"It's
called the Last Home Hollow!" she said.

But
Dozer was already rumbling downhill.

Simone,
who remained behind, gave a loud whistle.

Dozer
froze, turned around, and lumbered toward her.

The
journalist stood there on the hill, pale and shaky. But she managed to smile.
"He's well trained."

Joe
felt the blood rush into his face. He clenched his fists, staring down at
Simone from atop Dozer's back. "Stop calling him back!"

Snorting
contentedly, Dozer knelt beside Simone. He seemed to like the redhead. She
grabbed the dinosaur's lumpy hide and began climbing up.

"Okay.
If you take me. Wh-whoa!"

Joe
kneed the trike again. Once again Dozer rumbled downhill. Simone yelped, nearly
fell, but clung on. While the dinosaur animal was bounding through the forest,
she managed to climb and sit behind Joe.

"That
was a dangerous stunt, you know!" she told him. "I could have fallen
off and been trampled."

Joe
nodded. "You would have been safe in the cave."

She
rolled her eyes. "Joe Triplehorn, you are insufferable."

"Great,
you finally realized it. Maybe now you'll leave me alone."

A
rumble sounded in the depths of the forest. Just a random dinosaur minding its
own business. Simone gulped, wrapped her arms around Joe, and squeezed.

"Never
gonna leave you," she said.

"Loosen
your grip, at least."

"Not
gonna."

"You're
crushing me."

"Don't
care."

He
groaned. "Just go away!"

"Don't
wanna."

They
rode on through the foothills until they reached Hell Valley. The grasslands
spread into the distance. Morning mist still clung to the valley, hiding the
forest beyond. In the distant haze, one could make out the blurred forms of
grazing sauropods.

"Do
you know where Amissa is?" Simone asked.

Joe
nodded. "Laramidia Fields. About a day's ride from here."

"A
day's ride! Mr. Triplehorn, you need to install an engine on this triceratops
of yours."

"I
don't do engines. I don't drive jippis. I don't fly in tricopters."

Simone
frowned. "Don't the other Rangers use technology?"

"They
do. Good for them. I don't."

"But
if it takes you so long to get anywhere, how do you stop poachers?"

"Sometimes
they get away," he admitted. "That's the cost of my philosophy. Ms.
LaRue, my job isn't just to shoot poachers. That's part of it, yes. But not the
soul of it. Do you know what my real job is?"

"Hopefully
not to butcher redheads and turn them into sausages."

He
ignored the joke. "My real job is to preserve the purity of Mintari's
wilderness. So I try to avoid anything that can disturb nature. So I live in a
cave. And I ride a dinosaur." He glanced over his shoulder at her.
"And no, I don't hurt redheads."

She
smiled and leaned against his back. "You sound like one of the Mintari
shamans. I've heard about them. Humans who don't live in Dinovia. They live in
the wilderness and worship dinosaurs as gods."

"My
mother is a shaman," Joe said. "She raised me. I got it from her. But
I chose a different path." His voice dropped. "Different from both my
parents."

The
old pain stabbed him.

His
father. His sister. They were predators. Worse than any dinosaur.

Riding
behind him, Simone placed a hand on his shoulder. Her red hair tickled his
cheek. "We all become our own people. My parents grew up below the neon
sea. On the lowest levels of Cloventia. Right on the planet surface. My mom was
a cleaner, my dad a mechanic. They had never been to the floating
skyscrapers." Her voice was so soft Joe could barely hear. "I left
them down there. I climbed."

Joe
looked over his shoulder at her. Her eyes seemed to be gazing at a distant
memory. Another trick? Just acting, trying to play on his sympathies?

Don't
fall for it, he told himself. She just wants a
story. That's all you are to her. A scoop.

"We
are nothing alike," he said.

She
met his gaze steadily. "More than you realize, Mr. Triplehorn."

"You
don't know what it's like," he growled. "When your family betrays
you. When someone you love dies. You're nothing but a buzzard, here to scavenge
for some scoop so you can keep climbing your neon towers. So you can leave your
family deeper in the muck. You're more like Amissa than like—"

"Amissa
murdered my sister," Simone said.

Joe
shut his mouth.

Simone
stared at him steadily, not even blinking. Her freckled face flushed, her
fingers trembled, but her gaze did not waver.

"What?"
Joe whispered.

Simone
nodded. "That's right, Mr. Triplehorn. Something you didn't know about me.
When I said we are alike, I meant it. I—"

The
foliage parted.

Dinosaurs
burst out from the trees.

Simone
screamed.

* * * * *

"Megaraptors,"
Joe muttered. "Great."

There
were five of them. Despite their name, they bore little resemblance to small,
harmless theropods like velociraptors. The megaraptors were more closely
related to T-rexes. They were smaller than their gargantuan cousins but still a
force to be reckoned with. From snout to tail, a megaraptor was as long as a
school bus.

Small
theropods like Vinnie sported feathers. It kept them warm. The megaraptors were
just large enough to have lost their feathers. Their skin was scaly and brownish
green. They snarled, baring rows of serrated teeth. Their arms were longer than
a T-rex's and tipped with claws. More claws sprouted from their feet, curved
and sharp and longer than Joe's forearm.

The
pack surrounded them. They inched closer, not yet attacking, sizing up their
enemy. Vinnie hissed but the big predators barely noticed him, no more than a
man might notice an angry field mouse. Dozer grunted, reared, and swung his
horns from side to side. The megaraptors hissed and clacked their jaws,
hesitating. A triceratops was nothing to trifle with even for a pack of five
butchers.

Simone
clutched Joe. "How did they find us? You said the T-rex urine would mask
our scent!"

Joe
sniffed. He frowned, sniffed again. "Do I smell sausages?" He grabbed
her pack and ripped it open. "What the hell?"

Simone
paled. "I … I thought I'd pack us lunch."

Joe
groaned. "Tar it, lady! You drew them right to us."

The
megaraptors inched closer, unable to resist the intoxicating scent of sausages.
They were lean and hungry after a long winter, and even Dozer did not deter
them. Their sickle claws rose. They licked their chops, salivating.

Trembling,
Simone tossed the sausages at them.

"Here,
eat it!" Her voice trembled.

The
sausages slapped onto the ground. The megaraptors ignored them. Who wanted
crumbs? They had a larger meal in mind.

"These
aren't dogs you can buy off with treats." Joe unslung his sleep-or-die
from across his back. "You really screwed us over this time, lady."

"I'm
sorry," she whispered.

One
megaraptor lunged, mouth opening in a hungry howl.

Simone
screamed.

Joe
fired his sleep-or-die.

The
rifle had two barrels. One for sleep. One for die. He fired the left one—sleep.
A tranquilizer dart slammed into the megaraptor's chest.

The
beast reared, howling in rage. Tranquilizers took a few moments to kick in.
Rangers normally used them to sedate wounded dinosaurs before tending to them,
not to stop charging predators mad with hunger. A dart in his chest, the
megaraptor continued its attack.

Little
Vinnie, bless his heart, launched himself into battle. He bit the megaraptor's
ankle. The big theropod didn't even notice.

Dozer
swung his horned head toward the charging predator. And a massive head that
was. It was ten feet long, and it weighed almost two tons. Its three horns
thrust out like medieval pikes, and the bony frill rose high, forming a barrier
of thick bone. This massive head—the finest defensive weapon nature had ever
produced—moved incredibly fast. Triceratops had ball joints in their necks. It
let them swing their heads in every direction at breakneck speed—without
actually breaking their necks. These ball joints, it was said, were the most
perfectly spherical objects nature had ever created in an animal.

The
megaraptor perhaps ignored Vinnie. But it was impossible to ignore a furious
triceratops. Seeing that gargantuan head wheel toward him, the theropod
shrieked and fell back. A wise decision. Those horns could gore a T-rex. They
would make short work of a megaraptor.

But
four more megas were here. And they lunged at Dozer from the sides and back.

A
trike put all his armor on the front. Not like an ankylosaurus, who spread his
armor across his entire body. A triceratops was virtually indestructible from
the front—his skull could withstand blows that would shatter even the fearsome
ankylosaurus. But his sides and back were exposed. And the megaraptors knew it.

One
sank his teeth into Dozer's tail. Another raptor lashed her sickle claw,
ripping into Dozer's flank. The triceratops bellowed in agony.

"Run,
Dozer!" Joe cried.

The
trike lowered his head and bolted forward.

With
massive force, Dozer plowed into one megaraptor. His horns tore through scaly
flesh.

Dozer
kept running. For a few seconds, he carried the raptor impaled onto his horns.
Then the triceratops tossed his head, hurling his foe. The gored carnivore
slammed into one of his fellow raptors. Both predators collapsed.

But
three more megaraptors were running in hot pursuit. The smell of blood
emboldened them.

Joe
slung his rifle over his shoulder. Simone ducked, and he fired another dart.

The
dart hit a raptor. The predator shrieked and fell back.

Two
other megaraptors leaped forward.

Dozer
swung his tail, knocking one back. The second raptor—an old male with one eye—landed
on Dozer's back.

Simone
screamed, clinging to Joe.

The
carnivore dug his claws into Dozer's flesh, climbing the triceratops. The
one-eyed raptor opened his jaws above Simone. Those jaws were as long as the
woman was tall. They could devour her with one or two bites.

Joe
tried to load another tranquilizer dart. But just then, another raptor came at
Dozer from the side. The triceratops swiveled his head around, goring the
animal. One of Dozer's horns carved deep into his foe's flank. Joe bounced on
Dozer's back, dropping the dart. Tar it!

Riding
Dozer with them, the one-eyed raptor loomed over Simone, salivating. The hungry
carnivore leaned down to feast.

Simone
reached into Joe's pack, pulled out the bottle of T-rex urine, and hurled it at
the enormous predator.

The
bottle hit the raptor's teeth and shattered, spraying the amber liquid
everywhere.

Like
all dinosaurs, the megaraptor was slave to his instincts. And one of those
instincts was to avoid T-rexes. The smell alone repulsed them. The one-eyed
raptor shook his head wildly, inhaling the scent of his nemesis. T-rex meant
danger. T-rex meant run. The predator released Dozer, fell off the
triceratops, and fled into the bushes.

That
was the last of them.

Vinnie
cackled, snapped his teeth at the fleeing raptors, and strutted around. Take
that!

One
megaraptor had fled. Two lay wounded behind Dozer, gored and bleeding out. Two
more were succumbing to the tranquilizers. One swayed and fell with a thud.

"Halt,
Dozer," Joe said.

The
triceratops lumbered to a halt, moaning. The big dinosaur was wounded. Blood
ran down his flanks and tail. He had suffered a bite and several gashes from
the terrible sickle claws. But he was still standing.

Joe
leaped off the dinosaur, landing on his feet. Simone followed, not quite as
gracefully. She landed awkwardly, wobbled, and fell down hard on her backside.
Thankfully a patch of grass cushioned her fall.

"Are
you all right?" Joe said to her. He couldn't hide the annoyance from his
voice.

She
sat on the grass, legs sprawled out before her, drops of T-rex urine clinging
to the rim of her straw hat. She looked miserable but she nodded. "I'm all
right."

Joe
turned toward Dozer. The big dinosaur moaned. He took a few more steps, then
curled his legs and sat down hard beside Simone, shattering a fallen log like
it was a twig.

"Poor
Dozer," Simone said, struggling to her feet. "Is he hurt badly?"

Joe
ignored her. He approached the wounded triceratops and stroked his beak.

"It's
all right, big boy, it's all right," Joe cooed. "You're fine. You're
fine."

The
enormous herbivore moaned and licked his hand. Joe examined the trike's wounds.
A megaraptor had sunk his teeth into Dozer's tail. Other raptors had slashed
him along the ribs.

Triceratops
perhaps lacked bony armor on their bodies. But their skin was thick, scaly, and
hard. The megaraptors had done some damage, ripping the skin, even reaching the
flesh beneath. But thankfully, they were all flesh wounds. The predators had
not reached any internal organs. The wounds were painful, no doubt. But dear
Dozer would overcome.

"Is
he dying?" Simone whispered.

"He'll
live," Joe said. "He's a tough old boy. It could have gone a whole
lot worse."

He
opened his pack and rummaged through his medical supplies. At times like this,
he missed Mina more than ever. His wife had been a paleonarian. A dino doc. Joe
had no formal education, but he had picked up a lot over the years.

You
taught me well, Mina.

He
splashed antiseptic into the wounds. Dozer leaped to his feet and bellowed. The
sound shook the forest.

"Calm
down, boy, calm down!" Joe had to spend long moments stroking the animal's
beak. He didn't want to tranquilize Dozer if he didn't have to.

Finally
Dozer settled down again. It was impossible to stitch dinosaur skin. But Joe
screwed in a few steel bolts to hold the thick, lumpy skin together. Old Ranger
trick. Dozer grumbled and grunted but let him work.

"Can
I help?" Simone said.

"You've
done enough."

Joe
taped long bandages onto the wounds. He patted Dozer's beak and gave him
something for the pain. He hugged the trike's head and whispered into his ears.

"Thank
you, friend. You saved my life. Again."

Simone
stood by silently, watching.

"Joe,"
she finally said. "Joe, I'm sorry."

He
turned and began walking uphill, leaving Dozer to rest.

Simone
hurried after him. "Joe? Where are you going?"

"To
find the megaraptors."

Simone
gasped. "What?"

"There
are wounded megaraptors up there. I'm going to treat them too. Stay here. Out
of my way."

* * * * *

He
walked uphill, rage simmering inside him.

Joe,
that's unfair, Mina said in his mind. Why are
you so mean to the woman?

He
dug his fingernails into his palms, stomping among the ferns and ginkgo trees.
Dozer's blood left a trail through the forest.

She
drew the predators to us! he answered in his mind.
Now dinosaurs are hurt.

Mina
sighed. She seemed so real in Joe's imagination. As beautiful as the day he met
her. And as the day he lost her.

She
didn't know, Mina said. She just packed food.

She
also stole your boots, Joe answered silently.

Joe,
you're not really angry at Simone, are you? You're angry at your sister.

Joe
gritted his teeth. We'll discuss this later.

He
trudged uphill, the rage like raptors inside him. He had not wanted this. Any
of this. He had been happy enough in his cave, alone with his misery. No, not
alone! He had Dozer and Vinnie. Who needed more? Now these two women from
Cloventia were here. Simone and Amissa. A journalist and a huntress. Now all
hell was breaking loose. Now dinosaurs were hurt.

He
reached the first wounded megaraptor.

The
enormous predator lay on her side. A young female. The length of a bus, with a
head the size of a recliner, she struck an imposing figure—even while lying
still. When she saw Joe, the megaraptor finally moved. Her sickle claw
twitched, a weapon the length of a Roman sword. But the dinosaur would not harm
him now.

Dozer
had plowed into the megaraptor like a true bulldozer. The theropod was bleeding
from her side—the work of Dozer's horns. Her left leg was broken.

"She
won't live long like this," Joe muttered to himself.

Vinnie
bared his teeth and hissed. Let her die! the little raptor seemed to
say.

"We
must heal her. She's a dinosaur of Mintari. Same as you, Vinnie. Same as Dozer.
She deserves life."

Joe
aimed his sleep-or-die. He fired. A tranquilizer dart jabbed the megaraptor in
the neck. The wounded beast found enough strength to rumble and hiss. But soon
she began to calm, to grow sleepy.

Now
Joe could tend to the dinosaur. First, just to be safe, he pulled rope from his
pack and bound the megaraptor's jaws shut. Some Rangers did not take this extra
precaution. Some Rangers died young.

When
the dinosaur was secure, Joe examined her wounds more closely. They were bad.
The worst was the broken leg. If a megaraptor could not run, she could not
hunt. If she could not hunt, she would die.

"You'll
need help setting that bone."

The
voice came from behind him.

Joe
spun to see Simone standing there.

"I
told you to stay with Dozer. Why do you keep sneaking up on me?"

She
placed her hands on her hips. "Well, good luck setting the bone by
yourself. The femur is longer than your body."

She
turned to leave.

Joe
closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"Fine,"
he said.

She
looked over her shoulder. "What's that?"

"Fine.
Help me set the bone." Another deep breath. "Please."

She
smiled. "Mr. Jurassic Joe! Did you just say the magic word? My, my, I
think I'm taming the beast. Maybe next I can even teach you how to make the
bed." She hid her mouth behind her palm. "I saw the state of your
linens."

"I'm
regretting this already," he muttered.

They
worked together, him pushing, her pulling, finally setting the bone. Joe found
a sturdy branch, and they made a makeshift splint, securing it with rope.
Hopefully it would not shatter once the megaraptor awoke.

"Is
this how you heal all your dinosaurs?" Simone asked. "Like this in
the field, using ropes and sticks?"

"How
else should I do it?" He began cleaning the megaraptor's cuts.

"In
a proper clinic! With medical tools. With real splints or casts, not
branches."

He
snorted. "And how do you suggest we transport a dinosaur to a medical
clinic?"

She
bit her lip. "A giant ambulance? Okay, dumb suggestion. An airplane?"

Joe
stapled the deeper cuts. "See any runways around here, cheesecake? This is
Mintari. We don't have planes large enough for dinosaurs. There are a few
paleonarians who make house calls. They fly out in tricopters to the field. I
already checked. They're all on other calls."

"A
few paleonarians?" Simone said. "Like a few hundred?"

"Three,"
Joe said.

"Three
hundred?"

"Three."

Simone's
jaw dropped. "Three dino docs. For an entire planet. With billions of
dinosaurs on it."

Joe
placed bandages over the cuts. The megaraptor was still sleeping soundly.

"Mintari
has a population smaller than your neighborhood back home, cheesecake. And not
nearly as much money. We do what we can with what we've got."

Simone
blinked. "But … the tourism industry! It must bring in a fortune."

"Most
of that money goes toward importing food from Dagon. No farmlands on Mintari.
The land belongs to dinosaurs, not tractors. Importing food from another planet
gets expensive."

Simone
heaved a sigh. "It's no wonder Amissa and other poachers run free
here."

Joe
paused from his work. He looked into her eyes. "Not entirely free. I still
hunt them. At least—I was hunting poachers before you drew a pack of
megaraptors with your sausages."

She
flinched. "I said I'm sorry. How much more do you want me to apologize,
Joe? Or will no amount of groveling appease you?"

He
packed his things. "I'm going to look for the other megaraptors."

He
walked through the forest, following the trail of Dozer's blood. Simone
followed silently. Vinnie cantered alongside them, pausing every now and then
to snatch a dragonfly.

Not
far away he came across another wounded megaraptor.

Simone
gasped and covered her mouth.

This
one was in worse shape. Joe saw that at once. Dozer had gored the carnivore
deep into his gut, probably slicing up internal organs. Two ugly gashes bled on
the megaraptor's belly. The predator lay on his side, breathing heavily.
Already flies were bustling in the wounds.

Joe
aimed his sleep-or-die.

"Joe?"
Simone said. "Joe, you forgot to load a tranquilizer dart."

He
pulled the trigger.

This
time he fired from the right barrel. A bullet drove into the megaraptor's head.
The dinosaur died instantly.

Simone
jumped. "Joe, why?" she whispered.

He
wheeled toward her, upper lip peeling back. "Never had to put a dog down,
princess?"

Her
face flushed. Something seemed to snap inside her. Her own upper lip rose in a
snarl. "I've had enough of this. I told you I'm not a princess. And I'm
not a cheesecake. And I'm not someone you can just keep insulting."

"Don't
like it? Get lost. Get off my planet."

"It's
not your planet, dammit! Who do you think you are? You're just some hermit who
lives in the forest and pretends to be a hero. You're no hero." She
snorted. "You're nothing but a drunk, cranky, middle-aged loser who can't
face his own pain. So you take it out on others. Guess what, buddy. We all have
our traumas. But we don't all spend our lives sulking over it. Oh, sure! You
love dinosaurs. You're a great protector of nature, blah, blah, blah. Maybe
that's just because you don't know how to handle another human being!" She
stepped closer, eyes narrowing. Blue fire blazed in those eyes. "You know
what I think, Joe Triplehorn?"

"Watch
your words," he said.

"I
think you're no different from your sister. Just another human who came here to
play with dinosaurs. Oh, she's a huntress, and you're a Ranger, but at the end
of the day, you both shoot dinosaurs."

He
raised his hand to strike her.

She
did not flinch. "Go ahead, Jurassic Joe, hero of Mintari."

With
sheer force of will, he lowered his hand. But his anger only grew. "And I
suppose you're different, is that so? At least I protect dinosaurs." He
pointed at the corpse. "This one did not have to die! You drew it with
your sausages. Just like you attracted the allosaurs with your whining. Several
dinosaurs dead because of you!" He barked a laugh. "You're doing a
better job than Amissa. She's only killed one."

She
scowled. "Yes, okay! I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm a foreigner.
I'm blundering about like an idiot. But if you lived in the city like a normal
person, I wouldn't be out here!"

He
rolled his eyes. "If I lived in the city, cheesecake, you wouldn't give a
damn about me." He stepped closer to her. "Admit it. You liked the
idea of some wild, unwashed mountain man. Somebody unlike the soft, perfumed
men you know from Cloventia. You wanted to meet the rugged Ranger. Didn't you?
Had dreams of romancing the beast?"

She
gasped. "How dare you, Joe Triplehorn! If I ever dreamed about you, it
would be a nightmare. You're insufferable."

"You're
a pest!"

"You're
a rude, obnoxious brute!"

Joe
laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe I am. But I was better off without you. Since
you came here, predators have been attacking me, my pet trike was wounded, and
you ate the dinosaur eggs I was hoping to hatch!"

"Well,
I got T-rex pee all over me!" Simone shouted, gesturing at her clothes.

Joe
stared at her, fists clenched. He looked at her wet clothes, then into her
eyes.

Then
he started to laugh.

She
blinked at him. "Are you laughing at me?"

He
nodded, laughing harder.

Simone
glared at him, hands on her hips. She knelt, lifted a handful of mud, and
tossed it onto his face.

His
laughter died at once. He stared at her, face covered in mud.

Simone
kept glowering, chin raised, hands on hips. Then she guffawed. And then she was
laughing uncontrollably.

Joe
grumbled, scooped up mud, and tossed it onto her. It splattered across her
face.

Simone
gasped, got mud in her mouth, and began to cough and spit. Which only made Joe
laugh again. Until she threw mud in his mouth. Soon they were slinging
mud at each other, scoop after gooey scoop of the stuff, until Simone finally
slipped and crashed down, covering her entire body with mud. Joe laughed until
she grabbed his leg and pulled him down with her.

They
lay in the mud, covered from head to toe. Slowly their laughter faded.

Joe
turned his head and looked at her. She looked at him.

Joe
spoke softly. "A long time ago, when all humans lived on Earth, our
ancestors found dinosaur bones. For thousands of years, they told stories about
those bones. They thought they were mythical dragons, beasts who could blow
fire and challenge the gods. Some thought the bones belonged to giant humanoids
who roamed the ancient lands of chaos. They believed their ancestors, great
heroes, slew those monsters and buried the bones."

Simone
smiled. "So dinosaurs are responsible for the legends of dragons and
giants."

"Then,
when the era of science began, humans believed dinosaurs to be a failure of
nature. They described dinosaurs as lumbering, tubby, slow-witted buffoons.
Evolutionary dead ends."

Simone
pouted. "It's not their fault the asteroid hit them."

"But
they're only animals," Joe said. "They're enormous. They're majestic.
They're incredible. But they're only animals. Same as we are. They're like us.
They want to protect those they love. They're scared of dying or getting hurt.
They're scared of being alone."

Simone's
eyes softened. She caressed his cheek. "You're not alone, Joe."

He
looked at her, seemed about to say something. Then he pushed himself to his
feet. "Let's get back to Dozer. Amissa is still out there. Killing
dinosaurs. And I'm going to stop her."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Runt of the Pack

The parasaur meat
was spoiling.

Not
much was left anyway. The achillobators had eaten most of the carcasses in the
field. They had dragged some back to the nesting grounds—a rib cage, a few
severed limbs, a tail. The meat would feed the expectant mothers, who were
still brooding on their eggs.

While
the pack gnawed around her, Fig remained hungry. She had learned that she could
not eat meat more than a few hours old. This meat was a few days old.
The flies bustled. Maggots were already hatching inside. Her fellow bators did
not mind. They would eat until every scrap of meat was gone, then stack the
clean bones around their nesting ground, urinate on them, and mark their
territory. Figaro could help stack bones and mark territory, but she would not
eat meat once the first fly appeared.

Another
way I'm different, she thought, hugging her
flat belly. A funny underbelly with no feathers, with a little round scar in
the middle. She was so hungry. She had not eaten since the day the meat was
fresh. Not unless you counted some berries, roots, and seeds she chewed on when
nobody else was looking. Her stomach growled. But she remembered all too well
the illnesses of her childhood. She sat, leaning against the stony
mountainside, trying not to waste too much energy. She watched the others.

The
entire pack was here. Lately, they spent most of their time in the nesting
grounds, hunters and mothers alike. They all needed to protect the eggs. By old
customs, the rotten meat was for the nesting mothers only. The hunters ate in
the field. But every once in a while, a hunter would get peckish, grab an old
bone, and gnaw on it, using their serrated teeth to carve off whatever meat
remained. Hunters were ruthless beasts, but they were not above scavenging or
stealing.

Crooked
Wing was especially ravenous, stealing several ribs from the jaws of hungry
brooders. The big huntress had no mate, had laid no eggs. She was growing
restless in the nesting grounds, and stealing entertained her. One of the
expectant mothers, a young female named Long Tail, was lazily picking at a
parasaur rib. Crooked Wing stomped up to her, snatched the bone right from her
mouth, and crushed it between her jaws. Long Tail hissed, rose from atop her
eggs, and snapped her teeth at the big thieving huntress.

Crooked
Wing screeched, slashed her sickle claw, and sliced several red feathers off
Long Tail. After that, the young mother obediently shared her meals. Her top
priority was for her eggs. After laying them last moon, Long Tail was weak. The
calcium in her body was depleted. She could not risk a fight with a strong
huntress like Crooked Wing. Even if she must go hungry.

Fig,
who watched the confrontation, waited for things to settle down. Then she
tiptoed forward, snatched Long Tail's lost feathers, and wove them into her
dress. Fig grew no feathers of her own, so she relied on those the others shed.
Every once in a while, the feathers Fig collected wore out, fell off, and
fluttered away on the wind. Fights were good for replenishing her garment.

Crooked
Wing returned to her own perch, gnawing on the stolen bone. She was six years
old, well into her prime breeding years, and her lack of eggs embittered her.
Unlike the little turtles Fig liked to study by the river, achillobators could
not lay unfertilized eggs. Only when mated would a female bator perform this
sacred duty. And Crooked Wing had not laid eggs since breaking her wing in the
landslide. Since then, no males competed for her. She was deformed. Strong,
yes, but not a healthy female.

Fig
thought that silly. Why not breed with Crooked Wing? She was the biggest,
strongest female in the pack, and her hatchlings would be great predators. A
crooked limb would not pass to hatchlings! It was the result of an injury. Not
a deformity in the blood. Fig understood this. Why couldn't the others? The
male achillobators were creatures of instinct. The spirits of the soil and sky
had given them wisdom. But sometimes their instincts failed. To the males, an
imperfect female meant imperfect hatchlings. Babies who would be born weak,
deformed, and die in the cruel wilderness of Mintari. They had no way of
knowing that an injured wing would not pass on to offspring. They simply knew
Crooked Wing was deformed and therefore not good for breeding. And so the big
female remained barren.

And
I am barren too, Fig thought. No males ever competed
for her, no matter how many feathers she adorned herself with. She had tried
performing mating dances once, copying the other females, but the males only
snorted and turned away.

I
too am deformed, Fig thought, looking down at her
body. She was much smaller than the other bators. Not much larger than a
yearling. Her limbs were skinny and brown. She had five toes on each foot, not
four, and no claws grew from them, only weak little nails that Fig would
sometimes bite short. While the other bators groomed their feathers, searching
for mites and ticks and other parasites, Fig would be there, a foot pulled to
her mouth, using her tiny little teeth to bite off her toenails.

As
the pack bummed around the nesting grounds, Fig kept thinking about it. The way
she looked. The cub on the hill. A human cub.

A
cub who looks like me, Fig thought. I am a
human. I am …

She
tried uttering the word again, struggling to spit out each syllable. "Fi—ga—ro!"

A
few bators raised their feathered heads, stared at her, and snorted. What
strange sounds was this underfed, raggedy bator making? She was clearly a
freak. A runt. They should drive her out of the pack. On the other hand, Red
Scar protected her. And she helped mark territory and arrange bones, and she
sometimes nested on eggs while the mothers were away. She was a runt. But she
was pack. The bators lowered their heads. Just another eccentricity from little
Figaro, the weirdest bator who ever was.

Yes,
a weird one. And not only because of how she looked. But how she thought. How
she seemed to lack even the most basic instincts. How she tormented herself
with questions that rattled around and around her mind.

She
needed to understand. What she was. What her memories meant.

I'm
human. Yet I'm pack. I understand the pack. And the pack welcomes me. But I
look like a human. I have human memories. I'm confused.

She
did not think these thoughts with words. She thought with images, emotions,
broad concepts. But she remembered some words too. She had understood the girl
and her parents. She had lived among humans once. And she wanted to understand.

She
made a decision.

She
was still weak after the winter, still scrawny, unable to run for long without
weariness. There were scabs on her arms, and she kept pulling lice out of her
hair. After the next hunt, once she put some meat on her bones, she would
regain her strength. Then she would be ready. Strong and fierce with spring's
meat and berries inside her, and she would go out there. She would track down
these strange bipeds with no feathers or scales. And she would find out who she
was.

* * * * *

Berries.
Yes. Fig ate those too. Secretly. Shamefully. No self-respecting achillobator
would eat berries. That was what herbivores ate! The next step was eating
leaves. Fig hadn't stooped as low as leaves yet. But sometimes she did sneak away,
collect berries and nuts and roots, and stuff her cheeks.

The
guilt filled her afterward. She would scrub her face and hands in streams,
hiding the juice. The fruit called to her every day. For a long time, she had
felt broken. Shameful. Weak. But now she understood her cravings better. Humans
must be herbivores. Or perhaps they were omnivores like the tiny feathered
raptors who sometimes scurried among bushes, creatures no taller than Fig's
knee. If she was indeed human, that must explain her strange cravings.

Yes,
she was a human. She had to be. Often Fig was almost entirely sure. But
then night would fall, and she would curl up with Red Scar, and the pack
breathed deeply around her, a sound as soothing as waves, and the feathers were
so warm … and Fig felt like an achillobator through and through. Part of the
pack. Forever.

After
five days, the parasaur meat was all gone. The bones formed new walls for the
nesting grounds, covered with urine to deter oviraptors or other egg-snatchers
from approaching. And the hunters went out again.

Mintari
was full of prey. Countless herbivores roamed the forests, mudflats, and
floodplains. They climbed the mountains and swam in the lakes. Among themselves,
the herbivores fought for territory. Stegosaurs and ankylosaurs stuck to the
forests, where they munched on low-growing ferns. Many hadrosaurs herded along
riverbanks, guzzling foxtail reeds, bits of rotten wood, and insects. Some
sauropods extended their ridiculously long necks to the treetops, while others
swept their heads across the plains, inhaling grass and shrubs. The horned
ceratopsians grazed along scrublands and hills, devouring massive quantities of
palms, cycads, and ferns. Sometimes, before spring gave forth enough blooms,
the herbivores fought for food. Usually they each kept to their own territory,
preferring chewing over fighting.

Predators
did not like fighting either. Like herbivores, carnivores just wanted to stay
alive. They avoided confrontation whenever possible. When given a choice, they
hunted the youngest or oldest herbivores, those would not put up a fight. Easy
prey. Over time, the predators of Mintari had established their territories,
their own pecking order. The massive predators like the tyrannosaurs and
carcharodontosaurids preyed on big, meaty prey, even hunting old or juvenile
triceratops (though even they avoided the big male trikes). The small raptors
preyed on insects, little mammals, and eggs. The spinosaurids kept to the
marshlands, while the pterosaurs grabbed fish from rivers and lakes. Few
predators dared attack the giant sauropods—unless they were desperate. Even
mighty T-rex feared the enormous patagotitan, supersaurus, and argentinosaurus.
Sauropods were not to be trifled with. Their tails and massive feet were strong
enough to crush the biggest predator.

In
this Darwinian hierarchy, midsized predators struggled to find a niche. They
were too big to live off eggs, amphibians, and insects. Too small to attack the
big ceratopsians, ankylosaurs, and stegosaurs. Those spikes, clubs, and horns
could do serious damage. Achillobators found themselves in this unfortunate "midsized
predators" group, alongside competitors like sinraptors and megaraptors.
Crammed midway up the food chain, it was a daily struggle to survive. A small
meal wasn't very filling. A big meal meant competing with big predators. Not an
easy niche.

But
they made do, hunting hadrosaurs (Fig's favorite), the odd gallimimus if they
could catch one (and those dinos were fast), sometimes even juvenile or
old iguanodons (a dangerous endeavor—their spiked thumbs had eviscerated quite
a few bators). When meat ran low, the bators were not above scavenging, eating
the old bones and gizzards a T-rex might leave behind as scraps.

But
there was one particular herbivore that achillobators loved most.

The
magyarosaurus. The smallest sauropod on Mintari.

Most
sauropods were gargantuan. They were as long as whales. They lorded over the
planet, fearing nothing, true titans who could crush mountains. Magyarosaurus
was a sauropod too. It had the long neck, the round body, the healthy appetite.
But it was tiny. A dwarf sauropod. A typical magyarosaurus was no larger than
an achillobator. If Fig stood on her tiptoes, she could peer over one's back.

Fig
didn't know why magies were so small. But she knew they were delicious. Once
you cracked through their armored skin, you found soft red meat. If Fig ate
that meat within the first few hours, she didn't even get sick.

Maybe
they were so small because they lived on an island. They could not swim,
leaving them trapped in their little habitat. Thankfully, bators could
swim. Today the pack headed into the water. Magy Island awaited.

They
weren't great swimmers by any means. They could only paddle awkwardly. Every
once in a while, a bator would sink to the bottom of the lake. But with their
powerful feet, they kicked themselves back up to the surface, gulped down air,
paddled a short distance, then sank again. Like that, hop by hop, they could
cross the water.

Swimming
burned a lot of energy. More than running on land. That was good. The big boys
like T-rex simply didn't bother coming here. Why waste energy swimming to an
island if only dwarf sauropods lived there? Not worth the effort. The
spinosaurs were powerful swimmers, but they lurked in the marshlands. As a
result, not many predators even bothered attacking the isolated magies.

But
the bators did. For them, if they were willing to put in the effort, the island
always promised a tasty, filling meal.

Figaro
was probably the best swimmer in her pack. She didn't even sink. She stayed
afloat for the entire swim, moving her skinny brown limbs like some aquatic
spider. It filled her with pride. She was perhaps the slowest runner in the
pack, but by golly, she could outswim even the powerful Crooked Wing.

She
reached the shore of Magy Island first.

As
she waded through the rushes, bugs bit her, adding to the many bite marks on
her arms and legs. She shoved aside tall reeds, reached solid ground, and sat
down on the grassy bank. At once she began a grooming routine, looking for any
bugs, leeches, or other parasites she might have picked up on her journey.

Grooming
was a ritual among achillobators. And an essential one. Fig feared bugs.
Everyone in her pack did. Bugs could lay eggs inside you. Bugs could sap your
strength. Bugs could kill you within a year.

Ticks
were the worst of a bad bunch. Bators groomed themselves religiously for ticks,
and they had taught Fig this skill. She had seen bators bitten where they could
not reach. Once bitten, powerful predators weakened, thinned out, lost their
feathers, and were finally abandoned by the pack. They died slow and miserable
deaths, diseased and withered and feverish. The pack's greatest enemy was not
triceratops with his terrible horns, not the stegosaurus with his spiky tail,
not even T-rex with his huge teeth. It was the humble tick.

Even
their mating dances were all about ticks. Raise the wings! Flap the tail! Crane
the neck! Left foot up, right foot up! These beautiful dances were not only
about impressing a mate with one's dexterity. They revealed body parts for
inspection. If a potential mate saw any tick hiding under wing or tail, it was
game over. No breeding. Only a slow death ahead.

Fig
had become the best groomer in the pack. Her slender fingers seemed made for
parting feathers, her sharp eyes were good at inspecting skin, and with her
flexible limbs, she could reach the toughest spots. She had picked many ticks
off achillobators. It was, she suspected, one of the reasons they kept her
around despite her oddities. With her strange, clawless fingers, she had saved
many lives.

This
year, her nimble fingers would work hard. Winter had brought relief from the
scourge of parasites. But with spring, the bugs were out in numbers, hiding in
tall grass, in puddles, in ferns, even in the flesh of dead herbivores. Fig
knew what the other bators had taught her. She must remove the ticks quickly.
Before they could infect her with their terrible wasting curse. If you caught
them fast enough, you were fine. Sitting on the shore, she inspected her body.

"Ack!"

She
let out a sound of disgust. A leech on her calf! She twisted and pulled it off,
ripping some skin. Fig gagged and stuck out her tongue. She hated leeches. They
were disgusting, but thankfully, they were rarely deadly.

The
other achillobators finally made it ashore, weary after their long swim. They
climbed onto the grass, shook the water out of their feathers, and—

"Ack!"
Fig cried, louder this time. Bator heads spun toward her.

A
tick! A tick on the back of her neck!

She
could not see it. But she felt it. She recognized how it felt under her
fingertips. She twisted her fingers, careful to pluck the tick off without
crushing it. Crushing a tick could leave the legs inside your skin—along with
their disease.

She
looked at her fingers. Yep—a tick all right. She shuddered and tossed it away.
She had caught it fast enough. Before it could infect her. Had she not groomed
herself after her swim, she would have languished, reduced to skin and bones,
too weak to eat, to run. Her joints would calcify, and finally some scavenger
would come pick on her still-living flesh.

The
other achillobators, perhaps inspired by Fig's gruesome discovery, began to
groom themselves too. But suddenly, halfway through the ritual, Red Scar raised
his head and stared westward—toward the center of the island. One by one, the
other bators removed their snouts from their feathers. Their nostrils flared.
Their muscles tensed, and they crouched, taking position to pounce. A few
bators salivated.

Fig
sniffed the air. She smelled nothing. That was normal. She had accepted long
ago that her sense of smell was lacking. The other bators were constantly
sniffing around, detecting scents she could not. She was their fingers, and
they were her nostrils.

Red
Scar gave a long, slow sniff … then inched forward, skulking low to the ground.
The others followed, their underbellies grazing the ground. Bushes and ferns
hid their progress. Fig crawled on her stomach, parting ferns and grass.
Grasshoppers bustled around her. Hopefully no more ticks or leeches. In her right
hand, she gripped her sickle claw, the gift of a dead bator. The claw was
longer than her hand, harder than granite, sharper than any thorn. If Fig
applied enough force, she could disembowel a herbivore or slice its windpipe.

A
snake slithered toward her. Fig's heart lurched. But it was only a simple brown
snake, going about its business. Harmless. She let it wriggle under her belly
and slither on its way. Fig had learned which snakes could kill a bator. Had
this snake sported yellow stripes, she would have leaped away in fear. As it
was, she kept crawling.

Finally
even Fig smelled it. A rich, meaty aroma.

Prey
animals.

The
bators moved slowly, nostrils flared. They were just small enough to hide in
the bushes. That was fortunate, for their red feathers offered poor camouflage.
They had evolved them on a different world, in a time when they were dominant,
an apex predator in their environment. Here on Mintari, they must rely on
sneakiness. But their red coloring still offered some advantages. The color
served a purpose similar to the yellow stripes on a venomous snake. Beware
me, I bite! Useful when you were small enough for a sauropod to
accidentally step on.

Fig
crawled closer, rose to a crouch, parted the tall grass … and there they were.

Her
mouth watered.

A
magyarosaurus herd.

The
small predators were peacefully munching on ferns and cycads. They were a
little larger than bators, which meant they were much larger than Fig. But for
sauropods, they were tiny. Laughably so. They couldn't even reach the higher
branches. Fig could easily walk between the legs of a normal sauropod. Even
standing on tiptoes, stretching her arm upward, she wouldn't reach their
underbellies. But she stood eye level with a magy.

They
were sort of adorable, Fig had to admit. Unfortunately for them, also
delicious.

"Yip,
yip!" Red Scar cried. Time for attack!

The
pack pounced.

Fig
pounced with them, howling, twisting her face into a fearsome mask.

The
magies started and cried out in terror. Juveniles ran between the legs of their
mothers. It was a small herd, only twenty or so dinosaurs. They turned to flee …
only to run into ambush. Crooked Wing had led another group of bators around
them, cutting off retreat. Leaping from the grass, Crooked Wing and her gang
yapped and snapped their teeth.

The
idea was to trap their prey and stir panic. Not yet to pounce. They must choose
a good target first. Magies were perhaps small sauropods, but they still
outweighed the bators. A lashing magy's tail could still break a leg. A broken
wing could perhaps be tolerated; Crooked Wing was living proof of that. But a
bator with a broken leg could not hunt. They were as good as dead. The pack
would feed brooding mothers and chicks, but nobody would take pity on a
cripple.

So
the pack carefully considered. That big magy bull looked dangerous. He huffed
and reared and swung his tail through the air. Too risky. The magy mothers
protected their hatchlings. Everyone knew that made them dangerous. But there—an
older cow, slow and lumbering. Her meat would be a little tough. But she would
be easy to kill, and the other magies would not risk their lives to save her.

Red
Scar pointed his snout toward the old mag, then yipped, giving the signal.

The
pack swarmed.

They
leaped onto the old sauropod, biting and clawing. Crooked Wing bit into the
magy's neck while Long Tail tore at her flank. Even Fig participated. She
hugged the magy's leg and bit into the rubbery skin. Her tiny teeth didn't even
draw blood. Ah well, she tried.

Within
moments, the old cow was down.

As
expected, the other sauropods fled. Working together, the magies might have
saved their old comrade. But rescue attempts could go wrong. Some healthy
magies might die. Juveniles could be trampled or orphaned. Young females might
be left without a mate, never to lay another egg. The cold reality of survival
on Mintari dictated that they must leave a sauropod behind. The herd fled,
crying out in anguish.

The
achillobators did not follow. They had felled a one-ton sauropod. Small
compared to the big long-necks on the mainland. Some of those titans could
weigh a staggering hundred tons. But even this dwarf sauropod provided ample
food for the pack. They feasted.

This
was a successful day. They had crossed the water without anyone drowning,
avoided battles, ate well, and the weird little runt pulled out their ticks
with her slender fingers. A good day. A day they survived. Any day you survived
on Mintari was a victory.

Fig
ate with gusto, bloodying her face. Then, while the others gnawed on bones, she
wandered the island, picking berries and dates. She even found some tasty
grains and some crunchy tubers. The others were too busy eating more meat to
notice. When Fig knelt by the water to drink, she gazed again at her
reflection. A small face. A face without scales or snout. Skin that had been so
pale throughout winter, which was now tanning brown in the sun. Black hair
which just kept growing, which she cropped short using sharp granite shards.
Strange eyes. Eyes with white around the irises. Curious eyes. Human eyes.

Today
she had eaten well. Today she was healthy, which she so often was not. There
were no ticks on her body, her muscles were lean but strong, and she was ready
to take a journey.

To
find out the truth.

To
find more humans.

* * * * *

She
set out that same day.

The
pack would remain on the island overnight, gnawing on bones. Tomorrow they
would return to the nesting grounds with leftovers for the brooding mothers.
Fig couldn't wait that long.

Clouds
were gathering. Rain might soon fall. And she had tracks to follow. It must
happen today.

As
the rest of the pack lounged by the carcass, nibbling and relaxing in the sun,
Fig tiptoed toward the water. A few steps away her heart began to race. A few
steps more and her legs began to shake. A few steps after that and her head
spun.

I
must go back. I can't do this.

She
took a shaky breath and thought of the girl on the hill. She remembered those
vague images of a woman in her past. She must do this. She must.

Fig
started to run. She ran until she reached the shore and dashed into the lake.
The chill water soothed her, calmed her heartbeat, and steadied her spinning
head.

I
can do this. I'm strong enough. I'm a huntress. A fighter. A proud female of my
pack. I can survive a quest on my own.

She
began to swim back to the mainland.

Often
Fig would wander away from her pack to find berries, but never too far. Today,
for the first time, she would leave the pack beyond earshot. She might get
lost. Might never find them again. Might die in the wilderness.

What
a fool she was, swimming out here! What a silly quest! She had to turn back.
She must rejoin them. She was pack! She was not a human. She was a bator! Small
and featherless, perhaps, yes, but she was one of—

No.
Figaro, no! Keep swimming. Keep going!

She
tightened her lips and kept swimming, leaving the island behind.

Just
for a while, she told herself. Just until I
find out who the humans are. The pack will keep returning to the same nesting
ground all spring. I can find them again. Once I have my answers.

That
soothed her. This was just like another trip to find berries. Just a longer
trip, that was all. And instead of berries, she would find answers.

She
was climbing onto the mainland, careful to avoid the ticks and leeches in the
reeds, when she noticed that a bator was swimming after her.

Fig
stared at the lake. The dinosaur was coming from the island. When his snout
rose from the water, she recognized him.

Red
Scar. Leader of the pack.

He
was the only one following. The others were probably still bumming around the
carcass, too full to move. But Red Scar was swimming vigorously.

"Gak,
gak!" Fig cried, pointing at the island. Go back! Go back!

He
snorted and ignored her command. What kind of alpha took orders from the runt?

The
bator stepped onto the shore, shook water from his feathers, and stared into
her eyes. I'm coming with you.

She
pointed at the island. "Gak! Gak!"

He
took a step closer to her. No way.

Fig
groaned in frustration, stamped her feet, and snapped her teeth. He must go
back! She would be gone for days. If Red Scar abandoned the pack for that long,
a challenger would arise. Crooked Wing especially had been gunning to lead,
testing Red Scar again and again—nipping at his legs, tugging out his feathers,
biting his tail, constantly probing for weakness.

"Gak!"
Fig said. She bent her arm, an imitation of Crooked Wing, and bit the air.

Red
Scar understood. He snorted and took a step closer to Fig. Even so, I go
with you.

"Gak,
gak!" Fig insisted. She spun around and marched away from the shore,
heading across the grasslands.

And
the big old bator followed. Stubborn, loyal fool!

She
kept walking, chin raised, ignoring him. He wanted to follow? Very well. Fig
would run. Bators were fast sprinters, but they could only run short distances,
soon exhausting themselves. Fig was slow, but she had more stamina. A year ago,
she had fallen into a river, and the current had pulled her far from the pack.
Fig had jogged all morning, finally catching up with the others, and still had
enough energy to join them on a hunt. No bator could do that.

She
burst into a run, heading over the floodplains. She knew these lands. She had
been roaming these parts all her life. Every hill, every bend in the river,
every distant mountaintop marked her location. She did not need to rely on
scents like a bator. She painted maps in her mind. Without claws, fangs, or
much muscle, Figaro relied on her wits to survive.

Were
all humans like her? Weak, soft, with useless noses? Did they too rely on
brains instead of brawn? Could they too run for long distances, moving slowly
but steadily? One more question she must answer.

She
was several hours away from the hilltop where she had seen the girl. If tracks
were still there, she could follow them. Find out where the humans lived. Find
answers about herself. Her past. Where she came from. Fig had no memories of
hatching. No idea where her mother had nested on her brood of eggs.

Where
did I hatch? What kind of nesting grounds do humans inhabit? Do I have sisters
and brothers? Have they laid eggs already?

So
many questions! They rattled around her mind. She kept running.

For
a while, Red Scar loped alongside her, easily keeping pace. But after a while,
the big bator began to slow down. He was easily five times her size, and
carrying that much weight wasn't easy, even for a big strong male. With his
thick coat of feathers, he was also more prone to overheating. Figaro was
barely larger than a hatchling, her limbs slender but strong, and her dress of
feathers billowed loosely, cooling her off. She kept running, leaving him
behind.

Good.

Fig
kept running. After a while, she had to stop. Even she had reached her limit,
and she clutched her side, panting. She looked behind her, and she no longer
saw Red Scar. She had lost him. Maybe he would return to the pack, maintain his
leadership, and when Fig returned in a few days, she would still find a home.

The
race had exhausted her. Yes, she had eaten well these past few days, but she
was still weak and scrawny after winter. Maybe running had been a mistake. She
looked around for nuts, fruits, maybe a crunchy grasshopper or two, but she
found nothing. Hungry again and light-headed, she kept going. The hill she
sought rose alongside a river where she had caught fish and eaten berries
before. Hopefully she would find dinner there.

This
was the life of an achillobator. Constantly hungry. Constantly seeking food.
Herbivores had it easy. Grass, shrubs, trees—they grew everywhere on Mintari.
Herbivores had to skip the odd meal, especially in winter, but they rarely
starved to death. A predator was free and strong, but a predator was always
outracing starvation.

Clouds
gathered, hiding the sun, and Fig lost track of time. It must be late afternoon
when she finally saw the river and hill. A few parasaurs stood along the
riverbank, drinking from the water. They looked up, startled, when Figaro
approached. Their crests gleamed in the sunlight, purple and blue. Fig
salivated. Parasaur crests—her favorite food. But they were big dinosaurs,
significantly larger than achillobators. It took a pack to bring one down. The
crested duckbills certainly did not fear a human cub. They went back to
drinking. Fig left them alone. She wasn't taking on six adult parasaurs on her
own. Not even for a taste of their delectable crests.

Belly
grumbling, Fig climbed the hill where she had met the girl. The humans had
departed inside some strange, hollow beast they called a jippi. A
dinosaur with round legs that puffed smoke out its backside? Ridiculous! Fig
must have imagined it. Maybe while searching for berries, she had accidentally
touched one of the dangerous red mushrooms. Those sometimes made dinosaurs lose
their minds, yap at invisible enemies, and whimper at every shadow.

Yet
when Fig climbed downhill, she saw the oddest tracks she had ever seen. Long,
solid tracks. Not footprints. Tracks from the weird round legs of the smoky
creature. The tracks looked like two snakes. Had that hollow dinosaur without a
head devoured the humans? The girl had entered it willingly. Like an animal
entering a nest. Maybe it wasn't a dinosaur at all. Maybe it was some kind of
nest. A nest that could move.

Fig
shuddered. Humans were unlike any dinosaur she had ever seen. No, they weren't
even dinosaurs. They were barely even animals! What were these strange
creatures?

What
am I?

She
began following the tracks. They stretched across the grass and ground. Even
somebody like her with a useless nose could follow this trail.

At
least until it started to rain. Which it did. Heavily.

No.
No, no, no!

Figaro
yipped in frustration. This was what she had feared. Rain. Cursed rain! The
bane of any tracker. Even achillobators, with their powerful noses, struggled
to follow tracks after rain.

With
angry yowls, Fig raced after the fading tracks, trying to follow them as best
she could. She could still see them. The tracks were deep. The rain filled
them, forming two little streams. Good, good!

She
ran, arms pulled tight to her chest like a sprinting achillobator. The rain
kept falling, washing the mud from her hair. Wind buffeted her. A few of her
feathers, which Fig had painstakingly collected and woven into a dress, came
loose and fluttered away. She paused, yipped in anger, and chased the feathers.
She caught a few, but the others scuttled far off-trail.

She
stood in the rain, considering. She needed that coat of feathers. She could not
grow her own, and without feathers, what kind of bator was she?

A
human. I am human. Or think I am. I must find out.

Oh,
let the feathers fly! She still had plenty on her dress. She ran onward through
the rain, following the tracks.

Only
she could barely see the trail now. The rain kept splattering down, coating the
long narrow tracks with mud. Lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled.

"Yoeeeee!"
Fig cried. "Yoooeeeeee!"

A
bator's cry of annoyance. Mud was sluicing over the tracks, burying them. Fig
scampered onward, hunched over now, moving on all fours, trying to sniff for the
tracks. She had seen bators moving like this. It didn't work. She smelled
nothing. Oh, curse her tiny nose!

Lightning
split the sky. On a distant hill, a tree burst into flame. A second or two
later, the thunder pounded into Fig. She yowled to the sky.

"Yeooo,
yeoooooo!" Bad, bad!

She
lowered her head to the ground, sniffing, caught a whiff of something …
something like tar. Her eyes widened. A scent! A track!

She
scampered forward on all fours, her nose pressed to the ground. The whiff of
tar again … but it was softer already.

She
kept going, tracking her prey through the rain as lightning flashed and thunder
boomed. Sniffing, the scent got stronger, thicker, meatier. Somewhere deep in
her mind, Figaro realized that made no sense. Why would the scent grow stronger
as the rain kept falling? But she was intoxicated. She was a predator on the
hunt, single-minded. She moved along, sniffing on hands and knees.

Until
she found herself sniffing a clawed foot.

A
foot with three claws. Two claws that gripped the ground. One claw that rose
into the air, longer and sharper. A sickle claw.

So
that explains the smell, she thought.

Fig
stumbled backward, slipped, and landed on her backside. She gaped up, her heart
galloping. For a split second, she had dared to hope. Perhaps she had simply
run into an achillobator? But no. This was something different.

The
dinosaur stood in the rain, staring at her with yellow eyes. A big male.
Smaller than giants like tyrannosaurs but still bigger than an achillobator. He
was probably ten, maybe even twenty times heavier than Fig. He stood on powerful talons, his flightless wings sprouted mean claws, and fangs filled his
elongated jaws. Brown and white feathers coated him, slick with rain. He
emitted a tarry stench.

Fig
recognized this species. She had run into them before. They were the archrivals
of the achillobators, competing in the same ecological niche. Everyone in the
pack feared and loathed them.

A
utahraptor.

* * * * *

The
utahraptor let out a low growl and licked his chops.

Raptors
normally moved in packs. But sometimes young, strong males struck out on their
own, searching for females. They were dangerous, violent, and always hungry.
And Figaro was small, weak, and alone. The perfect prey.

The
raptor took a step closer, salivating in the rain. Blue scales rippled across
his snout. Fig gave him a name in her mind. Blue Snout.

Sitting
in the mud, she raised her sickle claw. It trembled in her hand.

A
shriek pierced the storm.

But
it didn't come from Blue Snout. It came from behind Fig.

Red
feathers flashed through the rain. A big, powerful figure vaulted over Fig and
slammed into the raptor.

Fig
leaped to her feet. Red Scar! He had followed her!

The
two feathered dinosaurs slammed together with a crack. They fell
backward and hissed.

"Yip,
yip, yip!" Fig cried, jumping up and down. Red Scar was here!

The
two dinosaurs charged again. Lightning flashed, illuminating their bared teeth
and swiping claws. They snapped and snarled and slashed, but so far, they cut
only feathers, not flesh.

While
jumping, Fig dropped her sickle claw. Brilliant. She knelt and felt around in
the mud, never removing her eyes from the fight.

"Yaooo,
yaooo!" she cried.

Red
Scar and Blue Snout circled each other in the mud, growling. As Fig watched, a
chill flooded her belly. It seemed an unfair fight. Red Scar was smaller,
older, slower on his feet.

The
two species were close relatives—they were both dromaeosaurids. While
utahraptors were larger and stronger than achillobators, they still competed
within the same ecological niche. Both species were midsized predators, dwarfs
to tyrannosaurs, giants to velociraptors. In this middle weight category, they
preyed on the same herbivores. That made them mortal enemies. Like rival
siblings, the two species often clashed. Here in the mud, these two great
warriors would fight one more battle in their ongoing war.

Thunder
boomed. Where was that tarry claw? Ah, there! Fig raised it from the mud. The
sickle claw gleamed in the lightning. It was longer than her hand, curved, and
sharp.

The
two deadly predators stepped back, then charged again, howling. Red Scar
stretched his neck forward, trying to reach Blue Snout's neck. But the
utahraptor was faster. The bator's teeth snapped down on only air.
Sidestepping, Blue Snout lashed his sickle claw. With a sickening rrrrrip,
the claw tore through Red Scar's side. Feathers fell into the mud. Blood
splashed.

"Yaoooooo!"
Fig cried.

Within
a split second, her terror blazed into fury. She leaped forward, slashing her
sickle claw through the air.

Blue
Snout was not expecting this weak mammal cub to attack. Certainly not with a
claw this size. The raptor took a step back. But he was too surprised to defend
himself properly. With all her strength, Fig thrust her sickle claw down. The weapon
ripped into Blue Snout's shoulder, tearing out a chunk of flesh.

The
raptor gave a deafening yowl. But he did not retreat. The beast leaned forward,
jaws open, ready to slay this impudent little mammal.

Fig
stumbled back. The jaws widened before her, large enough to bite her in half.
She hurried farther back, but the raptor moved so fast, and—

With
a furious screech, Red Scar slammed into the raptor's side, knocking the larger
dinosaur into the mud.

Before
Blue Snout could recover, Fig lashed her claw again. She ripped out a chunk of
those blue scales along the snout. She pulled her hand back before the raptor
could bite it off.

The
raptor yowled, leaped to his feet, and snarled. Blood dripped down his muzzle.

Red
Scar and Fig circled him, each raising a sickle claw, slashing the air.

"Yrrr,
yrrr!" Fig said, teeth bared, and moved in closer.

Blue
Snout had enough. This wasn't worth it. He was bleeding, he was outnumbered,
and there wasn't enough meat on this scrawny mammal anyway to fill his belly.
He had mistook the little creature for a herbivore. Clearly she was some
unfamiliar predator. He would avoid her kind in the future.

The
utahraptor fled, bleeding and hungry. He would live to fight another day.

Fig
took a shaky breath and turned toward Red Scar. The bator stood in the mud, the
rain washing the blood from his wound. The raptor had sliced Red Scar across
his flank. Thankfully, it looked like a flesh wound. Once the rain stopped, Fig
would look for the special blue maggots that cleaned wounds of infection. The
pack knew how to find them in fallen logs. The wound would heal, and the
achillobator would have two scars to his name.

He
looked at her, tilted his head, and sniffed. Are you hurt?

Fig
did a full turn, letting him inspect her, then cooed. I'm fine.

Then
she could not help herself. She hugged the bator, crying softly into his
feathers as the rain fell. He draped his long snout across her slender
shoulder, comforting her.

"Yeeeooo,
yeeeeooowww," she purred. I love you.

By
evening, the rain eased to a drizzle. Fig found a patch of fallen logs and
branches. The rain brought out the special blue maggots, and she placed them
into Red Scar's wound. The bator flinched and hissed. It hurt. But Red Scar
knew it would heal him. He was the one who had taught Fig this skill.

After
treating the wound, Fig looked for the tracks, but they were gone. The sun was
almost gone too. The last red light of sunset was fading to a deep blue tinged
with gold. There was no good place to sleep out here. They eventually found a
flat slab of rock, safe from bugs that moved in the mud. They lay down, and Fig
buried herself in his feathers, feeling warm and safe. His steady heartbeat
lulled her into sleep. She was glad he was here.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Skull Swamp

After recovering
for a while on the ground, Dozer was back on his feet, munching on ferns. The
megaraptors had done a number on him, but it would take more to keep the
triceratops down. A few flies bustled around his bandaged wounds, but Dozer was
good at turning his head, snorting at them, and blowing them away.

"He's
eating!" Simone said. "He must be feeling better."

Joe
stroked the dinosaur's enormous one-ton head. "Dozer here spends most of
his time eating."

The
dinosaur ignored him, munching away. The bandages were still securely in place.
The trike had lost blood but not enough to slow him down for long.

"You
ready to keep going, boy?" Joe whispered, patting his friend. "Or do
you need to rest?"

The
dinosaur grunted, gulped down his mouthful of ferns, and pawed the dirt. He was
ready. Simone was worried about riding him in this state. But Joe reassured
her. For a triceratops, carrying two humans was nothing. They might as well be
two sparrows.

"We'll
cut east across Hell Valley, make our way through Skull Swamp, then reach
Laramidia Fields," Joe said. "That's the last place Amissa was
sighted."

Simone cringed. "S-skull Swamp?"

Joe
nodded. "There are skulls among the branches of the trees there. Legend
says that a monster lives in the water. That he decapitates his victims and
hangs the skulls on branches as trophies."

She
shuddered. "That's just a tall tale. The kind hucksters like Triassic
Terry tell around the campfire." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Right?"

"Maybe,"
Joe said. "I've seen the skulls myself. Could just be the remnants of an
old flood, tossing dead dinosaurs onto the trees. Maybe the bones of the bodies
fell back into the water, and only the skulls remained in the branches. Or maybe
…" He smiled wryly. "A monster."

"The
only monster I want to catch is Amissa," said Simone. "And she's the
worst monster on Mintari. Let's go."

As
they rode onward among cycad trees, Joe thought back to Simone's words. She had
spoken them just before the megaraptor attack.

Amissa
murdered my sister.

He
wanted to ask for more details. But he kept silent. The time did not feel
right. He did not want to probe into her past. No more than he wanted her
probing into his.

Maybe
I was wrong about her, Joe thought. Maybe
she's not just here for a story. This is personal for her.

Or
maybe Simone had lied. Maybe this was just a sick joke. A trick. If he found
out she had lied, that she was using Amissa against him …

Joe
felt sick. He pushed that thought out of his mind. For now, he would give her
the benefit of the doubt. But no, he did not trust the journalist.

Joe
Triplehorn did not trust anyone.

Other
than dinosaurs, he thought.

He
patted Dozer's frill. The bony shield was as thick as a house wall and far
sturdier. For ten years now, Dozer had been his shield. His companion. His
friend. Joe had been at his lowest, lying drunk in a field, a widower drinking
himself to death, too broken to even get up and walk. A pack of predators had
approached. Joe had been too drunk to even determine the species. He kept lying
in the grass, cradling his bottle. Let them eat him. But Dozer had charged up,
had sent them fleeing. The triceratops had saved Joe's life. In more ways than
one. Since then, the two had been inseparable.

Joe
looked at Vinnie. The little rascal was loping alongside the trike. True to his
name, the velociraptor was a speedy beast. Much faster than a triceratops.
Every once in a while, Vinnie ran ahead, then returned with a lizard or
cynodont in his jaws. Sometimes he darted into the bushes to catch a dragonfly.
Velociraptors were perhaps the deadliest predators on Mintari. Luckily for
other dinosaurs, they were too small to kill anything bigger than a sparrow.
Vinnie was no larger than a beagle.

You've
been here for me too, Vinnie, Joe thought. For a
long time now.

Humans
had hurt him. Humans had betrayed him. Given half a chance, Simone would betray
him too. Joe knew this. How could he ever trust another human? No. He could
not. He would keep his trust only in dinosaurs. Simone was here for the ride.
But as soon as he could, he would send her packing.

"Are
there lots of predators around here?" Simone whispered, unaware of his
thoughts. She rode behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

Joe
nodded. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Ha
ha, very funny. You know what I mean."

"This
is Mintari, cheesecake. There are predators everywhere. Keep an eye open."

Simone
gulped and tightened her arms around him, almost crushing him.

He
cringed. "Loosen your grip!"

"Not
gonna."

As
he struggled to breathe, Joe was keeping a lookout. He always did. And he knew
Vinnie wasn't darting ahead every moment just to catch bugs. He was scouting
their path.

"It's
dangerous business, roaming around Mintari," Simone said. "You have
to be crazy to do it."

"Nobody's
ever accused me of being sane," Joe said.

A
pterosaur sailed overhead, shrieking. Simone yelped. She tightened her grip
around Joe even more, almost snapping his ribs.

"Shoot
it!" she said.

"Relax!
It's just a pterodactyl. It won't hurt you."

Simone
was trembling. "One carried me off once. To its nest."

He
looked over his shoulder at her, frowning. "A pterodactyl carried you? Pterodactylus
antiquus?"

"Some
kind of pterosaur. It was a …" She leafed through her field guide. "Tupandactylus
imperator, I think. A big one. Colorful. She placed me in her nest."
She shuddered. "I'm scared."

Joe
shook his head and whistled softly. "You're lucky to be alive, Simone
LaRue."

"I
do not recommend the experience." She smiled wanly.

"I've
flown on a pterosaur before," Joe said. "Long ago."

Her
eyes widened. "Did one grab you too?"

"Not
exactly. Now be quiet. We're entering spinosaurus country. We don't want to
attract them."

Her
trembling intensified. "S-spinosaurus?"

He
nodded. "Yep. Big fellas. Even longer than a T-rex."

She
whimpered. "Wonderful. I miss the Slum Wars."

They
rode in silence for a while. The grass rose as tall as a man. But riding the
trike, the grass didn't even reach Joe's feet. Sauropods grazed in the
distance, their necks sweeping across the fields like vacuum cleaners, sucking
up grass. Parasaurs congregated by a river to munch on reeds. A few reared and
blew air through their colorful crests, filling the valley with music. A
pachycephalosaurus herd gathered by some cycad trees to breed. The churlish
herbivores sported domes of thick bone atop their heads. Those domes were even
thicker and harder than a triceratops frill. Two domeheads raced toward each
other and butted heads, competing for a female. The crack reverberated
across the grasslands.

Dozer
rode onward, the two humans on his back, while Vinnie raced ahead through the
grass. Finally Joe spoke again.

"I've
heard of the Slum Wars. And I don't get it." He shook his head.
"Humans fighting humans. For what? A few more square miles of dust."

Simone
leaned her head against him. "We don't all have the luxury of a
cave."

Joe
snorted. "A cave is luxury?"

"For
the people of Earth, it would be. I've seen children starving in the desert,
too weak to even bat away the flies. I've seen child soldiers with guns taller
than their bodies. At night, their warlords place them in cages. Sometimes they
make them fight for sport. A cave would be luxury for them."

"That
sounds awful," Joe said. "I can't even imagine living like that.
You're right. I am lucky. It's no wonder humans left Earth for Cloventia."

Simone
smiled wanly. "The same thing happens on Cloventia. On the lower levels.
Deep under the neon sea. There are children on Cloventia who live under bridges
and inside huge machines. They scrounge through landfills to survive. I was one
of those children. I got a scholarship to Clover Heights Academy. I made my way
out. Most of the Grunge Children, as they called us, were not as lucky."

"Clover
Heights," Joe said. "That's where my sister studied."

"She
did. And she made my life hell."

Joe
tapped Dozer's frill. The dinosaur snorted, rumbled to a halt, and began
munching the tall grass. Joe twisted around to face Simone on the trike's back.
She looked at him. She had washed her face and hair in a nearby creek, though
mud still caked her clothes.

"Earlier,
just before the raptors attacked, you said something." Joe stared into her
eyes. "You said that Amissa murdered your sister."

"She
did."

"What
happened?"

Simone
lowered her eyes. A tear trailed down her cheek. "Not now, Joe."

"I'm
sorry. I told myself I wouldn't pry into your business."

"It's
all right." She placed a hand on his knee. "I'm just … still in pain.
It was many years ago. But it still hurts."

"It
was fifteen years ago that I lost my wife," Joe said. "Some pain
never leaves you. You just carry on through it. Every day." He laughed
mirthlessly. "I haven't always been great at carrying this burden."

She
held his hand. She looked into his eyes again. "If you ever want to talk,
Joe, I'm here. I meant what I said earlier. You're not alone."

"Talk
to you?" Joe said. "Or to the readers of the Cloventia Gazette?"

"I
won't publish anything you don't want me to."

He
smiled thinly and nodded. "Sure."

"You
don't trust me." Simone heaved a sigh. "I can't blame you. But the offer
stands."

Joe
almost told her. About the night King Ivan had devoured his pregnant wife.
About the long, lost years after that, years of shadow he could barely remember.
About how Mina still spoke to him after all these years. About his family
betraying him, betraying all of Mintari.

But
he could bring none of it to his lips. No, he was not ready to trust her. Or
any human.

"Come
on, let's keep going," Joe said. "Amissa is fast, we're slow, and
it's still a long way."

* * * * *

Dozer
moved slowly but steadily like a tank rumbling across the wilderness. They cut
east across the grassy valley, and by afternoon, they reached Skull Swamp.

Even
Rangers feared to enter this place. But cutting through the swamp was the
shortest way to reach Laramidia Fields, where Amissa was running wild. Joe
would risk it.

The
great Gould River flowed from Mudge Mountain, watering the meadows and forests.
Here in the lowlands southeast of Hell Valley, the river flooded the plains,
creating a swamp. There was no solid ground. The best one could hope for was
deep mud. The water soaked up minerals from the soil, turning greenish and
brackish. Moss and ooze draped boulders, tussocks, and logs. Mangroves grew
like ancient soldiers of wood and leaf, their roots rising from the water like
stilts. A volcano rumbled in the distance, belching smoke. The air was hot and
soupy, glimmering with floating green spores.

Dozer
trudged through the mud, grunting and coughing. The trike wasn't happy. He
preferred roaming along grasslands or low hills. This was not his natural
habitat. The mud rose past his knees. Sometimes the mud gave way to mossy
water, and he splashed his way through. The triceratops seemed miserable, but
at least he found many ferns to eat. Joe kept checking Dozer's bandages, making
sure they were tightly sealed. The last thing he wanted was this green water
infecting the wounds.

Joe
had never realized how slow triceratops were until now. He needed to catch his
sister. He tried to tell himself that he was a tortoise chasing a hare, and
that slow and steady won the race. But he felt more like a snail chasing a
cheetah.

He
was probably just being stubborn. Riding around on a triceratops like some
crazy dinoboy. If he used a jippi or tricopter like the other Rangers, he'd be
facing Amissa by now. He could fly over the swamp instead of trudging through
it. When he was a younger Ranger, he would sometimes take a tricopter. Before
these long shadow years. Maybe he should embrace technology again. But tar it,
what was the point of Mintari if you filled it with machines? It might as well
be Cloventia in that case. This planet should be kept pristine. A nature
reserve. A place for dinosaurs to live free of human interference. He was only
here to protect the planet from other humans, and every day, he struggled to
keep his footprint minimal. Ironically, that gave other humans an edge. To
defeat them, he must become one of them.

"Joe!"
Simone gasped and clutched his arm. "What's that?" Her voice
trembled. "Darwin's beard! It's so awful."

Joe
looked into the distance. A smile spread across his face. "Nothing to
worry about. They're gentle giants."

Simone
trembled. "Those claws. They're huge." She clung to him tighter.
"That's the ugliest dinosaur I've ever seen."

Joe's
smile grew into a grin. "Tourists always say that about them. Simone, meet
the therizinosaurus. I call them therizins for short. They're famous for having
the longest claws of any dinosaurs. In fact, of any animal that ever lived. On
average, each claw is four feet long. But they can grow five feet or
longer."

Simone blenched. "Great. An animal with Simone-sized claws."

The
Rangers always laughed about how tourists reacted to therizins. Visitors
described them as goblins, demons, nightmares. Joe didn't think they were that
bad. But he understood where tourists were coming from. They had all heard of
T-rex, triceratops, brontosaurus, stegosaurus—the classics. But most tourists
had never heard of therizinosaurus, and its appearance shocked them.

A
therizin was the size of a T-rex. But it looked nothing like the famous
predator. Nor like any other dinosaur, for that matter. Its underbelly was gray
and warty, while its back sprouted shaggy feathers. The neck was long and
skinny. The head was small and beaked. It walked on two legs, stooped over like
a gargoyle, potbellied and hunchbacked. But most bizarre were those horrid
claws, the longest nature had ever produced.

Simone
whimpered. "I hate them."

Joe
laughed. "They're harmless. Herbivores."

Her
eyes widened. "Those ugly brutes with claymore claws are herbivores?"

"Yep.
They use the claws to grasp branches and pull down the leaves. Watch."

Three
therizins were moving ahead through the swamp. They were so tall that the mossy
water barely reached their knees. The bizarre dinosaurs reached toward the
treetops, hooked leafy branches with their enormous claws, and pulled the meals
toward their beaks. One of them was using its bizarre hands to scoop up
vegetation from the swamp, filter out the water, and snack.

"They
look like a cross between a turkey, sloth, and goblin," Simone said.
"And they're the size of dragons. I never knew such a dinosaur existed.
You don't see those at the gift shops." She laughed uneasily. "I
guess they wouldn't make good toys. Nightmare fuel."

"They're
gentle creatures," Joe said. "Proof that you can't judge a book by
its cover."

"Or
a dinosaur by its claws." Simone curved her fingers in a mimicry of claws,
then smiled and rested a hand on Joe's shoulder. "Or a mountain man by his
manners."

Vinnie
cackled something that sounded almost like a laugh. The velociraptor was riding
on Dozer with them. The swamp only reached the trike's underbelly, but Vinnie
would have drowned.

Dozer
waded through the water, moving closer to the towering oddities. The trike had
to test each step. The water was shallow here. But just to their left, Joe
knew, it sank into the depths of the Gould River. One could tell where the
water was shallow based on its color and the vegetation. Mangroves grew from
the shallows. A coating of moss marked the deeper waters. Nyx was inching
toward the horizon. Joe hoped they could leave the marshlands before nightfall.

He
knew there was a terror that lurked here. He did not relish spending the night.

As
Dozer rode closer, the therizins paused from eating. Atop their slender necks,
their little heads swiveled toward the intruders. The clawed herbivores snorted
and groaned, but they seemed more curious than hostile. After all, it wasn't
every day one saw a triceratops trudging through a swamp. Especially not one
with two strange mammals and a velociraptor on its back.

"We
must look as strange to them as they look to us," Joe said.

Simone
brushed back her hair. "I don't look strange. Well, maybe now I do,
covered in mud and dinosaur pee, riding a triceratops. All right, I'm a
weirdo."

The
therizins returned to their meal. With claws like forklifts, they scooped up
plants from the water and stuffed their beaks.

"I
guess they're not so bad," Simone said. "I wouldn't want one as a
pet, but—"

A
dinosaur burst out from the water.

A
huge dinosaur.

Jaws
opened wide, dripping water and algae. That mouth could eat a human with one
bite. The monster let out a deafening rumble. Waves of bass shook the swamp.

Simone
let out a scream almost as loud.

Joe's
heart burst into a gallop. It was just what he feared.

A
spinosaurus.

* * * * *

"Dozer—run!"
Joe shouted.

This
was a foe beyond them. Joe knew it. The trike did too. Grunting, Dozer moved as
fast as he could, splashing through the water.

Joe
could not help but watch. His morbid curiosity compelled him. One almost never
saw a spinosaurus and lived. It was likely Joe himself would not live to tell
this tale.

The
monster reared from the river. Normally Joe would never think of any dinosaur
as a monster. But he made an exception for spinosaurus. It was among the
largest predators on Mintari, rivaling the mighty T-rex for title of king.

The
spinosaurus was lighter than a T-rex but longer. From nostrils to tail tip, it
was as long as a sperm whale. And far meaner than Ahab's nemesis. The dinosaur
had a snout like a crocodile, long and full of nasty teeth. The teeth were
smaller than those of a T-rex, but a spinosaurus had far more of them. The
skull was enormous, longer than a man was tall. The carnivore walked on two
legs, but unlike a T-rex, it had long arms tipped with terrible claws.

Many
dinosaurs were large and fearsome on Mintari, but spinosaurus boasted a unique
feature. Rows of spikes taller than men rose along its back. Scaly skin
stretched between these spines, forming a sail. Most of the animal was green,
but the fearsome sail was red as blood. The color meant this one was a male.
The sails were primarily used for courtship, but a spinosaurus could also lurk
underwater, then rise in a surprise attack, impaling his victims upon those
spikes.

Fortunately
for the terrestrial dinosaurs of Mintari, spinosaurus did not roam the land.
Like a croc, he stayed in rivers and marshlands. Unfortunately for Joe and
Simone, they were now in his element.

The
beast reared from the water, as tall as a three-story building, rumbling for
blood. The therizin family cried out in terror and burst into a run. But they
were clumsy creatures, potbellied and slow. The spinosaurus leaped onto one of
the gangly herbivores. The hungry carnivore closed his mighty jaws round his
victim's neck.

With
a single bite, the spinosaurus severed the therizin's head. With a swipe of his
claws, the hulking predator tossed the head into a tree, where it lodged itself
among branches.

Watching
from Dozer's back, Simone cried out in horror. Even Joe recoiled. He had heard
of such things—but never seen it in real life.

To
make things worse, the spinosaurus did not even feed on his victim.
Apparently he was not hungry. The therizinosaurus had simply been in his way.
The towering predator splashed through the water—toward Dozer and the humans on
his back. The triceratops waded away, moving frustratingly slow. Dozer didn't
seem happy about running from a fight, but he obeyed Joe.

"The
spinosaurus is not hunting," Joe said. "He's territorial. The male
spinosaurus beheads his victims and places the heads among the mangrove branches
to deter others. Apparently it also impresses females."

"Yes,
I'm very impressed," Simone said. "Does this mean the dinosaur will
just chase us away instead of eat us?"

"Hopefully.
I don't have much experience with spinosaurs. I thought the skull collections
were just a myth, to be honest."

"Wait.
Hopefully?" Simone gulped.

The
spinosaurus gained speed, bellowing. Algae and moss dripped off his scales.
Strings of saliva dangled between his bloodied teeth. Dozer ran as fast as he
could, splashing through the mud. The trike could move with surprisingly fast
speed on land, outrunning any human sprinter, but here he floundered. The spino
loped after them, seeming almost to grin.

"What
kind of monster is this?" Simone shouted. "Dinosaurs are only
animals! What kind of animal displays severed heads as trophies?"

The
spinosaurus moved closer. His claws swiped through the air, spraying moss. His
mouth opened wider, revealing his gullet.

Joe
aimed his sleep-or-die. He fired a tranquilizer dart. It slammed into the
spino, but the dinosaur didn't even notice. He kept chasing, moving closer,
closer, only steps away now.

"Make
for that hill, Dozer!" Joe shouted.

"The
hill, the hill!" Simone cried.

Joe
fired again. This time he did something he hated to do. He fired a bullet at a
dinosaur.

Scales
shattered on the spino's chest. Blood poured. The spiny beast howled. He was
hurt but still in the fight. If anything, the gunshot only made him angrier. He
gained speed. His claws swung through the air, just missing the fleeing
triceratops.

Joe
fired again. The spino yowled but kept going. The bullets did not seem to
bother him too much.

Joe
glanced ahead.

The
hill was still far.

He
looked behind him.

The
spinosaurus was closer. His claws lashed again, missing Dozer by only a meter
or two.

They
had to fight.

"Dozer!"
Joe shouted. "Turn and charge!"

* * * * *

One
would assume that Dozer, a dinosaur who outweighed two African elephants, would
be slow on his feet. But despite its bulk and sturdy build, a triceratops could
move with surprising speed and agility. Within an instant, Dozer spun a hundred
and eighty degrees, bringing his horns to bear on the charging spinosaurus.

The
spino reared in the swamp, halting his chase. The semiaquatic killer just
barely avoided impaling himself on Dozer's menacing horns.

The
trike would not let his foe off the hook so easily. With an angry grunt, Dozer
charged. Massive as he was—and Dozer would make a mammoth look puny—he was
smaller than the spinosaurus. But he raced right at that predator without
hesitation. Triceratops horns could punch through a car, shatter a house wall,
and even take down a T-rex. The burly behemoth feared nobody. Dozer drove his
horns into his enormous spiny enemy.

Normally,
the horns carried the force of twelve tons of Dozer moving at high speed. But
in the water, the trike was slower, and his horns carried less kinetic energy.
The tips pierced the spinosaurus. But just the tips. The predator snorted,
swung his claws, and knocked Dozer's head aside. The spino's mighty claws left
gashes across Dozer's frill.

The
trike bellowed in agony. The pain only fueled his fury. He reared in the water,
bellowed, and shoved with his back legs, lunging at his foe. His horns slammed
into the spinosaurus again. This time, unleashed at close range, the attack
carried more force. The horns cracked through scales. Blood darkened the water.

Blows
from triceratops horns would kill most dinosaurs. But the spino stayed standing—and
attacked. The predator closed his jaws around Dozer's frill. The teeth scraped
across the bone. The spino tugged the bulky armored head, trying to yank off
the frill, to find soft flesh, to decapitate the trike.

Joe,
riding on Dozer's back, found himself facing the spino's scaly head. The snout
was longer than he was tall. Human and spinosaurus stared into each other's
eyes.

Joe
aimed his sleep-or-die.

He
could shoot a bullet into the spino's eye. He could slay the beast.

Instead
he loaded another tranquilizer dart. He fired it between the spino's eyes.

The
dart sank through the scaly skin, releasing its soothing liquid. This close to
the brain, it worked fast. Within seconds, the huge predator began slowing
down.

The
spinosaurus moaned. His jaws loosened, releasing Dozer's frill. The predator
stumbled back, splashing through the swamp. His great spine wilted like a
deflated sail.

Dozer
reared and prepared to charge again.

"Halt,
Dozer!" Joe said.

The
trike looked over his shoulder at Joe. He growled. I want to fight!

"Easy,
Dozer, easy," Joe said. "Let him live."

The
spinosaurus wobbled on his feet, dazed. Two tranquilizer darts stuck out from
him. He bled from horn wounds. The mighty predator turned away, slunk into the
river, and vanished underwater.

Joe
shut his eyes and exhaled in relief.

He
had met a spinosaurus and lived to tell the tale. Few men were this lucky. Or
women.

It
was then he realized that Simone was no longer holding him. And she hadn't
screamed in his ear in a while either.

He
looked behind him.

She
was no longer sitting on the triceratops.

His
heart seemed to shatter in his chest. No. Surely the spinosaurus hadn't gotten
her. Oh God, it couldn't be.

"Simone!"
he shouted. "Simone!"

"Right
here!" The cry came from below.

Joe
turned around, and there she was. Sitting in the mud a few paces away.

Thank
God.

Joe
exhaled in relief. But he hardened his expression. Better not show her any
feelings. Journalists fed off feelings like a spinosaurus feeding on flesh.

"What
are you doing down there?" he snapped.

"Your
triceratops dropped me!"

"You
were supposed to hold on."

"You
need to get seat belts on that thing!" she said, shoving herself up.

"Your
arms are tighter than any seat belt." He rubbed his ribs where her arms
had crushed him.

He
pulled her back onto Dozer. At once, those viselike arms wrapped around him,
crushing him.

Dozer's
tail was bleeding, but Joe dared not linger here long enough to treat the
wounds. More spinos lurked in these waters. The poor trike would have to suffer
for a little longer.

"If
we move fast, we can be out of the swamps by nightfall," Joe said, patting
Dozer on the frill. The spino's teeth had cut grooves into the armor. It
probably hurt like hell. "Just a little longer, old friend. And we'll be
safe."

Dozer
snorted and continued wading through the water. They passed by mangroves whose
branches held dinosaur skulls like lurid Christmas ornaments. Nyx dipped lower
in the sky, and the sunset seemed to paint the skulls with blood.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In Laramidia Fields

The sun was gone
and the twin moons glowing when they reached Laramidia Fields.

Some
called it the most beautiful place on Mintari. The flatlands sprawled toward
distant mountains. Flowers and ferns carpeted the land. At night, the flowers
were closed, but at dawn they would bloom again, filling Laramidia Fields with
color and sweet aromas.

As
they left Skull Swamp behind, they breathed easier. Partly because the air was
fresher; cool breezes scattered the soupy swamp air. But mostly because they
left the kingdom of the spinosaurus. Joe loved dinosaurs more than anything in
this world. But that was one dinosaur he hoped to never run across again.

At
least Joe, Dozer, and Vinnie were breathing easier. Simone was trembling.

"What's
wrong?" Joe said.

She
looked around the moonlit fields. A shudder ran through her. "What horror
awaits us here?"

Joe
looked around. "Um, flowers?"

"There's
gotta be some horror. At Collini Cliffs, a pterosaur grabbed me and almost fed
me to her hatchlings. In Hell Valley, allosaurs ate my cameraman. In Marshwood
Forest, a ceratosaurus nearly gulped me down. At Mudge Mountain, megaraptors
nearly tore me apart. And in Skull Swamp, a spinosaurus almost mounted my head
on a spike. Every spot has a monster. What lurks here?"

"Don't
worry, cheesecake, you're safe," Joe said. "The only predators here
sleep at night."

"And
at dawn?"

"We'll
worry about the giganotosaurus at dawn."

She
stiffened. "The what."

"I
said don't worry about it."

Her
cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth, seeming ready to argue again. But
then Simone squinted and leaned forward.

"There."
She pointed. "Look. Is that dinosaur sleeping?"

Joe
saw it. Some type of ankylosaur, judging by its spiky armor. He checked his
communicator. This was the spot. The same coordinates where Amissa had streamed
her video.

They
rode closer and dismounted. Simone's eyes dampened, and she covered her mouth.
Joe stared at the corpse. A few eoraptors, miniature omnivores even smaller
than Vinnie, were eating the dead dinosaur. Joe shooed them aside. They
scattered and hissed among the grass.

"A
nodosaur." Joe's fists clenched at his sides. "The one we saw Amissa
shoot in her video."

"Where's
the head?" Simone whispered.

"She
took it as a trophy. At least the spinosaurus eats the bodies. Amissa just
leaves them to the scavengers." He ground his teeth. "Tar it, we're
too late. If I had a tricopter, we could have gotten here in time. We—"

"No."
Simone put a hand on his chest. "Even in a tricopter, it would take time
to fly over the swamp. Amissa would have been long gone. There was nothing you
could do."

Joe
placed his hand on the dead nodosaur. The animal was the size of a rhinoceros.
Small for a dinosaur. But big or small, every life here was precious—from the
grandest sauropod to the smallest raptor. Joe closed his eyes and whispered
into the wind.

"Go
back now, child of Mintari. Go back to the soil from which you came. In the
warm embrace of the world, you will bring forth new life. The energy in your
body will feed the grass that grows and the trees that reach toward the sun.
Flowers will bloom where you fell, and the rain will wash your blood away. You
will be reborn. Rest now, child of life. We will always remember you, for you
will never die."

He
stepped back and opened his eyes. Tears glistened on Simone's cheeks.

"That
was beautiful," she said.

"An
old shaman's prayer," Joe said. "One my mother taught me long
ago."

"She
sounds like a wise woman."

Joe
looked at her. Her face glowed white in the moonlight, and her normally fiery hair
seemed like burnished silver. Her eyes were two blue moons like the twin moons
above. She touched his hand, her fingertips electric.

Joe
pulled back. "We should make camp. We'll continue in the morning. Amissa
hasn't posted any new videos today. Once she does, we'll pinpoint her location
and keep chasing her."

Simone
nodded. "All right. Camping. Out in dino country. What could go
wrong?"

Joe
allowed himself a smile. "You're safe, Simone. For tonight, you're safe. I
promise."

They
left the corpse, walked across the meadow, and reached a gurgling stream—a
tributary of Gould River. Several cycads grew along the water. A good place to
make camp. Simone looked at the water in concern, but Joe assured her that
spinos couldn't fit into a stream so small.

First
things first, Joe bandaged the bite wounds on Dozer's tail, then tended to the
grooves on his frill. He patted the old trike.

"You've
been through a lot today, friend. Get some rest."

The
scarred triceratops snorted and thumped down onto the grass, shaking the trees.
Soon the dinosaur was snoring. Normally trikes slept standing up. But poor
Dozer was so exhausted he conked out on his side. Vinnie had spent all day
running around. The velociraptor curled up among Dozer's legs, seeking safety.
Soon the feathered theropod was sound asleep. Joe looked affectionately at his
two friends.

"Some
guards you are," he said, but he was smiling. For a long time, he had been
lost, alone. Without Dozer and Vinnie, he would not have made it. There weren't
pets. They were family.

When
he looked around for Simone, he didn't see her. He frowned. What the heck?

Then
he saw it. Simone was bathing in the stream. It was perhaps too small for a
spinosaurus, but it was just the right size for her. She had waded in with her
clothes on, and she was busy washing out the mud. She dunked her head under,
scrubbed her hair, then came up for air.

He
frowned and stood on the riverbank. "What are you doing?"

She
looked up from the water. "Dancing the Charleston, of course." She
splashed him. "Bathing! What does it look like?"

"It's
a cold night. Get out of there. You'll freeze."

"I'm
covered in mud and dinosaur pee. I'm washing myself."

Joe
rolled his eyes. "I swear Cloventians are so pampered. They can't go a day
without—"

He
yelped as she grabbed him and pulled him into the stream. He crashed into the
water.

"Simone!"
he cried out. "What the—?"

"You're
bathing," she said. "I've had enough of you being some wild mountain
man. You're washing and then I'm cutting your hair."

"Like
hell!"

"Your
hair is too long."

"Who
cares? You can't even see my hair. I always wear a hat."

"You
have so much hair it's going to knock your hat off." She splashed him
again. "Now shut up! You'll get water in your mouth. Bathe!"

He
tried to climb out of the water. She pulled him back in. Once more, she
splashed him.

"Bathe!"
she commanded, standing hip-deep in the water.

"Fine,"
he muttered and began scrubbing the mud off his face. "For God's sake.
Next you'll have me wearing makeup and perfume like a Cloventian."

"Oh,
sorry, macho Mintari man. I forgot that real men don't eat quiche and never
bathe."

"What
the hell is quiche?"

She
rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't like it. There's no meat in it."

"I
don't only eat meat. I eat potatoes too. That's a vegetable."

"Oh
dear me, you'll be wearing a dress next, Jurassic Joe. Be careful." She
splashed him. "There's mud in your hair. Take the hat off and wash
it."

"A
Ranger never removes his ceratop hat."

She
snorted. "Oh please. Even you dinoboys must remove your hats sometimes. To
clean your hair, at least."

"Fine.
I'll clean my hair, but you ain't cutting it." Joe removed his ceratop and
began rinsing out more mud. "I can cut my own hair."

She
squinted at him. "The evidence would suggest otherwise. I packed toenail
scissors. I'll cut it properly."

He
stared at her as if she were insane. "You packed toenail scissors on
safari?"

She
shrugged. "In case my toenails grew too long."

"And
you didn't pack a gun."

She
tilted her head. "Why would I need a gun?"

He
sighed. "Well, you certainly know your priorities. If I were you, I'd—"

Movement
caught his eye. He shut his mouth, reached into the stream, then rose holding a
wriggling fish. A big one too.

Simone
took a step back from the squirming, scaly fish. "Is that some kind of
dinosaur fish?"

Joe
grinned. "This is dinner."

Not
long later, they sat drying by a campfire, eating the fish. The smell woke up
Vinnie, and they shared the meal with him. Dozer woke up once, guzzled down
half a tree, then went back to sleep.

When
they were done eating, Joe and Simone leaned against Dozer, picking their teeth
with fish bones. They were still wet and not ready to sleep. Not until the fire
was done drying their clothes.

Joe
looked at Simone. The firelight painted her skin gold, and her red hair seemed
like an extension of the flames.

"Thank
you," he said. "For the haircut and beard trim."

She
looked at him and smiled. "Least I could do after you saved my life. About
a hundred times so far. I probably owe you at least another …" She counted
on her fingers. "Two haircuts."

"One
was enough." He stroked his neatly cropped beard. "It's too short.
Dozer won't recognize me."

Simone
stared into the crackling flames for a while. Crickets chirped and the stars
shone. Finally she spoke softly, not removing her eyes from the fire.

"I
was only sixteen when my sister died. She was my twin. My other half. The
person I loved most in the world. We even had a secret language, and it breaks
my heart that I'm forgetting it."

"I'm
sorry," Joe said. He didn't know what else to say.

"We
were only sixteen when she died. I'm thirty-one now. Next year, I'll have lived
half my life without her. And I don't know how to handle that." A tear
rolled down her cheek. "The courts said it was an accident. But I know
that Amissa murdered her."

"What
happened?" Joe said. "When it happened, I was already living on
Mintari, estranged from my family."

Simone
kept looking at the flames, lost in memory, seeming almost afraid to look away.
"Amissa tormented my sister and me throughout school. She was two years
older, a senior, rich, popular. She hated us. She hazed us ruthlessly. The
usual stuff—stealing our lunch, shoving us into lockers, dunking our heads into
toilets. Good times. Even worse, she spread gossip. Mean gossip. She made our
lives hell. All because we came from below the neon sea. She deemed us unworthy
of Clover Heights Academy. So she bullied us relentlessly. One day, she showed
up with her dog. A big pit bull. Genetically modified and trained to be mean.
She just wanted to scare us, Amissa later claimed in court. But I tell you, that
dog was going to rip us apart. Elize fled onto a floating road … and was hit by
a car. She died in my arms."

Joe
lowered his head. "I'm very sorry. I'm disgusted by what my sister
did."

"Since
then, I've been terrified of animals. Any animals. Be they dogs or
dinosaurs." She finally looked at him. "When I met you, I could not
understand how you could love dinosaurs. To me they were monsters. Like the dog
that killed my sister. But I think I understand now. I see how you, Dozer, and
Vinnie are a family. I see how beautiful Mintari is. Well, maybe not the
predators. But that nodosaur was beautiful. And I understand why you do what
you do."

"No
you don't," Joe said.

Her
eyes narrowed. "I don't?"

"I
love dinosaurs," Joe said. "They are noble, magnificent creatures.
They are miracles of nature. I love taking care of them. Being around them.
Dedicating my life to them. To me, dinosaurs are a blessing and a joy. But
that's not why I'm a Ranger."

She
tilted her head, her red tresses bouncing. "Tell me. Why?"

"Because
of my family. Who they are. What they do." He tapped the pin on his lapel.
"Do you see this silver triceratops head? The crest of my clan. Clans are
the lifeblood of human society on Mintari. Every clan is built around a core of
a wealthy family, but they expand to include staff, friends, neighbors,
brothers-in-arms. A big clan can include over a thousand people. Clans become
an identity. A source of pride. For generations, the Triplehorns proudly
displayed this symbol. Every clan on Mintari chose a dinosaur to represent
them. The dinosaur symbolizes the clan values. For centuries, the Triplehorns
embraced the values of the triceratops. We were strong, but we used our
strength for defense. We were noble, but we remained down-to-earth. These are
the qualities the triceratops embodies. Until my father, the clan chief, threw
it all away. He abandoned Mintari. He betrayed this world. And he used the
triceratops as a symbol for his company. A company that sells weapons to
poachers."

Joe
clenched his fists. He began to tremble.

"I
can't even imagine how that feels." Simone placed a hand on his shoulder.

"My
mother fled him." His voice caught. "I was only a boy. I was born on
Cloventia to a family of Mintarian immigrants. The floating skyscrapers were
all I knew. Yes, Simone. I too come from your neon world. My mother fled back
to Mintari, taking me with her. I was nine. Back on this world, my mother
withdrew from society, becoming a shaman in the wilderness. I became a Ranger.
My father was killing dinosaurs, so I vowed to protect them. Until … until one
of those dinosaurs killed my wife. My pregnant wife."

He
lowered his head, the pain overwhelming him. Simone embraced him.

Joe
continued in a low voice. "Mina died fifteen years ago. The same year your
sister died. King Ivan did it. The mutant T-rex with black scales."

"And
yet you still love dinosaurs," she whispered.

He
nodded. "Dinosaurs do what dinosaurs do. I don't blame them. Predators
hunt because it's in their nature. But humans … humans know good from evil. My
father and sister chose evil."

Simone
embraced him. "But you chose good. You're rude. You're grating. You're as
stubborn as a stegosaurus. But you're good."

"There's
more to this story." Joe looked into her eyes. The fire reflected in them.
"I never met my paternal grandparents. They died before I was born. They
lived on Mintari. And dinosaurs killed them."

Simone
gasped. "Not Ivan!"

"No.
This was before Ivan was even born. A herd of gastonias, of all things. They're
another genus of ankylosaur, similar to nodosaurs. They got spooked by a
predator and ran. They trampled over my grandparents. Just an accident. But my
father never forgave dinosaurs. To Tobias Triplehorn, these animals are all
monsters. For years, he hated dinosaurs, feared them, loathed them. He left
Mintari because he could not tolerate the animals that killed his parents. And
Simone … I think he founded Triplehorn Incorporated as his twisted revenge
against dinosaurs."

"Revenge
against dinosaurs!" Simone said. "But they're only animals."

"To
my father, they're monsters. He delights in selling the guns that kill them.
The name Triplehorn, which was once so noble, has become synonymous with
poaching. Mintarians see my crest and spit on me. They hear my name and curse
it."

Her
eyes softened. "You can take the pin off. You can change your name."

"No.
I'm proud of Clan Triplehorn. Its legacy stretches back for centuries. It's one
of the oldest families of Mintari. A Triplehorn was on Darwin's Ark, the
first starship that landed here from Earth five hundred years ago. I vowed to
someday restore my family name to honor."

Simone
leaned her head against his shoulder. "Well, you've already converted one
person."

Joe
smiled wryly. "I suppose you'll put all this into your article."

She
leaned back, looking into his eyes again. "Not if you don't want me
to."

"Write
it," he said. "Let them read it. Let Cloventia know what I'm doing
here. I always wanted privacy. But Amissa won't give me that. She already talks
to her followers about me. So let them hear my side of the story."

Simone
leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for sharing your story,
Joe Triplehorn."

"Thank
you for sharing yours, Simone LaRue."

She
yawned. A huge yawn that stretched her entire body. Joe was infected at once,
and he too began to yawn. They lay down on the grass. The breeze was cold, and
they had no blankets. She wriggled closer to him, and he wrapped his arms
around her.

She
smiled sleepily, eyelids fluttering. "Are you hugging me, Jurassic
Joe?"

"No!"
he grumbled. "Just keeping you warm. It's a cold night."

She
nuzzled closer. "It's cold …"

He
fell asleep with her hair tickling his chin, his arms around her. He slept
deeply, and for the first time in years, he did not suffer nightmares.

* * * * *

At
dawn, beeping awoke him.

Joe
blinked and looked around, still dazed. He saw blue sky, a gurgling stream, and
a flowery meadow. For a moment, he could not remember where he was. Simone was
still asleep in his arms, her head against his chest. She had drooled onto his
shirt. Lovely.

The
beeping sounded again.

He
frowned and pawed around for his communicator. He found the small device lying
in the grass beside him.

It
was flashing. An urgent alert.

Joe
looked at the little screen, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest.

"Dear
God," he whispered.

Simone
mumbled, opened her eyes, and blinked groggily. "What is it?"

"Amissa
is recording another video," Joe said. "She's about to kill the
largest dinosaur on Mintari."

* * * * *

Amissa
stood by the nest of hatchlings. Her SmartSphere hovered before her, streaming
her to billions of people across the Nyx star system.

"Howdy,
Tripletots. This is your girl, Amissa Triplehorn, also known as the Dino
Huntress. I hope you enjoyed my video yesterday, showing you a beautiful and rare
nodosaur. Today I have something even more amazing for you. Yes, Tripletots,
I'm not holding anything back. Today I will hunt the largest dinosaur that ever
lived."

With
a twirl of her fingers, she spun the SmartSphere toward the nest.

Twigs,
leaves, and straw filled a bowl dug into the earth. Hatchlings cooed inside, no
larger than lapdogs. They were adorable little things, Amissa had to admit.
Their necks were long, their eyes huge, their feet too big for their tubby
little bodies.

Holographic
snippets of text floated around the camera—comments from her fans.

"Aww,
cuties."

"Babies!"

"Biggest
dinos? Yeah sure."

Amissa
knelt by the nest. "These are sauropodlets. Baby sauropods. They were only
born this morning, and they're so small you could carry one in your purse. But
these adorable little hatchlings will become the largest animals to ever live
on land. Their species: Supersaurus vivianae. A titan among
titans."

She
paused for effect. Her fans began a heated debate. She knew they would.

"Supersaurus—biggest
dino ever!"

"Sorry,
not the biggest dinosaur. Argentinosaurus is heavier."

"Supersaurus
is longer than argentinosaurus. Therefore bigger."

"Sauroposeidon
is taller than both. Fail!"

"Longest
counts as biggest! It's length, not weight or height."

"Don't
hurt the babies!"

"Where's
Mommy?"

Amissa
stroked one of the hatchlings. "This little guy only weighs a few
kilograms. But soon he'll start to eat. And he'll gain an incredible forty
kilograms a day. That's my weight." She winked at the camera.

The
comments erupted.

"Sure
…"

"You
wish."

"What
is that in pounds?"

Amissa
plucked blades of grass and fed the sauropodlet. "This dinosaur will not
reach his full size until he's thirty. Older than I am now." Another wink.

More
comments exploded.

"Mm-hmm."

"Sure
…"

"You
wish!"

Amissa
cleared her throat and continued speaking. "When fully grown, this tiny
dinosaur will weigh a hundred tons. The weight of ten T-rexes. That's right,
Tripletots. This dinosaur will be ten times the size of a T-rex. Only the blue
whale was larger than the supersaurus. On land, this giant reigns
supreme."

"Kill
something already."

"I
love you, Amissa! My queen!"

"Beautiful
animals, beautiful huntress."

"You're
a murderer!"

Amissa
left the nest and walked across the grass, stirring wisps of fog. Her astrolite
was parked nearby, barely visible in the morning mist. She hopped down into an
enormous footprint, then climbed out and kept walking. She added a little sassy
sway to her gait. After all, the camera was hovering behind her. She must put
on a good show. From the astrolite, she retrieved her bow, turned toward the
camera, and posed with the weapon.

"Artemis's
Arch. The deadliest compound bow money can buy. Only 15,999 clovers in all
Triplehorn stores." Amissa kissed the bow. "Let's see if this baby
can bring down giants."

"Not
a chance."

"An
arrow against a supersaurus? Good luck!"

"Murderer!"

"I'm
calling the Rangers right now."

"Die!"

Amissa
strode purposefully back toward the nest. The sauropodlets were still cooing
inside. A few tried to rise, but their legs buckled, and they flopped back
down. Within a day or two, they'd be big enough to walk and graze. Right now
their mother was off collecting food. This was normally a vulnerable time for
the hatchlings. Today it was a vulnerable time for Mom.

Footsteps
shook the earth.

A
rumble sounded in the distance.

Amissa
and the camera both faced the sound. A figure was moving through the mist. A
towering figure. A colossal dinosaur was lumbering forth.

The
mist parted.

The
beast emerged.

The
fans went wild. Thousands of comments exploded around the SmartSphere.

Amissa
did not read them. She stood, gaping, lost for words. She had seen wonderful,
terrifying animals before, but none had ever taken her breath away. Until now.

The
supersaurus loomed above her. From head to tail, she was larger than Christ the
Redeemer, the ancient statue from Brazil that now floated on Cloventia. Her
legs were like the columns of cathedrals. Her neck soared like an ancient
obelisk. Her head seemed to gaze down from among the stars. In her mouth, she
held an uprooted sapling—food for her young. If Amissa stood on her tiptoes and
stretched up her arm, she still would not reach this dinosaur's underbelly.
This being was like the nephilim of old, towering and unearthly.

Tears
streamed down Amissa's cheeks. She had never seen anything so magnificent. To
kill such a beast—it would be her life's greatest achievement. It would be so
beautiful.

"Beautiful,"
she whispered, eyes wet. "It's so beautiful."

The
supersaurus stomped closer. Every footfall left deep imprints in the soil.
Amissa tightened her lips. With shaking hands, she raised Artemis's Arch.

Shooting
such a beast in the body would be useless. Even with a modern rifle. But a shot
to the head—right through that tiny brain—would bring the giant down. Amissa
could only imagine the sound such a titan falling would make. It would be like
killing a god.

She
nocked an arrow.

The
supersaurus hurled down the uprooted tree.

Amissa
leaped aside, never getting the chance to fire her arrow.

It
was just a sapling, but it was taller than Amissa, and the trunk was thicker
than her arm. The tree slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. Leaves
fluttered through the air. Amissa groaned in pain.

She
shoved aside branches, drew her bowstring, and—

A
foot came plunging downward.

Amissa
rolled. The foot slammed down beside her. It left a footprint larger than a
bathtub.

She
leaped to her feet and aimed her bow again.

A
boom shook the air.

A
blast of air hit her. Amissa stumbled back, dazed. Her ears rang.

What
the hell just happened? she thought. Did a
bomb go off?

She
shook her head wildly, returned her finger to the trigger, and—

Another
boom shook the air. A shock wave knocked her down. Then she understood what was
happening.

The
supersaurus was whipping her tail through the air. She was swinging that tail
so fast it broke the sound barrier. Those were sonic booms. Same as the crack
of a whip—but much louder.

A
third time the tail swung. This time it was coming right at her.

Amissa
ran and ducked. The tail swung over her head, breaking the sound barrier again.
The sonic boom deafened her. The tail tip slammed onto the fallen tree,
shattering the trunk into a million pieces. It could just as easily shatter
Amissa's bones.

Dear
Lord! Amissa thought. Maybe she had
underestimated this beast. She had thought it a mere herbivore. Big, yes. But
still just a tame prey animal. Essentially a giant cow. What a fool she had
been! Now Amissa felt smaller than ever. Even worse, she had the terrible
feeling that the supersaurus was toying with her. A cat toying with a mouse.

The
dinosaur flicked her massive tail again. Amissa leaped aside, stumbled into a
footprint, and crashed down.

She
lay on her back inside the footprint, staring up at the giant.

The
supersaurus raised her foot, prepared to flatten her.

Amissa
did not run. Lying on her back, she aimed Artemis's Arch.

The
foot came plunging down.

She
fired.

A
steel arrow drove into the sauropod's foot. Artemis's Arch, the most powerful
compound bow on the market, fired arrows with enough force to shatter bones.
The dinosaur yowled and stumbled backward. Blood dripped from her foot.

Gotcha!

Amissa
leaped to her feet, nocked another arrow, and drew the bowstring. She would try
to hit something more critical this time. The dinosaur was flailing her neck
around in pain. The head kept moving. Amissa could not aim properly. A head
shot seemed impossible. But the torso was a massive target, and if she could
hit an artery, even shoot deep enough to damage an organ …

She
squinted and—

The
tail swung her way.

She
leaped aside. The tip of the tail caught her bow, hurling it mightily.

The
bowstring snagged her arm with terrifying force.

Amissa
flew through the air.

For
a disorienting few seconds, she was tumbling through the sky.

She
crashed down and hit the grass. Hard. She lay there, moaning. Her bow was gone.
She moaned in pain, tried to rise, could not.

Her
arm blazed with searing white agony. Broken. The bowstring had yanked her arm
so powerfully the bone had snapped. She winced, tears in her eyes, nearly blind
with pain.

The
supersaurus thundered toward her. Amissa had only a handgun left. One of her
arms was useless, bent at an odd angle. With her other hand, she drew her
handgun and fired.

Again.
Again. Again.

Bullets
plowed into the sauropod's chest.

The
dinosaur reared, bleeding, still alive. The bullets only infuriated her. Her
feet rose high in the air, and Amissa knew the dinosaur would stomp her dead.

A
siren wailed.

A
tricopter streaked through the sky.

Yellow
and green lights flashed.

The
Mintari Rangers were here.

* * * * *

As
Amissa lay on the ground, moaning in pain, the Ranger tricopter flew rings
around the supersaurus. Its siren blared, and its lights flashed. The enormous
dinosaur bellowed and swung her tail, trying to swat the tricopter away.

A
Ranger leaned out the tricopter, aimed a double-barrel rifle, and opened fire.

Watching
from the grass, Amissa gaped. A Ranger shooting a dinosaur!

Then
she understood. The Ranger was firing a sleep-or-die. A rifle that could fire
bullets from one barrel, tranquilizer darts from the other. The Ranger in the
tricopter was tranquilizing the sauropod. They probably wanted to subdue her so
they could treat her wounds. Pathetic!

Amissa
had run into so-called animal lovers before. They were all hypocrites. They
claimed to hate hunting, but they bought meat from the grocery store. Some
claimed to be vegetarians, but they ate produce grown on the destroyed habitats
of a billion slain animals. They claimed to love nature, but they lived in
cities of steel and glass. Cities built on animal graveyards.

Amissa
was the true nature lover. Because she respected nature. She did not eat
meat butchered on a factory farm. She hunted her own meat. She did not fly a
tricopter around a sauropod, shooting from the air. She faced the beast head-on.
On the ground. Using nothing but a bow and arrow. She was part of nature. Not
above it. It was what the Rangers would never understand. They saw themselves
as gods. She saw herself as a predator.

Bleeding
from bullet wounds, an arrow in her foot, several tranquilizer darts in her neck,
the supersaurus stumbled toward her hatchlings. The elephantine legs were
wobbling. When she reached the nest, the sauropod let out a heartbreaking howl.
Wobbling, she sat down hard, cracking the earth, and coiled her neck around the
nest. The sauropodlets whimpered and nuzzled their groggy mother.

The
Ranger tricopter descended, blasting back the grass with its three rotors.
Rotors. How quaint. Like a relic from a time gone by. The antique Mintarian
vehicle thumped onto the grass.

Two
Rangers leaped out. They wore that ridiculous uniform of theirs. Tan buttoned
shirts. Campaign hats. Badges on their chests shaped like stegosaurus plates.
These ones even wore shorts. What kind of paramilitary force wore shorts?

"Great,
the boy scouts have arrived," Amissa muttered, pushing herself to her
feet. She winced. Her arm hung at an odd angle. Her vision swam with tears, and
the pain pounded through her.

One
of the Rangers, a lanky man with a bushy goatee, rushed toward the tranquilized
sauropod. He was carrying a medical kit.

The
second Ranger, a woman with dark skin and green eyes, drew her sidearm and
approached Amissa.

"Drop
your weapon—now!" the Ranger shouted.

Amissa
realized she was still holding her handgun. She kept holding it. "I do not
recognize your authority, Ranger!" she shouted. "According to the Nyx
Accords of 2798, recreational hunting is allowed on all Nyx worlds."

"You
can argue that in court," the female Ranger said. "Drop your gun!
Now! Or I will shoot!"

Amissa
glanced over her shoulder. Her SmartSphere was still floating nearby, recording
everything.

"Emergency
flare!" she said.

Quickly,
Amissa looked away. The SmartSphere blazed with blinding light. The feature was
meant for emergencies. The light could be seen from space, they said. It shone
as brightly as the sun. Within a second, the sphere drained its battery and
thumped onto the grass, dead.

But
for that one second, the Ranger was blind.

And
one second was all Amissa needed. She raised her handgun. She fired. A perfect
shot between the Ranger's pretty green eyes.

The
woman crumpled, dead before she hit the ground.

Good
thing the camera battery is dead, Amissa thought. Wouldn't
be good for my fans to see that.

It
was the first time she had killed a human. She felt … hollow. She wasn't sure
how to feel. She would process this later.

There
was another Ranger nearby. The one tending to the supersaurus.

Amissa
turned toward him. He was kneeling by the snoozing sauropod. The man looked
stunned. His eyes flicked toward his dead comrade, then to Amissa.

"I
don't have a gun," he whispered. "Please. I'm unarmed. Don't hurt me.
Please. I have a wife and k—"

Amissa
pulled the trigger.

Blood
sprayed the sauropod.

The
Ranger collapsed.

Amissa
began to shake. Her head spun. She nearly dropped her gun. And it wasn't just
the agony of her broken arm.

I
just killed two people. Oh God, I killed humans.

The
pain flared. She yelped. With the adrenaline wearing off, the agony came
roaring in. There was a medical drone inside her astrolite. It could heal her.
But before setting her bone, it would sedate her. And she needed her mind
clear. She had to think, to think …

Two
bodies at her feet. Tar pit! Could her father sweep them under the rug?

Amissa
Triplehorn had been in trouble with the law before, of course. Quite a few
times. Hunting animals was a legal gray area. Then there had been that incident
with the LaRue twins. And the time the authorities raided one of her side
businesses, accusing her of tax evasion. All those times, the Triplehorn
lawyers had gotten her out of trouble. But this was new. This was killing
humans.

They'll
accuse me of murder, she thought. Not even
self-defense but murder!

Suddenly
she wished her SmartSphere had been recording. Then they would see. She
had defended herself! The Ranger had pulled a gun on her!

She
took deep, shaky breaths.

Calm
yourself. You are Amissa Triplehorn. The heiress of an empire. Act like it.

She
should get rid of the bodies. Bury them or burn them. Then she laughed at how
ridiculous that was. She was on Mintari! Scavengers would show up any moment
now. Within hours, the wildlife would eat everything, even the bones. And if
anyone did find the bodies—well, good! Let it be a lesson to them.

"If
you hunt me, I will shoot you down," she hissed. "I am not prey. I am
a predator."

Speaking
of which …

She
glanced toward the supersaurus. The enormous animal lay on the ground,
sleeping. It looked like a beached whale. Still tranquilized.

Amissa
found her compound bow nearby. Still in one piece. Good. Sadly, she couldn't
use it with one broken arm. Instead, she aimed her handgun at the sleeping
sauropod. A bullet through the brain should do the trick. But then she lowered
her gun in disgust. There was no triumph in slaying a sleeping giant. She had
come to Mintari as a huntress, not an executioner. She was done here.

Her
fans would be disgusted. Well, too bad. Besides, her camera was out of
batteries. What was the point of killing something if you couldn't take a
photo?

One
last thing before she treated her arm. She filled the Rangers' abandoned
tricopter with bullets, destroying the engine. It would never fly again.

Finally
she stumbled into her astrolite, the Huntress.

"Drone!"
she shouted hoarsely.

The
little squid-like drone hovered toward her. His camera lenses widened like
shocked eyes. "Mistress, you are hurt!"

She
grimaced. The pain was really coming in hard now. "You need … to set the
bone. To … cast … But first—pain …"

The
drone already knew her preferences for drugs. He hovered closer. One of his
metal tentacles injected her with a potent sedative. Her pain flowed away. She
leaned back in her seat. As he set the bone and wrapped her arm in a cast,
Amissa did not feel a thing.

Soon
she was flying again, floating over the clouds. Leaving Mintari's largest
dinosaur behind. Alive.

The
Rangers had ruined her hunt. She knew who had sent them. Joe. Her brother was
behind this.

"You
will pay, Joe Triplehorn." She shoved down the throttle. Her astrolite
raced over the grasslands and hills. "I've killed Rangers now. And I can
kill again."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Lost Child

The tracks were
gone. The rain had washed them away like the blood off Figaro's face. She stood
on the muddy floodplain, scrawny and hungry and lonely. Just an orphan. One
girl lost in a big world full of predators. She had hoped to find the other
girl. Emily. The girl who had parents, who spoke so nicely. But now Fig worried
she would never find another human. That she would remain alone forever.

As
if he could read her thoughts, Red Scar nickered beside her. Fig hugged his
neck.

No.
I'm not alone. I have you.

They
spent the morning by the river, catching fish. Fig was normally good at
fishing, but today she was distracted. Whenever she caught a fish, it slipped
from her hands. But Red Scar was excellent at it. He would stand on the
riverbank for long moments, staring at the shallow water. Then, fast as
lightning, he'd dart underwater, then come up with a fish wriggling in his
claws. He gulped down a few himself and offered one to Fig. Fish were good
eating if eaten fresh. They never disturbed her sensitive stomach.

While
she ate, Fig considered her steps. The jippi's tracks were gone. She had
sniffed all over, and even Red Scar had added his powerful nostrils. But there
was no scent left. Fig could return to the hilltop where she had met Emily.
Maybe the girl would come back. But that sounded unlikely. Emily's parents had
spoken, and oddly, Fig had understood them. Understood that they were off
track. That they would not return to this hill.

I
understood their language because I once lived among humans,
she told herself.

It
had been many years ago, but some vague memories remained. Words. Her name. And
a blurred image of a woman with matted hair, painted cheeks, and chinking
bracelets and necklaces.

A
shaman, Fig thought. She remembered that word
too. Shaman. A wisewoman.

The
shaman had not been her mother. Fig was sure of that. Every day, Fig remembered
more. Today she remembered the shaman telling her stories. Stories of finding
her in the forest, an orphan babe. The shaman had been like the achillobators.
A caretaker.

And
Fig remembered the day the shaman had died. The day the bators killed her. They
would have killed Fig too. But she had worn a headdress woven with red
feathers. Perhaps the bators had mistaken her for one of their own, an odd
hatchling. Perhaps it was a simple instinct. See red feathers, do not attack.
Fig didn't know.

That
was ten winters ago now. Or was it eleven already? Fig had only a vague concept
of numbers. Bators had no use for numbers, but Fig often counted things like
berries, fish, and seeds. She could count up to twenty using her fingers and
toes, and she thought that she was fourteen, maybe fifteen now. Was that old?
How long did humans live? Or bators, for that matter? Fig remembered meeting
Long Tooth ten years ago, when he had been young and strong. Now he was old and
slow, his red feathers gone to white. Fig must be an old woman now.

Before
I die, I must find more humans. I must! I can't die with all these questions.

Emily
had traveled with parents. Fig had lived with a shaman. That meant humans were
not solitary. There would be more somewhere, congregating. Maybe some even
moved in herds. There would be …

It
hit her like lightning.

The
memory was so powerful Fig fell onto her backside, splattering mud everywhere.
Red Scar started, lowered his head, and sniffed at her. Fig barely saw him. The
memory, long suppressed, flooded over her.

A
pack, she thought. There was a pack of
shamans.

The
images floated before her. A hill in the night. Three snowcapped mountains on
the horizon. A henge of stones etched with strange runes. The twin moons shone
like eyes, full and bright, filling the runes with light like liquid silver.
Many shamans, as many as Fig had fingers and toes, stood within the henge,
hands raised, worshipping the eyes of the night. They wore dinosaur skulls atop
their heads, and strings of claws and teeth jangled around their necks and
wrists. Fig could hear their chanting, see the glow of the runes, feel the
chill wind of night.

The
memory faded. Fig blinked. She was back on the floodplain and it was daytime
again. The memory had seemed so vivid. Like a waking dream.

I
was there, she thought. I was only a hatchling. I
heard them chant.

Red
Scar sniffed her, nuzzled her with his snout. Fig ruffled his feathers.

We
need to find three snowcapped mountains, she
wanted to tell him. A hill with a henge of stones.

But
he understood no human language, and she had forgotten how to speak. She could
only say one word. Her own name. Fi-ga-ro. Yet they could communicate in the
language of bators. It was less complex. But perhaps she could make him
understand.

"Yeeooooowww!"
she said, gesturing north where she knew that tall mountains rose.
"Haroooo harrrr!" There, there! Travel there!

Red
Scar snorted and pointed his snout south. "Garrrr harroooo!" Pack
there, in the south!

Fig
had no proper snout to point with, but she did her best with her little nose.
"Garrrr harrrroooo." My pack is north.

Red
Scar pointed his snout at his body, then toward the south, then to himself
again. "Garrrrr." We are your pack. I am your pack.

She
hugged him, cooing. I know. I love you. I know. "Garrrr
harrooo." But I must go north. I must see. "Yip yip.
Yip?" Come with me?

He
growled, eyes narrowed, fierce and ready to fight. Always, little one.
Always. We are pack.

She
nuzzled him. We are pack.

They
headed north toward the mountains. Fig's memories guided her, a map in her
mind. She needed to find three mountains. A hill with a henge. And a pack of
humans.

* * * * *

She
didn't have much time.

In
her memory, the shamans met when the twin moons were full. Fig often gazed at
the stars and moons, tracing their celestial journeys. She had learned their
patterns, could predict their movements. To Fig, the lights of the sky were old
friends, and she always knew when to expect them, where they were going, when
they might leave.

When
the constellation shaped like a sauropod shone over the eastern sky, the oily
fish swam upriver to spawn, and they were easier to catch than ever. When a
constellation shaped like a frond shone in the sky's zenith, the dinosaur eggs
were almost ready to hatch. The bright light she called Dawn's Eye shone over
the horizon throughout winter, but only before dawn, and every night it moved a
little more toward the north. The twin moons each danced their own dance, one
silver and one blue, sometimes moving apart, sometimes intersecting. But only
rarely did they shine side by side like two unblinking eyes.

Tonight
would be such a night. A night the two moons danced together. Tonight the
shamans would gather.

Fig
must hurry. She ran but slower than usual. Weariness tugged on her bones like
vines. She had eaten a fish for breakfast, but running quickly burned off the
energy. And she was still too scrawny after a hard winter. But she kept going.
She could not tarry, not to hunt or gather. By nightfall, she must find the
henge.

Red
Scar snorted, lowered his head, and nudged her thigh with his snout.

"Hyu?
Hyu?" Fig tilted her head.

He
crouched and tilted toward her. Ride me.

Fig
shook her head. She looked at his wounds. "Heooooo." You're hurt.

"Ap,
ap!" I'm strong. He rustled his feathers and snorted. Ride me!

Fig
wanted to refuse again. The old bator was still recovering from fighting the
utahraptor. He needed to take it easy for a while. But Fig relented. She was so
hungry, so weak. Reluctantly she climbed onto his back. He was several times
her size. Normally he could carry her with ease. Now she felt his weariness,
the stiffness in his muscles moving between her thighs. But he walked onward,
confident and steady. She rode him like she did during a hunt. To direct his
path, she tugged on his feathers. A tug on his right side—move right. A tug on
his left side—move left. They had been using this system for years.

Fig
knew where she was going. Every step stirred new memories. She recognized this
meadow. When she had been only a hatchling, the shaman had taken her here,
explained to her which flowers could be used for healing. Fig had forgotten the
names of the flowers, but as she ran among them, the smells seemed so familiar.
They triggered feelings of warmth and care and safety.

Beyond
the meadow, she saw them now, rising from the mist. Three mountains topped with
snow. She was heading the right way.

As
the day went by, no dinosaurs harassed them. At noon, an iguanodon herd rumbled
by. They were hefty herbivores, probably twenty times larger than
achillobators. The green, scaly giants were always hungry. They could munch
down a forest within days. They generally kept to what they did best—eating.
But if disturbed, they could become deadly. Iguanodons weren't just big and
powerful. Terrible claws grew from their thumbs. The other four fingers were
stubby, used for grabbing vegetation. But the thumbs rivaled any weapon on
Mintari. Big predators like tyrannosaurs preyed on iguanodons. But the bators
feared them and gave them a wide berth.

Bators
were pack predators, and Red Scar and Fig were now alone. Without the pack,
they could not set an ambush, could not catch big prey. They must content
themselves with grabbing bugs, snails, and little lizards. Finally at
afternoon, they stopped by a stream to drink. They caught no fish, only frogs.
Figaro hated eating frogs. They were slimy and the meat jiggled and jumped in
her mouth. But she forced herself to eat one, grimacing all the while. She
nearly threw it up, but with sheer force of will, she kept the meal down. Today
strength mattered. She must keep running. The frog gave her another few miles.

By
nightfall, she saw the hill.

The
henge crowned the hilltop like stubby horns. The moons shone above, one blue
and one white, two unblinking eyes watching over Mintari.

Fig
tugged Red Scar's neck feathers. The achillobator slowed to a halt. They stood in
the dark valley, gazing up at the henge. The wind ruffled Fig's hair and dress
of feathers. The hill seemed so much smaller than she remembered. In her
memory, it was almost a mountain. But this had to be the place.

I
remember. I was here before.

She
dismounted and stood before the bator. Red Scar tilted his head and made little
clicking sounds. Aren't we going onward?

Fig
growled low in her throat. Not yet. Wait. Watch. Be careful.

They
stood for a while in the darkness, side by side, two companions. A pack. The
breeze rustled the grass and their feathers, and the moons rose higher above.

When
the moons reached their zenith, they heard it. Chanting from the hilltop.

The
moonlight illuminated the henge of stones. The runes glowed. From behind one
stone, a figure appeared. Small. Mammalian. Bipedal.

A
human.

Red
Scar tensed, and his eyes narrowed. A low growl rose in his throat. He was
confused, scared. Fig stroked his feathers, soothing him. They remained hidden
in shadows, watching.

The
lone figure danced on the hilltop, head tilted back, hands raised to the moon.
She sang. She worshipped the light. The wind caught her hair, and it streamed
like a silver river in the night.

As
Fig watched, tears flowed down her cheeks. The song was beautiful, and it stirred
so many memories and feelings. Her caretaker had sung that tune. Fig did not
understand the words. They were old words. Words in the tongue of another
world. But she understood what the music meant. This was a song about the night
and the stars that traveled dark roads. A song about spring's dawning and the
looming heat of summer. A song of great titans who walked the plains, roamed
the forests, and soared on the wind. A song of life. Fig could listen to it
forever.

The
constellations roamed the sky, the moons dipped behind the mountains, and the
song ended. The woman on the hill stepped out from the henge. She stared down
into the dark meadow, raised her hand, and called out: "Hello there,
friend!"

Fig
was so shocked she fell into the grass.

She
saw us! She'll hunt us! Hurt us!

Red
Scar sensed her fear. He growled and bared his teeth.

"I
mean you no harm!" called the woman. "Come join me, friends. I have
food to share."

Red
Scar growled louder. The dinosaur was confused. Fig could almost read his mind.
Was this small mammal on the hill a threat? Why did she smell like Figaro, his
small pack mate? Why had they come here?

Fig
stroked the bator's feathers. She made little chattering sounds in his ear. Stay
here. I'll inch closer. Remain in the tall grass. It was a signal they
often used when hunting. Achillobator language revolved around hunting, mating,
surviving. They had no words for a situation like this. But Red Scar
understood. He crouched lower in the grass, staying put.

Fig
found herself walking toward the hill. For a predator on Mintari, every calorie
counted. Every step burned energy, so every step must be weighed in advance. A
predator fought hard for her calories and conserved them jealously. But Fig
walked onward, spending those precious calories. She was not drawn by hunger.
She was not seeking higher ground during a flood. She was not looking for a
mate or a place to lay eggs. Curiosity drew her. It was for curiosity that she
spent the currency of survival. Curiosity had always set her apart.

On
the hilltop, Fig walked between the henge stones. They towered around her. Each
stone was the height of a T-rex. How did they get here? Could somebody have
moved them? Figaro had never seen anyone but herself able to lift and move
objects. A few herbivores knew how to grasp branches and pull them to their
mouths, but that was about it. Figaro, meanwhile, could lift branches, rocks,
feathers, and old claws. Her strange grasping hands were another oddity in the
pack. Had some dinosaur with huge hands lifted these stones, placed them here,
then etched runes into them?

The
woman waited there, smiling. Fig had not seen a smile in over a decade. But
that gentle curve to the mouth shot signals of meaning through her. She had
never learned human body language and facial expressions. She was born knowing
it. The way a bator could understand scents in urine, Fig instinctively
understood a smile. It was one gesture in a language all humans knew. The woman
was smiling. Nonthreatening. Welcoming.

Fig
approached her. But she paused a few steps away.

"Hello
there." The woman kept smiling. "How are you, friend?"

A
beam of moonlight fell upon the woman. Fig's eyes widened. She took a step
back.

She
wasn't human at all!

The
two looked nothing alike. Fig had short black hair. The woman's hair was long
and the color of old bones left in the sun. Fig had soft, smooth skin like the
underbelly of a hatchling. The woman had wrinkled, weathered skin, and three
big moles grew on her cheek. Fig had dark eyes like pools of tar. The woman had
eyes as blue as summer sky. Fig stood straight like a tree trunk, while the
woman was hunched over, leaning on a third leg. No, not a third leg but a
stick! How bizarre.

The
woman seemed to sense Fig's confusion. She laughed. "Yes, this is what happens
to you when you grow old. It'll happen to you too someday."

Fig
frowned. She understood part of that. The words tickled old memories. Yes. Old.
That was a word she understood. The woman was old. She must be at least twenty.
Maybe even thirty! If Fig's calculations were correct, by age twenty,
achillobators began to slow down. By thirty they could barely walk anymore, and
the pack must leave them behind. Would Fig look like this old, wrinkled woman
once she reached her twenties?

This
was a human. An old human.

Sudden
fear filled Fig, though she could not explain why. Her knees shook. She
crouched at once, raised her fingers like claws, and hissed.

Stay
back! I bite!

The
woman's eyes softened. "Oh, you poor, lost child. You've been alone for a
long while, haven't you?"

Fig
crouched lower, keeping her knees raised but her elbows on the ground. Ready to
pounce. She hissed louder, teeth bared.

I
bite! Be careful!

Her
insides trembled. Fear pounded through her. Her hackles rose, and she growled
low in her throat. Her hand tightened around the dull end of her sickle claw.

The
woman stepped closer. Her necklace of claws and teeth clattered, and a cloak of
feathers fluttered across her back. Not her claws! Not her
feathers! Claws collected from the ground. Shed feathers gathered from the
wind.

She's
like me, Fig thought.

"My
name is Lifa," the woman said. "What's your name?"

Crouching
on all fours, Fig stared at up her, teeth bared, eyes narrowed.

Fight!
screamed one voice inside.

Flee!
shouted another.

Those
were a bator's instincts. And Fig found herself replying in the language of
humans.

"Fi-ga-ro."

Trembling
seized her. She dropped her sickle claw, fell to the ground, and began to weep.

"Fi-ga-ro,"
she repeated, tears falling. "'Ame … Fi-ga-ro."

Clouds
gathered, hiding the moons, and rain began to fall like her tears. Lifa knelt
beside her, wrapped her in her arms, and soothed her. "Come, lost child.
Tell your friend to follow. A dry burrow awaits you with food and warmth and
love. My sweet lost child, you are no longer alone."

* * * * *

The
old woman walked through the tall grass, and Figaro followed. Even hunched
over, leaning on a cane, the woman moved briskly. The raindrops clung to her
feathery cloak and shone in the moonlight like ten thousand crystals.

Red
Scar followed too, but he kept a safe distance, eyes narrowed, muscles tense.
He was still uncertain of the stranger. He knew this was a mammal, potential
prey, with meat that smelled like good eating. But he also knew this strange
old woman was similar to Fig, and Fig was pack. Confusing. Red Scar followed,
not attacking but not lowering his guard.

If
the old woman was concerned about a carnivorous achillobator following her, she
showed no sign of it. She hummed a tune as she walked, and her blue eyes sparkled.

Once,
many years ago, a shaman like this tended to me,
Fig thought. The bators devoured her. She should be more careful.

Fig
herself was still on guard. Who was this Lifa? Was she truly a friend? Or was
she an enemy of the pack? Fig did not know. But the woman had answers. The
woman was like her. Older, wiser, but still human. Fig kept following.

They
walked for a while, leaving the grasslands and entering the forested foothills
of the tall mountains. A northerly wind dispersed the clouds, the rain faded,
and fireflies danced among the trees. Red Scar was fascinated. He snapped at
the fireflies, trying to catch them in his mouth. He wasn't hungry, just
playing. Fig looked at the swirling, luminous lights in wonder.

Brighter
lights shone ahead. Fig narrowed her eyes, and her heart raced. Lifa was
walking toward the lights, but Fig paused. Lights—in the forest! Near the
ground! Not small, gentle lights like fireflies either. Bright ones!

Achillobators
feared fire. Every dinosaur did. Light near the ground could mean flame. Red
Scar saw it too. He tensed, abandoning the fireflies, and growled.

"Haoo,
haoooo!" he called to Fig. Flee! Flee!

Lifa
turned toward them. "Don't fear the lights, friends. Only my porch
lanterns. They can't hurt you."

Fig
didn't understand those words. What was a porch? What were lanterns?
What were friends?

"Ha-rooooooeeee!"
Fig yowled. It will burn me!

Lifa
shook her head. "Don't be scared, lost child. You're safe. You're
safe."

Fig
understood the woman's tone. Soothing. Comforting. She kept following.

They
reached the oddest nest Fig had ever seen. This was nothing like a dinosaur's
nest. Branches were arranged in a dome the size of a sleeping iguanodon. Mud
filled the gaps between the branches, forming crude walls. Grass, moss, even
flowers grew across the roof. From above, it probably looked like a simple
tussock. But from up close, Fig saw signs of habitation. There was an opening
to the burrow, partly concealed behind branches and vines. And of course—there
were the lights.

Several
dinosaur eggs hung from the branches like fruit. The eggs were cracked open,
but there were no hatchlings inside. Instead, fire burned inside the eggs!

Fig
hissed, snarled, and pawed the earth. But the fire wasn't spreading. The eggs
kept it contained.

"Don't
fear," the woman said. "They're only lanterns."

Fig
growled at the flaming eggs. She scampered back, raised her sickle claw,
slashed the air, and howled. Red Scar crouched low, hissing, ready to flee.

"Hold
on, hold on!" Lifa said. She approached the eggs one by one, blew on them,
and the fire vanished. Shadows cloaked the forest.

It
was like a great weight lifted. At once, both Fig and Red Scar calmed down.

Lifa
pulled back the cover of vines and branches, revealing the doorway.

"Come
in, Figaro," she said. "Your friend will feel trapped indoors. He can
wait outside the hut. He'll feel better under the sky. Will you tell him
that?"

Fig
thought she understood. She held Red Scar's snout and cooed softly. Stay.

He
purred. I'll stay. I'll guard. He huffed and snorted. Call out if you
need me. And I will break this nest apart.

Leaving
the achillobator, the two women crawled into this "hut."

A
few more lights shone inside. Fig trembled but tolerated them. Her curiosity
overcame her fear. This was the strangest nest Fig had ever seen. Crystals,
circles of twigs, and feathers hung from branches above. Embers glowed in a
pit. More fire! Fur pelts covered the floor and hung from the walls. The place
smelled strange. There was no scent of urine here to mark territory. She
smelled herbs, flowers, smoke. Transparent bulbs—they looked like dewdrops the
size of Fig's head—stood in alcoves, full of leaves.

Fig
wanted to flee. This was a strange place. Dangerous. Fire! Fire that could
burn!

Another
memory. Herself as a little girl. Curled up on fur pelts, sleeping by a fire.
This was how human nests looked. Humans somehow did something no dinosaur
could. They tamed fire. How could mammals so weak and small wield such power?

Weariness
draped across her. Fig couldn't help it. She yawned. She had so many questions
to ask, so much to explore. It was all overwhelming. She plopped onto the rug,
feeling safe and warm. She curled up like a bator and slept.

* * * * *

She
awoke the next morning and found herself alone in the hut. Lifa was gone.

Sunlight
spilled through round holes in the walls. Somewhere deep in her mind, Fig
remembered seeing such holes. There was a purpose to them. A word for them.
Windows! That was it. They jogged a memory from her childhood. She had been
three, maybe two years old, looking through a window at the rain.

In
the morning light, Fig looked around the room. The rugs were not actually fur,
she realized. She had mistaken them in the shadows. They were woven from
countless slender threads, forming elaborate designs. Fig knelt and ran her
hand along the fabric, fascinated. She had never seen anything like this!
Fabric. A rug. Yes, more memories.

This
was not a nest. That was the wrong word. It was …

Home.

The
word shot through her. This was a home.

She
tried to say it. "Haoooooo!"

She
had not spoken human words since she was four. She was a little rusty. She
cleared her throat, stamped her feet like a bator preparing for a charge, and tried
again.

"Hooo—rrroooo!"

Close
enough. Best she could manage for now. Human words were strange. Bator howls,
hisses, and growls made much more sense.

With
perfect timing, her belly gave a loud growl. Fig realized she was famished.
Where was Lifa? Did she have food to share? Fig sniffed around, seeking
something to eat. Were there any carcasses lying around? Any bones to chew on?

Singing
distracted her. It came from outside. Lifa must be out there.

Scratching
her belly, still yawning, Fig shuffled toward the door. On the way there, in
the corner of her eye, she glimpsed—

A
girl! Another human girl!

Fig
stopped in her tracks. Her heart leaped. She spun around, stuck out her finger
like claws, and bared her teeth, ready to fight.

The
girl snarled right back at her, fingers raised as if she wielded claws.

The
two girls faced each other, eyes locked, teeth bared. They sized each other up.

She's
feral too, Fig thought.

The
girl facing her was short and scrawny. Her limbs were tanned brown and covered
with scratches and scabs. Her face was round, her hair short and dark. Her eyes
were the color of blackberries. Most shockingly, she wore a patchwork of red
feathers over her skinny frame.

Bator
feathers.

Fig
stepped closer, sniffing. The girl stepped closer too, also sniffing. Fig
hissed. The girl hissed. Fig drew and lashed her sickle claw. The girl lashed
her own sickle claw.

Fig
stumbled back in shock. The other girl stumbled back too. It was like looking
into water. But much, much clearer! It was a reflection. But not the smudgy
reflections Fig had seen in lakes and puddles. Those were barely more than
shadows. This was … amazing. Shocking. So real. Instead of looking at water,
she was looking at … what?

She
reached forward, hesitant. Her reflection reached toward her. Their fingertips
touched. But instead of feeling a fingertip, Fig felt something like hard, cold
stone.

Magic,
she thought. Amazing!

She
relaxed, did a little twirl, and examined her reflection. She had never seen
herself so clearly.

Well,
I'll be, she thought. Am I pretty?

Such
a silly thought, yet it popped into her head nonetheless. Perhaps, like
curiosity, it was another innate human instinct. Vanity.

Well,
enough vanity for now. Fig left the magical reflective surface, ducked through
the doorway, and stepped outside.

In
the daylight, Fig got a better view. A garden surrounded the hut, lush with
flowers, aromatic herbs, and fruit trees. A fence woven of branches surrounded
the place, similar to the piles of bones achillobators placed around their
nests. Odd-looking dinosaurs pecked for seeds in the yard, clucking and
scratching the ground. They were even smaller than eoraptors and grew toothless
beaks. One of these bizarre dinosaurs sported a red, fleshy crest. It stood on
the hut's roof and let out an ear-piercing cock-a-doodle-do! Funny
little dinos, whatever they were. Red Scar might have devoured them, but the
achillobator was away now, perhaps hunting for bigger prey. He sometimes went
out on his own before dawn, and Fig knew he would return.

The
singing came from a nearby stream. Fig padded over, her bare feet stepping on
clover and moss. Lifa knelt by the stream, singing softly. Flowers bloomed
throughout her long white hair, and butterflies fluttered around them. As she
sang, Lifa reached into the water and pulled out a wicker basket. Fig gasped.
Several fish floundered inside!

Lifa
turned from the water, smiling. "Are you hungry for fish, little
one?"

Fig's
stomach growled.

"I
take that as a yes." Lifa stepped over the clover toward her. "Figaro,
do you know how to scale and gut fish? You can help me to …"

Her
voice trailed off. Her smile faded. She stepped closer to Fig, eyes narrowing.

Fig
just stood there, arms at her sides. She tilted her head. "Harrooo?"

Lifa
reached out a wrinkled, pale hand. She brushed back Fig's hair. "By the
moons, look at you. My eyes don't work well in shadows anymore. Now that I see
you in daylight, you look just like …" She pulled back her hand as if
stung. "How old are you, child?"

Fig
tilted her head the other way. "Hawooo? Aeerrrrrr." What?

"How
many springs have you lived?" Lifa's voice was soft. "Do you
know?"

Ah,
Fig understood. She nodded. She tapped all ten fingers, lifted one foot, and
tapped four toes. She hesitated, thought for a moment, then tapped the fifth
toe.

"You're
fifteen," Lifa whispered. "You were born the year that …" Her
voice trailed off, and for a long moment, she gazed into the distance. Then she
sighed and smiled. "Come now. Help me prepare the fish."

They
sat down in the yard among the flowers. Butterflies and dragonflies fluttered
all around. A pile of embers glowed here among stones. Only yesterday, embers
would have terrified Fig. Now when Lifa sat by the embers, Fig joined her
without hesitation. The old woman had the magic to tame fire. Indeed, she
tossed a few sticks onto the embers, and they ignited. What a wonderful thing!
To control fire! Even the mightiest tyrannosaurs could not do that.

Lifa
placed down the basket and took out a fish. Fig's stomach growled again, and
her mouth watered. She snatched the fish from Lifa and bit deep, ripping
through the scaly skin until she found the soft pink flesh. The juices filled
her mouth. Delicious!

"Fig,
wait." Lifa pulled the fish from her mouth.

Fig
bared her teeth and hissed. Mine, mine! Back down! I bite!

Lifa
leaned back. "Don't worry, Figaro! I'm not trying to steal your food. I
want to show you something. Okay? Look what I'm doing."

The
old woman took a strange, straight claw from her belt. She ran it across the
fish, removing scales. They flew every which way. Fig ducked and hissed as the
scales flew overhead. Next, Lifa cut the fish open, reached inside, and pulled
out the guts, which she tossed into the fire. They sizzled.

Fig
yowled. She was wasting food!

"That
part isn't for eating," Lifa said. "You're a human girl. You must eat
like a human."

Fig
yowled and pointed at her belly. Hungry!

"Wait!"
Lifa said.

The
old woman stuck a skewer through the fish, further mutilating the poor thing.

Fig
mewled and made a grab for it. Give me! Give it to me raw and wriggling!

But
Lifa pulled the fish away and kept working. She tore a few herbs off a nearby
plant, crumbled them over the fish, and squeezed a strange yellow fruit onto
the meat. The woman had clearly gone insane. Then, as a final insult, Lifa held
the fish over the fire. It began to sizzle.

Fig
whined in protest. The fish was ruined! Why did Lifa do this?

Without
waiting for an invitation, Fig reached into the wicker basket. She grabbed
another raw fish. Still alive and flopping. Mmm. Perfect. Fig salivated.

Lifa
tried to take the raw fish from Fig.

Thief!
Mine! Fig pulled the fish back, snarling and
snapping her teeth. Don't you touch my fish! I'll bite your fingers off.

Fig
bit into the fish, spat out scales, and swallowed the soft pink flesh. She
licked her lips. Yum.

Lifa
sighed. After a few moments, she pulled the first fish off the fire. The
ruined, mutilated fish. It steamed and sizzled and smelled strange. Not a bad
smell. But a smell Fig could not describe. Oddly, her mouth watered.

The
old woman blew on her seared fish, took a bite, winced, blew on it again, then
handed it to Fig.

"Try
it cooked."

Fig
sniffed at the cooked fish suspiciously, then raised her nose. She stuck out
her tongue in disgust. "Blah!"

Lifa
burst out laughing. "Try it!"

Fig
sniffed again. All right, she had to admit. It did smell good. The smell of
herbs, citrus fruit, and cooked flesh intoxicated her. More magic!

Fig
took a tiny bite. Just a nibble really. It was …

A
sigh flowed through her. Her eyes rolled back. She nearly collapsed.

It
was delicious. It was the tastiest thing Fig had ever eaten. It made every
other meal in her life seem bland.

"Good,
huh?" Lifa said.

Fig
snatched the entire cooked fish and devoured it, almost choking on a bone.

"Here,
I'll teach you," Lifa said.

For
a while, the two women sat together in the yard, cleaning, gutting, seasoning,
and cooking fish. Fig made a mess of it. Whenever she tried to scale a fish,
she just got scales in her hair. When she tried to season a fish, she put grass
on it, and Lifa had to pluck the grass off and show her the right herbs. When
Fig tried to cook the fish, she nearly burned herself. Lifa had to grab her
wrist and pull Fig's hand away from a pretty ember. But somehow they got more
fish cooked, and they shared the meal.

While
they worked, Lifa kept looking at Fig. Sometimes she would stare at her
intently for a long moment, then look away. The old woman then got very quiet.

There
are thoughts inside her mind, Fig realized. Same as
there are thoughts in my mind. She's not like a bator who is driven by
instinct. She's like me. She thinks. She remembers. She ponders. I wish I could
read her thoughts, but I can't, no more than I can smell a bator's scent
markings.

Fig
could think these thoughts. But she didn't know how to put them to words. She
could understand the language of humans well enough. But speaking was beyond
her.

Fig
tilted her head. "Arooo?" What's wrong?

Lifa
smiled thinly. "I'm just thinking. You remind me so much of someone I knew
… long ago. And of someone else I still know."

Fig
tilted her head the other way. "Who?"

Lifa
blinked, then laughed. "Figaro! Did you just talk?"

"Hawwwhooooo!"

"Try
it again. Like before. You said 'Who?'"

Fig
nodded. "Who? Who … Fi-ga-ro?" She tapped her chest. "Who
Fi-ga-ro?"

Suddenly
Lifa had tears in her eyes. This sometimes happened to Fig too. The salty
wetness in her eyes. It never happened to bators.

"You
have the same eyes," Lifa whispered. She brushed back strands of Fig's
dark hair. "Your eyes have epicanthal folds. Those are rare on Mintari. A
woman I knew had such eyes. A woman named Mina. She died fifteen years ago. The
year you were born."

Figaro
hugged herself. "Mi-na? Mi-na? Fi-ga-ro?"

She
began to tremble. What was this woman saying? Was … was Mina her mother?

"Mi-na?
Mi-na Fi-ga-ro?" She tapped her chest. "Mi-na Fi-ga-ro? Arrrrroooo! Arrrooooo!"

Her
emotions were taking over her. Her words became excited howls.

One
of the little feathered dinosaurs was clucking nearby. Lifa had referred to
them earlier as chickens. Figaro darted toward the chicken and pointed
at it. "Mi-na?" She pointed at an egg. "Fi-ga-ro?"

Was
Mina my mother? Did she lay the egg I hatched from?

Lifa
heaved a sigh. "You better come inside, Figaro. There's something I must
show you."

* * * * *

In
the daylight, Lifa's house bloomed. Grass rustled across the roof. Vines draped
over the earthen walls, heavy with flowers and berries. Even the branches that
formed the framework seemed alive, twisty and knotty and still covered with
bark. Lifa parted the curtain of vines and stepped inside. Fig followed.

Lifa
rummaged through her alcoves, moving aside crystals, raptor teeth, jars of dry
herbs, pots of living herbs, bundled feathers, river stones, and other
sundries. Finally she produced a strange object Fig couldn't begin to
understand. She had never seen anything like it, had no frame of reference. She
blinked and tilted her head.

"Come,
sit beside me by the fire," Lifa said.

They
sat on the rug. It was soft like grass, but Fig felt antsy. She wasn't used to
being indoors. She lifted her foot to her mouth and began gnawing on her toes,
a nervous habit.

Lifa
patted the strange object. "This is an old photo album. From twenty years
ago. Since I've decided to live alone in the forest, it's kept me company."

Fig
scratched her head. "Awroo? Foo? Foo?" What was a photo album?

Lifa
opened the book. Fig leaped to her feet and scampered back. She hit the wall,
rattling the mugs and jars, and hissed. There were people trapped inside the
book! Little people no larger than bugs! She crouched, ready to attack, and
growled.

"It's
all right, Figaro. They're photos. Not real people. Come, sit. Take a
look."

Fig
snarled and hissed and dared not approach. More magic! But then she remembered
looking at the reflective surface, seeing herself there. Was this book like
that? A strange illusion?

She
didn't like this world of humans. She wanted to leave the house, to run into
the forest, to find Red Scar. That's where she belonged. Where things made
sense. With the achillobators. With her pack. Suddenly she was trembling, and
tears ran down her cheeks.

I
should never have come here. I don't understand this world. I'm scared. I'm so
scared.

Lifa
wrapped her in her arms, and suddenly the fear flowed away. Figaro had never
been hugged before. It felt right. It felt warm. It felt so wonderful. The best
thing she had ever felt.

"Fi-ga-ro?"
she whispered. Who am I? What am I?

They
sat by the fire, and Lifa held her and stroked her hair until Fig calmed.
Finally Fig dared look at the photo album.

Lifa
tried to explain what photos were. Most of the explanation went over Fig's
head. But it seemed like a way to trap a copy of a person, not the actual
person. Sort of like reaching into a pond and trapping the reflection. Once Fig
realized those weren't actual living people, just reflections trapped in time,
she was no longer afraid.

Lifa
flipped through the pages and settled on a photo of a woman. A woman with long
black hair. With dark eyes.

Fig
squinted, scrutinizing the photo. Then her eyes widened. It was her! Another
reflection! Wasn't it? It looked like her. A lot like her. But older.
Stronger. Not ridden with lice and gaunt after winter. The woman in the photo
had longer hair than Fig, and she wore strange fabrics, not just a dress of
feathers.

Fig
tapped the photo. "Fi-ga-ro?"

"This
is Mina," Lifa said.

Figaro
leaped back. "Mina. Mina! Mina!" She trembled. "Fi-ga-ro? Egg?
Egg? Mina Fi-ga-ro egg?"

She
trembled. Was this her mother? Was this woman in the photo her mother?

Lifa
smiled sadly. "Humans don't lay eggs, dear. We give birth to live young.
Mina was pregnant when she died. It was fifteen years ago. You look exactly
like her. We all thought that her baby died with her, but …" She shook her
head. "Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe it's just wishful
thinking. Maybe I found you, and I saw her, and I dared to hope …"

Fig
trembled. Her mother. The woman in the photo was her mother. And she was dead.
Tears gathered in Fig's eyes.

Questions
raced through her mind like a pack of raptors. How had her mother died? Who was
the shaman with dreadlocks who had tended to her long ago? Where were all the
shamans she remembered from childhood? Did only one remain—just Lifa?

She
pointed at the photo of Mina. "Haoo? Haoo?" What happened to her?

Lifa's
eyes darkened. "It was Ivan who killed her. They call him the King of
Mintari. A black T-rex. The shamans claim he is a dark god."

Fig
gasped. "Ayyyvum?"

The
old woman shuddered. "His very name is cursed."

A
memory pulsed through Fig. Many years ago, she had seen a gargantuan dark
predator on a hilltop. Only a shadow with red eyes. Fig had thought it a dream.
The apparition still haunted her nightmares. Could that have been Ivan, the
dark god? The terror that slew her mother?

Fig
wanted to ask more about this dreaded T-rex. But then a realization hit her.
She leaped up and pointed at Lifa.

"You!
Lifa! Lifa … give bir … Mina?" Are you Mina's mother?

"No,
Mina is not my child," the old woman said. "I'll show you my
child."

She
flipped to another page.

This
page showed a photo of …

Fig
leaped back, bared her teeth, and howled. "Yaaaooooo!"

A
cry of challenge. She was scared and ready for battle. The person in the photo
was not human! There was fur on his cheeks! His shoulders were broader than
human shoulders. He looked taller. Stronger. Wilder. Another species! Similar
to human, eerily similar. But dangerous. Enemy! Predator!

Lifa
looked up in shock, eyes wide. But then her face softened. "You've never
seen a man before, have you?"

Fig
considered. A man. What was that? An adult human male? She had seen one from a
distance once. The man driving the jippi. Emily's father. But the man in the
photo was different. Bigger. More dangerous. Fig shuddered.

"Don't
worry, child," Lifa said. "He's human like you. This is Joe
Triplehorn. My son. Your father."

Fig
stared at the shaman, silent. She wasn't looking at the book anymore. Those
were only reflections. People she had never known. Here before her stood a
real, living woman. A human woman. Her grandmother.

Fig
nuzzled the woman with her tiny snout. She did not know how to hug. But Lifa
wrapped her in her arms and soothed her as she wept.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Titans of Mintari

By the time Joe
reached the supersaurus, there was nothing he could do.

Dozer
plodded closer. Joe and Simone rode on his back, staring.

"Oh
God." Simone covered her mouth. "Oh my God. What happened here?"

Joe
stared with dark eyes. "The supersaurus fell asleep. By day. Alone. And
sealed her fate. We're too late."

Most
sauropods did not sleep alone. Part of the herd always kept watch. But
sometimes eggs were late to hatch. The herd roamed on, desperate for enough
food to replenish their massive bodies. And the mother remained behind with her
hatchlings. While she tended to them, she would remain awake, ever vigilant. If
she must sleep, she would keep one eye open, and so much as a snapping twig
would awake her.

But
this supersaurus had tranquilizer darts in her. And bullet wounds that still
bled, sapping her strength. So she had sunk into a deep slumber, neck coiled
around her nest.

And
the predators had seized their chance.

"What
are those?" Simone whispered, trembling.

"Sinraptors,"
Joe said.

They
covered the supersaurus like crabs on a dead whale, feasting.

They
were large predators. As long as school buses. As tall as a bungalow. But atop
the supersaurus, they seemed small. It was a kingly banquet. Three sinraptors
were here, gorging themselves.

Dozer
grunted and stomped closer, furious. He swung his head from side to side,
displaying his horns. The three sinraptors turned from the sauropod carcass.
Blood covered their snouts and dripped between their teeth. They hissed at the
triceratops, and their claws rose menacingly, threatening lacerations.

Stay
back, herbivore! they seemed to hiss. This is our
meal. Beware we do not eat you too.

"Oh
God!" Simone suddenly blurted out. "The Rangers … Oh God."

Joe
saw them. Two Rangers down on the grass. He wasn't sure if they were alive, but
he couldn't check. Not yet. If he climbed off Dozer, the sinraptors would
pounce.

Riding
the triceratops, Joe raised his sleep-or-die. He fired into the air. The boom
shook the plains.

The
sinraptors screeched and clawed the soil. Simone squeezed Joe like a vise. He
couldn't blame her this time. When three predators the length of buses
screeched in fury, it could unnerve the strongest Ranger, let alone a
Cloventian journalist.

He
fired into the air again. And again. Dozer reared, legs kicking, and then
lowered his head to the ground, front legs bent, horns pointing forward. Ready
to charge. Sinraptors were big, heavy predators. But the triceratops probably
weighed more than all three put together. And his horns dwarfed their claws.

The
sinraptors hesitated for a moment, considering. Predators were not bloodthirsty
killers. Hunting was risky business. Even for giants like a T-rex, let alone
creatures only halfway up the food chain like sinraptors. Every confrontation
could result in broken bones, lacerations, even death. When they could, they
preyed on the young, the old, the weak. Sometimes a predator risked a fight.
When the hunger was bad enough, they took chances. But these sinraptors had
already eaten quite a bit. Battling a triceratops and a gun-wielding Ranger was
simply not worth it. Not for just a few more bites.

The
sinraptors retreated, racing across the grass and vanishing among the trees.
Their pride was hurt but their bellies were full, and that was what mattered.

Joe
dismounted Dozer. For a second or two, he faced a choice. Who should he check
on first? The hatchlings in the nest? Or the Rangers? Dinosaurs or humans?

Joe
preferred the company of dinosaurs to humans. That was no secret. But right now
he ran toward the fallen Rangers. They were his top priority. As much as he
loved dinosaurs and mistrusted humans, he must check on them first.

But
like with the supersaurus, it was too late.

"Dead,"
he said. "Both of them."

Simone
rode closer and stared from atop Dozer. Joe expected her to break down, but she
seemed oddly cool around the bodies. Of course. She had covered the Slum Wars.
Clearly she was no stranger to death.

"The
sinraptors didn't do this," Simone said. "Bullets did."

"Amissa."
Joe felt sick. "So she's graduated from poacher to murderer." His
lips twisted in disgust. "My murderous sister."

Leaving
the bodies, he walked toward the sauropod nest. The mother supersaurus had died
with her neck curled around the nest, trying with her last breath to protect
her offspring.

Joe's
breath shook in his chest. His eyes stung. The hatchlings were dead.

"The
raptors tore them apart," he whispered, voice hoarse.

Simone
dismounted and came by him. Tears ran down her cheeks. "Oh, Joe. I'm
sorry. I—" She gasped. "Darwin's beard! Joe, come over here!
Look!"

A
pile of branches and leaves in the nest was rustling. A tiny head—no larger
than an apple—stuck out from the leaves. Big yellow eyes blinked. Joe knelt and
cleared away the branches. A sauropodlet wobbled into his arms and licked him.

"A
baby supersaurus," Joe said, cradling the animal. "A boy."

"He's
so small!" Simone said.

"You're
not scared?"

She
shook her head. "No. Not anymore." She knelt and stroked the
hatchling. The sauropodlet licked her hand.

"He
only weighs a few pounds now," Joe said. "But he'll become a giant.
Like his mother."

Simone
smiled, tears in her eyes. "Can he survive without his mother?" She
caressed the baby's head.

"A
mammal would die, but a baby sauropod does not drink milk. He eats leaves. And
this one is eating already."

Even
as he cradled in Joe's arms, the baby stretched his neck toward the branches in
the nest and began munching leaves.

"We
should name him Clark," Simone said.

Joe
raised an eyebrow. "Why Clark?"

"Clark
Kent. Superman. Because he's a supersaurus."

Joe
frowned. "Who the hell is Superman?"

She
rolled her eyes. "Didn't you study second millennium mythology at school?
Don't bother answering. You were probably busy flying pterodactyls into
volcanoes to rescue trapped dinosaurs."

"Something
like that."

Simone
laughed as Clark the sauropodlet nuzzled her hand, maybe looking for more food.
She handed him another leafy branch.

"Can
I hold him?"

Joe
placed the dinosaur in her arms. Simone held the hatchling. She laughed.
"I'm holding a dinosaur. I'm actually holding a dinosaur and I'm not
wetting myself with fear." Tears fell as she laughed. "I can't
believe it. Clark, you are amazing. Can we keep him?"

Joe
shook his head. "No."

"But
you kept Dozer and Vinnie!"

At
the sound of their names, Dozer snorted and Vinnie cackled.

Joe
snorted. "I didn't keep them. They're not my pets. Those two just stuck
around. But Clark is different. He's going to grow big. Real big. Too big to be
around humans. We need to find his herd. And return him to his kind."

"Good
thing supersaurs are the biggest dinosaurs on Mintari," Simone said.
"They can't be too hard to find."

A
Ranger tricopter smoldered nearby. Amissa had filled it with bullets.

To
hold me back, Joe thought.

If
he had a working tricopter, would he abandon his convictions, use modern
technology on Mintari?

To
catch her—perhaps. She was not just killing dinosaurs now. She was killing
fellow Rangers. He would do whatever it took to stop her. But it was a moot
point. The smoking tricopter beside him would never fly again.

He
glanced at Simone. She sat on the grass, cradling Clark, laughing as the little
dinosaur nuzzled her. The breeze billowed her flaming-red tresses, and her eyes
sparkled in the sunlight. Yet even as she laughed, the shadow of sadness filled
her eyes. She was a twin in mourning. One half of a whole.

This
wasn't the first time Amissa killed humans,
Joe reminded himself.

He
needed to find her, to stop her. He needed to return Clark to his herd. But
before he could do those things, he must bury his fallen brother and sister.

He
didn't have a shovel. But he did have a bulldozer. With his mighty horns, Dozer
quickly dug two graves.

Simone
approached, solemn, still cradling Clark in her arms.

"Shouldn't
we take the bodies back to Dinovia City?" she said.

"There
is no cemetery in Dinovia City. Mintarians bury their dead outside the walls.
We come from soil. And to soil we return."

A
Mintari Ranger almost never removed his hat. Not even during sleep. The
wide-brimmed ceratop hat, reminiscent of old Earth's park ranger hats, was a
symbol. A source of pride. Practically a religious headdress. But sometimes one
could remove it. For example, when a crazy redhead insisted on cutting your
hair. Or when you were burying fallen comrades. Joe took off his hat.

The
wind in his hair, he carried the bodies into the graves. He knew these Rangers.
He had fought with them. Shared meals with them at the Fossil and Firkin. They
had been at his wedding. Before he covered them in soil, he paused. He
hesitated. Then he nodded.

He
pulled out his communicator. "I must call their families."

He
waited until the tricopters arrived from Dinovia, their rotors raising clouds
of dirt as they landed. The grieving families stepped out. They were weeping,
shocked, crying out. A child clung to her mother. "Is Daddy gone?" A
husband fell to his knees and cried to the sky, voice torn.

Then
more tricopters landed, and Rangers emerged. Dozens of Rangers, come to pay
their respects to fallen comrades. Joe served in their order, but he rarely met
the others. He was a solitary Ranger, a rogue. And he realized how little in
common he had with his peers.

It
was hard. Not just the deaths. But being in a crowd. Joe had not been among so
many humans since Mina had died. He felt trapped. Surrounded by predators.

A
few Rangers came up to him, patted him on the back.

"Thanks
for calling, Joe."

"Joe,
it's good to see you, buddy."

"What
has it been, fifteen years?"

But
other Rangers shot him venomous glares. Joe still wore a triceratops crest on
his lapel. Crest of his clan. The same crest that appeared on the guns Tobias
Triplehorn sold to poachers. Likely, the gun that had murdered these Rangers
had borne the same crest.

One
Ranger spat at Joe's feet. "Go to hell, you son of a bitch."

Another
Ranger cried out: "Traitor!"

One
even glared at Joe and said, "You killed them. I know it."

A
few mutters of agreement passed among the Rangers. Their eyes shot daggers.

Joe
looked away.

Simone
approached him, eyes soft. She put a hand on his arm. "Are you all right,
Joe? Do you want to leave?"

He
shook his head. "We stay until they're buried."

Simone
held his hand and leaned against him. "I'm sorry, Joe. To see fellow
Rangers hate you … I understand now why you live in the mountains."

"They
don't hate me," Joe said. "They hate my clan. I understand. This is
my burden to bear."

"But
it's not your fault!" she said. "They hate you because of what your
family did!"

"Yes,
my family did this," Joe said. "And I've vowed to restore my family
honor. So I must be here."

Simone
nodded. She held his hand. "And I'm here with you."

As
Dozer refilled the graves with soil, Joe spoke softly to the dead.

"Go
back now, children of Mintari. Go back to the soil from which you came. In the
warm embrace of the world, you will bring forth new life. The energy in your
bodies will feed the grass that grows and the trees that reach toward the sun.
Flowers will grow where you fell, and the rain will wash your blood away. You
will be reborn. Rest now, children of life. We will always remember you, for
you will never die."

He
climbed back onto Dozer. And he rode onward, leaving the graves. The others
stared after him, and even those Rangers who had spat and cursed were now
silent.

Vinnie
loped alongside the triceratops, dipping down now and then to snatch a bug.
Simone rode behind Joe. This time she was not crushing him with her arms. In
her arms she carried a sleeping sauropodlet.

* * * * *

Tracking
down the supersaurus herd was easy. After all, they were among the largest
dinosaurs on Mintari. If not the largest. They left footprints you could
lie down inside. Not to mention a trail of denuded trees, flattened bushes, and
piles of dung the size of cars.

Yes,
tracking them was not a problem.

Dozer
moved slowly and steadily, munching on grass as he plodded along. The trike
still needed time to recover from his injuries, but the cool air and fresh
vegetation would help him heal. Joe too needed this time in the open, far from
the crowds, from the glares and mutters. The funerals had unnerved him. More
than he realized. Not only the loss of his fallen comrades—but the hatred of
comrades who still lived.

He
did not blame his fellow Rangers. He understood. He blamed his family.

The
sins of my father passed on to me, he thought. I
must expunge them.

They
rode on through the wilderness. In the afternoon, they spotted the towering
necks of sauropods ahead.

They
found the herd.

The
supersaurs were roaming across the grasslands in their eternal pursuit of food.
They moved slowly, plodding along with all the time in the world. Every few
steps, they stopped, lowered their heads, and swept their necks from side to
side, vacuuming up plants.

They
were nature's ultimate eating machines. Everything about them served this
ultimate purpose. Eat a lot. Move a little. Grow bigger. Eat some more. Their
long necks allowed them to reach a huge amount of food without spending
calories on walking too much. They didn't even waste energy on chewing. They
stripped leaves off bushes, sucked up grass, and simply gulped it down. Instead
of chewing, they swallowed rocks along with their meals. The rocks were known
as gastroliths. They rubbed against one another inside their bellies, grinding
their food like pestles and mortars. They were not only Mintari's greatest
eating machines but also the laziest creatures around, saving calories wherever
they could.

The
sauropods barely registered Dozer approaching. The triceratops was large and
powerful enough to intimidate a T-rex. But the supersaurs merely glanced his
way, then resumed eating. They were so large they feared nothing. Even the
greatest predators feared taking on a supersaurus.

But
my sister killed one, Joe thought. Indirectly,
at least. These animals can whack aside a T-rex with their tails. But humans
can kill them. They say Mintari is a world full of monsters. But we are the
real monsters.

Simone,
who was riding behind him, gazed at the herd with huge eyes. She cuddled Clark
closer to her. The sauropodlet was hiding under a blanket, only his apple-sized
head sticking out.

"It's
hard to believe that little Clark will ever grow so big," she said.

"Oh,
he'll grow all right. These animals can gain the weight of a human every
day."

Simone
gasped. "Clark will be bigger than me tomorrow?"

"Soon
he'll make Dozer seem tiny."

Dozer
snorted. It sounded almost like a laugh. Sometimes Joe swore that the trike
understood more than just a few basic commands.

When
they got closer, he halted the triceratops, and they dismounted. Joe and Simone
tilted their heads back, gazing up at the towering herbivores.

"It
feels like being back on Cloventia, staring up at skyscrapers," Simone
said.

"These
are the skyscrapers of Mintari."

Simone
placed the bundled sauropodlet on the grass, then pulled off the blanket. Clark
rose onto his wobbly feet, looked up at the herd, then back at Simone. He
tottered closer to her and nuzzled her.

Joe
smiled. "You imprinted on him. He thinks you're his mother."

"That's
so sweet. But I don't think I can handle a baby who'll be bigger than me by the
weekend." She kissed Clark on the top of his knobby little head. "Go
join your family. I'll be here for you. Always. And maybe we'll meet
again."

The
sauropodlet hopped back into her arms. She placed him onto the grass. But he
jumped right back onto her.

The
herd noticed the hatchling. Massive sauropods lumbered closer. One titanic
female lowered her head toward the humans. She sniffed, her breath so powerful
it ruffled the grass and billowed Simone's hair. The sauropods were so big it
boggled the mind. You could ride a horse between their legs, and the dinosaurs
wouldn't notice. It was hard to believe that Clark would someday be so large.

Simone
paled and trembled, but she conquered her fear.

"Go
on." She nudged Clark toward the inquisitive female.

Clark
wobbled toward the adult supersaurus. The gargantuan herbivore sniffed him,
nearly sucking up his entire body into her nostrils. Clark hopped around her
head, curious.

A
few other sauropodlets stepped closer. They were bigger than Clark. More like
Dozer's size. Still very small for sauropods. Clark hesitated, looked at the
other sauropodlets, then looked back at Simone.

"Go
on," she whispered. "Join your friends."

Clark
ran, wobbling and falling, then rising again, joining the herd. Soon he was
waddling around between the adults' feet. The dinosaurs moved so slowly the
hatchling had no trouble keeping up. Within moments, Clark joined them in doing
what sauropods did best. Eating.

Joe's
communicator buzzed. He checked the screen.

Fury
exploded through him.

"Amissa!"
he howled to the sky.

Simone
started. Dozer and Vinnie swiveled their heads toward him. Even the sauropods
paused from eating—which was a big deal for them.

Simone
approached hesitantly. "Joe?"

His
hands shook. His eye twitched. "She's in my cave. In my home. She's going
through my things. And showing the world."

* * * * *

Amissa
strutted around her brother's cave, whistling appreciatively.

"My,
my, Jurassic Joe. Sweet digs! You pretend to be some rugged mountain man. But
this cave is adorable! Like an old lady's cottage."

Her
arm was in a sling, and her supersaurus hunt had failed, but her spirits
soared. Her SmartSphere hovered before her, connected to her QuickFame account.
The camera was filming everything. This was good content. As Simone LaRue would
say—a scoop. The redhead thought herself a serious journalist. Ha! Amissa's
video streams got a hundred times the views.

"Yes,
Tripletots, it's true. This is the home of the infamous outlaw Jurassic Joe.
Let's take a look, shall we?"

The
cave was large and comfortable. A rug hid the floor. Ocher paintings of
dinosaurs covered the walls, similar in style to caveman paintings on old
Earth. There was even a fireplace. Curious crystals, clay mugs, and
leather-bound books filled alcoves carved into the cave walls. A driftwood bed
stood among stalagmites, topped with pillows. Shadowy tunnels led to deeper
rooms where soft lights glowed.

From
the outside, the place looked humble. Just a hole in the mountain, blocked with
steel bars. But after Amissa had picked the lock and stepped inside, she found
a homey haven.

"Aww,
this place is so cute!" Amissa said. "Just needs a few doilies, and
my grandmother would love it."

She
checked her QuickFame comments.

"Hey,
lay off him. This is a great man cave."

"Yeah,
this place rocks."

"Cool!
Is that a real dinosaur claw on the shelf?"

"Damn,
I'd live here."

Amissa
cursed inwardly. This wasn't working. Should she keep trying? Portray Joe as a
homebody, not the rugged outdoorsy type? Nah. The viewers weren't buying it. If
anything, this was making Joe look better.

She
needed another angle. There had to be something in this cave. Some real dirt.
Something to destroy his reputation. Millions were watching. She better dig up
something.

She
sniffed and detected a familiar scent. Following her nose, Amissa walked down a
short tunnel and found a pantry. Her eyes widened. Ah, she knew it! Here was
something better.

"Look,
Tripletots! Look at what Jurassic Joe eats. I see sausages! He pretends to love
animals. But he's a meat eater. And a hypocrite!"

This
was a little better. Got more of a reaction. Comments flooded the feed.

"How
dare he eat animals!"

"I
bet they're dinosaur sausages."

"So
what? Let him eat meat! I'm eating a sausage right now."

"He's
a murderer! No better than you, Amissa."

"Um,
you know meat eaters can still love dinos, right?"

A
mixed reaction. Better than nothing. This was half-decent dirt. Amissa could
spin this. Embarrass him a little. Still—this would not deliver a killing blow.
She had to find real dirt. Something that would destroy Joe. This
was war. And in war, narrative beat bullets. Every time.

This
was not just a war against her brother. She planned to crush Joe, yes. But also
to crush all the Mintari Rangers. She would discredit them, demoralize
them, and finally disband them. And then this planet would be hers. She would
flood Mintari with a million hunters. And each hunter would carry a gun from
Triplehorn Incorporated.

Her
father would not live forever. Someday, maybe soon, Amissa would take over. Her
father had built a kingdom. But she would rule an empire.

Outside
the pantry, she found something new. It hung from a stalagmite. A photo of
Mina.

"Aww,
look at this." She pointed her camera at the photo and zoomed in. "Do
you know who this is, Tripletots?"

"She's
pretty."

"She's
hot!"

"Who
is she?"

"Joe's
wife," Amissa said. "Mina Clubber."

Stunned
silence from the comments. Then an eruption of fury.

"The
terrorist's daughter!"

"Who?"

"Her
dad was Chief Clubber!"

"The
killer!"

Amissa
smiled thinly. "Yes, my fans. This is her. Daughter of Chief Ganzorig
Clubber. Some of you don't remember. But I do. I was only a little girl. But
I remember it so well …"

It
happened years ago. Amissa was only a youth, growing up on Cloventia. Joe was
living on Mintari, already old enough to call himself a man, to join the
Rangers.

The
siblings barely knew each other. Amissa had been only a baby when her parents
split up. Her mother had run off to Mintari, taking Joe with her. He had been
nine. Amissa remained behind, abandoned, motherless. Throughout her childhood,
she always asked about Mintari. Always wanted to know what became of her mother
and brother.

So
she remembered that day. The day in her youth when Mintari came on the news. A
big story. Gazette TV was discussing it nonstop. A starship of hunters
had flown to Mintari, armed with the guns her father sold. And somebody on
Mintari had shot the starship down. Chief Clubber, they called him. A local
warlord. He shot down that starship with a missile, and he killed thirty
hunters. He also killed the starship crew. A pilot. A helmsman. A navigator.
Dead simply because of who they ferried.

Amissa
remembered her father's fury. He was Tobias Triplehorn, patriarch of his clan,
and he demanded satisfaction. The Cloventian government must do something,
dammit. Chief Clubber must be brought to justice! Cloventia must attack
Mintari! This was war! Tobias fumed and raged and prowled his penthouse,
banging his fists. He used to drink too much back then. Fine wine only, but too
much of it. He ranted on and on about Clan Clubber, how horrible they were, a
bunch of brigands and barbarians. The feud spread. Across Mintari and Cloventia
rose voices that demanded war.

By
Christmas, things were finally calming down. Tobias could even manage a full
day without mentioning Chief Clubber and his missile. Then, on New Year's,
came more news from Mintari. The final insult.

Tobias
Triplehorn's eldest son … was marrying Chief Clubber's eldest daughter.

Joe
and Mina were getting married.

To
Tobias Triplehorn, it felt a spit in the face. A punch to the gut. An
intolerable disgrace.

Many
across Cloventia felt the same. To this day, Cloventians remembered the name
Clubber. The warlord who shot their starship down.

"Yes,
my friends," Amissa said, showing them the photograph. "Jurassic Joe
married into the murderous Clubber clan. Thankfully, the dissident Mina
Clubber died long ago. Clearly Joe still loves her. And hates
Cloventia."

QuickFame
exploded with activity.

"He's
a traitor to Cloventia!"

"Bomb
Mintari!"

"Down
with dinos!"

"Wait,
who is Mina Clubber again?"

"Some
terrorist's daughter, I dunno. Anyway, she's hot."

All
right. Amissa was amassing a decent pile of dirt here. The grizzled, rugged
Ranger lived in comfort. The animal lover ate meat. And best of all, the
so-called noble hero loved a terrorist. Well, a terrorist's daughter, at least.
Not a bad haul, all things considered. Three strikes. A treasure trove of
hypocrisy.

But
Joe was not yet knocked out. Amissa still needed that home run. The real
juicy dirt. The coup de grâce. There had to be something …

She
wandered deeper into the cave, heading toward a back room.

Her
eyes widened.

Jackpot.

A
grin spread across her face.

Joe
was going down.

* * * * *

Standing
in Laramidia Fields by the supersaurus herd, Joe held his communicator,
watching Amissa's live stream. Unable to stop it. His hands shook in anger. His
jaw clenched. Simone stood at his side, but she could not soothe him.

Amissa
was rifling through his home. Invading his privacy. Mocking his wife.
Tarnishing his reputation.

And
now she had found it. She pointed her camera right at it.

"Look,
Tripletots!" she said, using that ridiculous name she gave her fans.
"Do you see what I see? A T-rex skull. Authentic. Converted into a
recliner."

The
camera zoomed in. Millions of people saw it. The toothy jaws were wide open,
filled with upholstery and topped with pillows. Turning a dinosaur skull into
furniture? Shameful. Joe still remembered the day he had shot that poacher,
confiscated the trophy. Why the hell had he kept the tarry thing?

"Do
you know what this is?" said Amissa. "A hunting trophy!"

The
comment section exploded.

"Cool
chair!"

"I
want one."

"Wait
a minute—Jurassic Joe has a hunting trophy?"

"Jurassic
Joe has a hunting trophy!" Amissa announced to her millions of viewers.
"Oh, the hypocrisy! Joe keeps claiming he wants to save dinosaurs. To stop
poachers. To kill hunters. And here in his very house—the severed head of a
T-rex! Gruesomely upholstered into a chair. Yes, Tripletots. Jurassic Joe, the
famous Ranger … is a trophy hunter!"

"The
tarry skull is not mine, and you know it!" Joe barked into his
communicator.

But
his words just appeared as one more comment beneath the video, drowning within
a second under the barrage.

He
tried again. "It belonged to a poacher! I confiscated it!"

His
comment drowned at once. Nobody noticed. More comments sped by.

"Jurassic
Joe is a hypocrite!"

"Joe,
I'm ripping your posters off my wall!"

"My
kid ain't getting a Jurassic Joe cake for his birthday, I can tell you that
much."

"Smashing
my Jurassic Joe action figures now!"

Joe
growled and shut off the communicator, disgusted. He looked at Simone.
"There's gotta be something you can do. You're a journalist, right?"

She
nodded. "Right."

"You
have followers, don't you?"

She
winced. "Kinda. My mom follows me. And my hygienist." She bit her
lip. "I'm not big on QuickFame."

He
groaned. "What about the Cloventia Gazette? The circulation is
huge, isn't it?"

"Sure
is. And … I have an editor. And copyeditor. And advertisers. And advertising
agencies. And sensitivity readers. And fact-checkers. And content uploaders.
And three managers. Oh, and a legal team that has to approve everything. And—"

"Simone,
what are you talking about?"

She
sighed. "I can't just upload content to the Cloventia Gazette. It
has to pass through an army of middlemen. We'll fight back. I know you don't
own that skull. We'll clear your name. But it will take time. Maybe a few
weeks."

"Within
a few weeks, the Rangers' reputation will be destroyed. This isn't just about
me. We must reach the cave. Fast. And confront her on camera. We don't have big
QuickFame accounts of our own. But we can get on hers."

Simone
looked around her. The supersaurus herd grazed nearby. Dozer had joined them,
eating almost as much. The sauropods did not mind; there was plenty of food for
anyone. Vinnie was digging a cynodont out from the ground. Aside from humans,
the only mammals on Mintari were these little fluffballs, an important food
source for velociraptors. The grasslands spread toward distant hills, marshes,
and a gorge lined with cycads.

"Joe."
She looked back at him. "We're what, fifty kilometers from the Last Home
Hollow? Twice that far? Even if Dozer walks nonstop, it'll take us two or three
days to get back. By then Amissa will be long gone."

"There's
a way," Joe said softly.

She
nodded. "Right. Of course. We'll call the Rangers, order a tricopter
service, and within an hour, we can—"

"No
tricopters."

Simone
heaved a sigh. "Joe, I admire your principles. But to reach her quickly,
we need a tricopter."

"This
isn't just about my principle," Joe said. "Tricopters are loud.
Amissa would hear one approaching. She'd step outside the cave, gun in hand.
She'd shoot a tricopter down. We must approach stealthily."

Simone
looked at Dozer. The big dinosaur was stomping through the grass, grunting,
groaning, belching, and passing gas. "Well, that rules Dozer out."

"There's
another way," Joe said. "A skill my mother taught me long ago. It's
dangerous. I'll go alone."

"Like
hell!" Simone placed her hands on her hips. "I'm in this game, Joe.
She murdered my sister. This is personal for me. I'm going with you."

"All
right. Dozer! Dozer, look at me!"

The
triceratops looked up, his mouth full of ferns.

"Dozer,
I need a lift to the gorge past the cycads. And fast. Simone! Hop on. And hold
on tight."

She
frowned. "I thought we're not taking Dozer."

"We're
not. Not the whole way, at least. Hop on."

Within
a moment, Joe and Simone were riding the triceratops. Grunting and snorting,
Dozer ran across the grass, leaving deep footprints. He weighed as much as two
elephants, but when duty called, he could sprint at impressive speeds. Place a
triceratops on an Olympic racetrack, and he'd outrun any human champion. And
leave potholes so large a man could curl up inside.

As
he hopped on Dozer's back, Joe glanced at his communicator. Amissa was still in
his cave. She was sitting inside the upholstered T-rex skull, eating sausages,
telling her fans how Joe was a hypocrite. Good. Let her rant for a long while.
It gave him time.

A
thought struck him.

Maybe
she's waiting for me. Luring me into a trap.

Well,
if she was, she was planning to trap a Ranger tricopter. Maybe an angry
triceratops. Not this. Nobody would expect what Joe was planning.

You'd
have to be crazy. And thankfully Joe Triplehorn was.

* * * * *

Within
an hour, Dozer reached the gorge. The triceratops halted, breathing heavily.
Joe dismounted and stroked Dozer's beak.

"Sorry
for running you hard today, friend. I know you still hurt. You've taken us far
enough. Rest now. Eat. Recover. When you're ready, make your way home."

Dozer
snorted, tilted his massive head, and looked into Joe's eyes.

"Yes,
friend, I'm leaving you for now. This is a journey you can't take with
me."

Vinnie
cackled. Joe knelt by the velociraptor and ruffled his feathers. "You too,
buddy. Keep Dozer safe, huh?"

Vinnie
cooed and began picking at his feathers.

Simone
dismounted too. She gently laid her hand on Dozer's beak. She looked into Joe's
eyes. "You're talking like you might never see them again."

"I'm
flying to face a woman who just murdered two Rangers," Joe said.
"It's dangerous. You can still stay behind."

Simone's
eyes flashed. "And let you face Amissa alone? Not a chance. Just show me
the way. Listen to me, Joe, and listen carefully. I promise you this. No matter
what happens, I will not stay behind."

Joe
held her hand, walked with her toward the edge of the gorge, and they peered
into the depths.

Pterosaurs
nested across the gorge walls. Thousands of them. Every once in a while, one
dipped toward a river below, grabbed a fish, and flew back to its nest. They
ranged from small pterodactyls to the plane-sized quetzalcoatlus.

Joe
gestured at the pterosaurs. "We're flying."

"I'm
staying behind," Simone said.

She
turned to leave.

"Wait.
Simone! You said you wouldn't leave me behind. You said it's personal between
you and Amissa."

She
spun back toward him, eyes flashing. "It is! But I'll walk. A pterosaur
already carried me off once. Not an experience I ever plan to replicate."

"Last
time, a pterosaur grabbed you with its talons." He looked into her eyes.
"This time you will ride one."

Her
face softened, and she smiled. "Aww, I'll ride one, will I?" Her face
hardened and she began stomping away. "When pigs fly, I can ride one of
those. Goodbye, Jurassic Joe."

"Wait."
He hurried after her. "Simone, you're right. I can't face my sister alone.
I … need you."

She
stopped walking. Her shoulders slumped. She looked at him, eyes damp. "You
need me?"

And
he realized just how much he did.

I
need you, Simone. When you came into my life, I was a wreck. Hungover. Barely
leaving my cave. You came into that cave like a hurricane, messed up my home,
messed up my life. And that's what I needed. I needed you. I still need you.

But
he could bring none of that to his lips. He still felt too vulnerable. The
walls around him were cracking but had not yet fallen.

"Well,
I … might need you to um … distract Amissa. Or something."

Simone
raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips. "Or something."

"Just
come with me. You'll be safe." Joe smiled. "Simone LaRue, you're
tougher than you think. You rode a triceratops. You held a supersaurus in your
arms. One more challenge. And you'll be queen of Mintari."

She
groaned and approached the gorge. "A week ago, I was terrified of puppies.
I hope you appreciate this, Joe Triplehorn."

They
stood on the edge of the gorge, gazing down at the nesting grounds.

The
pterosaurs bustled about their business—catching fish, roosting on eggs,
snapping at one another. Pterosaurs were vulnerable on land. To protect
themselves from predation, they nested on cliffs, in gorges, on mountaintops—places
their foes struggled to reach. But no place on Mintari was entirely safe.
Sometimes brazen raptors scaled the cliffs. With their short wings, they could
not fly, but with their claws, raptors were excellent climbers. Sometimes they
reached pterosaur nests, snatched eggs, even grabbed adult pterosaurs to eat.
That was life on Mintari. A life of constant danger. In this dino-eat-dino
world, every day was a battle, every season a war, every scar a medal of
triumph.

"Can
you really fly these things?" Simone whispered. She was pale, and her eyes
were damp.

"I
did many years ago," Joe said softly. "The last time was the night my
wife died. The shamans teach the skill. Skyriding, they call it. My mother
taught me when I was a boy."

Nobody
knew how many shamans lived on Mintari. Some said over a hundred. Some believed
that fewer than ten still survived. The shamans made Joe look like an
extrovert. They lived in the wilderness. Not even in caves but simple huts
woven of branches and grass. They communed with dinosaurs, spoke to them,
healed them, even worshipped them as gods. Joe had spent his youth in a grass
hut, learning the ways of Mintari. How to ride a triceratops. How to tame a
raptor. And how to fly.

He
placed his fingers into his mouth and whistled. The sound echoed through the
gorge.

Pterosaurs
looked up, clacking their beaks.

Joe
whistled again, adjusting the frequency, a long, loud sound like a siren. He
blew three more short whistles.

The
pterosaurs rustled their wings. A few ignored him. Others hissed.

Joe
gave a third whistle, louder and longer than before. And a pterosaur soared.

The
gargantuan beast rose from the gorge, dwarfing Joe and Simone. His wings spread
as wide as a bus. His great beak opened, as long as a car. He let out a
deafening cry—the same frequency as Joe's whistle. Here rose Quetzalcoatlus
northropi, king of the sky. Q-pi for short. The largest flying animal that
ever lived.

The
giant flapped his wings. Blasts of air shook the cycads along the gorge's edge.
Simone fell to the grass, gazing with huge eyes at the soaring titan. Joe had
to grab his hat. The mighty quetzalcoatlus landed on the grass, a flying
reptile the size of an airplane. He stood taller than a giraffe.

Simone
gasped. "Darwin's beard, the size of it!"

Even
Joe stood cowed before this legendary beast. Dozer only grunted. The trike was
the size of a tank and not impressed.

"Climb
on," Joe said.

Simone
blinked. "Are you talking to me?"

"Well,
I'm not talking to Dozer. Climb on!"

The
Q-pi waited on the edge of the gorge. The enormous pterosaur clutched the earth
with his talons. His wings were folded, the clawed tips placed on the ground
for extra support. Q-pis were so big they could only move on all fours, using
their folded wings like crutches. Even hunched over like this, the animal
towered above the humans. He was the size of the mythical dragons of old. His
fuzzy neck soared skyward. His beak clacked open and shut, as large as a canoe.

Simone
gaped at the Q-pi, head tilted back.

"You've
got to be kidding me. How do we climb this thing?"

Joe
stroked the pterosaur's leg, whistling and cooing, using the sounds his mother
had taught him. The titan crouched low, placing his beak against the grass. Joe
patted the enormous head. Bright blue eyes stared at him, as large as bowling
balls.

"Climb
onto his back, Simone. Lie facedown, aligning yourself with his spine. Then
wrap your arms around the base of his neck. These are huge animals, but they're
deceptively lightweight. Be careful."

She
blinked. "I should be careful? Well, gee, thanks for the tip,
mister." She gulped and loosened her collar. "That beak is big enough
to swallow me whole."

"Don't
go near the beak. Climb onto its back. Hurry up. He won't wait forever."

Simone
cringed. "You first. Like when we ride Dozer."

Joe
smiled thinly. "We're going to fly on different pterosaurs."

She
took a step back. "You want me to ride this thing alone?"

He
nodded. "As I said, they're deceptively light. This quetzalcoatlus might
seem larger than Dozer, but he weighs much, much less. These animals are the
size of airplanes, but they don't weigh more than motorcycles. He'll struggle
to carry even one person."

Simone
cleared her throat. "Well, I might have put on a few pounds since the Slum
Wars, I admit, but—"

The
pterosaur snorted and clacked his beak.

"Hurry,"
Joe said. "He's getting restless. He's not used to lying down like
this."

Simone
took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Perfect. Just perfect. I'm going to
fly a restless monster."

She
started to climb, fell back onto the grass, and Joe had to boost her up. But
finally, with a lot of cursing and some tears, Simone was lying facedown atop
the Q-pi, holding the long, fluffy neck.

Joe
gave a short, quick whistle and slapped the Q-pi on the side. The great
pterosaur kicked off the ground, beat his wings mightily, and soared.

Simone
screamed and clung on for dear life.

Despite
his enormous size, the Q-pi struggled to rise. His wings pounded the air,
flattening the grass. The animal was perhaps the size of a dragon, but his
bones were light and hollow, his frame thin. A human was a heavy load.

Still,
the brave Q-pi gave it his all. His wings beat again and again, shoving the air
downward, until finally he rose high enough to catch an air current. From
there, he glided.

"I
hate you, Joe Triplehorn!" Simone could be heard screaming as the Q-pi
flew into the distance.

Joe
whistled again—a short, loud sound. Another quetzalcoatlus came rising from
below. A big female this time.

Joe
didn't even bother letting her land. He leaped off the gorge's edge, thumped
onto the pterosaur's back, and gave quick, short whistles. The Q-pi soared from
the canyon, following her companion in the sky.

They
glided on the wind.

The
two pterosaurs flew, struggling under their loads. Everything about them was
slender, hollow, thin, optimized for gliding. Humans were tiny in comparison—smaller
than their beaks. But humans were lumpy and compact. The Q-pis grunted, beat
their wings, and flew onward, carrying their passengers. Perhaps they knew this
was important. Perhaps they knew that Mintari was in danger, and they wanted to
help. Joe was perhaps anthropomorphizing them. But he had never considered
dinosaurs and pterosaurs to be merely dumb, slogging brutes, an evolutionary
dead end. He had met dinosaurs whose intelligence rivaled chimps and dolphins.
Dinosaurs who showed true emotions—loneliness, fear, respect, even love. They
were dynamic, intelligent animals, and in this great war for Mintari, they
would fight back.

Onward
they flew, tumbling under clouds, rising higher, skimming along air currents,
then dipping lower, rising again, sometimes tilting on the wind, sometimes
leaping over air pockets, sometimes smoothly sliding on blue sky. Words of an
old poem returned to Joe. An Earthling poet named Magee had written them long
ago, and a thousand years later, Joe whispered those words into the sky of
Mintari.

Sunward
I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of
sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things

You
have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung

High
in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,

I've
chased the shouting wind

Joe
looked to his side. Simone was flying nearby, her red hair fluttering like a
banner. Her eyes were screwed shut, but perhaps sensing his gaze, she opened
them and looked at him. Her tears flew in the wind, and he knew those were not
tears of pain or grief. They were tears of awe.

"Look
down to see a herd of ceratopsians!" Joe cried to her.

"I
am never looking down again in my life!"

"Don't
look straight down. Just look enough to see the view. It's beautiful."

She
screwed her eyes shut again. Well, Joe enjoyed the view at least. Here was
Mintari as he rarely saw it. Ceratopsians herded across the grasslands, while
parasaurs flocked along the rivers, blowing air through their hollow crests.
Stegosaurs and ankylosaurs roamed in the forests, while the great sauropods
loomed through the mist. Snowcapped mountains rose in the distance, their
crests gilded with sunlight. On the distant horizon, Joe could just make out
the sea, home to the plesiosaurs and mosasaurs. This planet teemed with life.
With beauty nearly untouched by man.

Humans
had populated this planet, using time-casting to revive dinosaurs, to give them
a new home. The founders of Mintari had made mistakes. They mixed dinosaurs
from different geological periods, letting Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous
dinosaurs compete in one biosphere. Sometimes the scientists got the cloning
wrong, using their imagination to fill in gaps in the DNA, and the resultant
dinosaurs were not exactly like their ancestors. Certainly Ivan was a mutant.
Some of the plants were wrong too; Mesozoic Earth probably never had this much
grass. But Mintari was still a miracle. This wasn't a perfect recreation of
Earth during the reign of the dinosaurs. But it was as close as anyone could
get. Here on Mintari, humans had given dinosaurs another chance. To Joe, this
was a noble endeavor. And this planet was precious.

It
was a planet full of danger. A planet where predators lurked everywhere. But it
was also a planet of majesty and beauty. To Joe, this was heaven. If Amissa had
her way, she would turn this world into hell. Joe would give his life to
protect Mintari and the wonderful dinosaurs who lived here.

Soon
they saw it ahead.

Mudge
Mountain. Joe's home.

It
would take Dozer a day or two to catch up. The Q-pis had flown the distance
within half an hour. By now, the enormous pterosaurs were exhausted.

Joe
let out low, long whistles.

Descend,
friends.

The
pterosaurs began circling downward, wings spread wide to catch as much air as
possible. They glided as silently as a stalking predator and as gracefully as
swans. Joe spotted his cave below. He checked his communicator. Amissa was
still streaming a video from inside. She was still sitting on the T-rex chair,
talking about how Joe was the most bloodthirsty poacher in the galaxy—who else
would own such a chair?

Suddenly
Amissa froze.

She
reached for her SmartSphere, stared at the screen, and her eyes widened.

"Gotta
go, Tripletots! See you soon!"

She
ended her stream.

"What
the hell?" Joe muttered.

The
two pterosaurs spotted a place to land—an outcrop of stone that jutted out from
the mountainside. A waterfall cascaded nearby, filling a lake rich with fish.
This would make a good nesting ground. The pterosaurs were naturally drawn
there. It was only a short walk from the outcrop to the Last Home Hollow.

The
pterosaurs were moments away from landing when Amissa emerged from the cave.

How
the hell did she know we're here? Joe thought. The
Q-pis flew silently. Had she set up a camera outside?

Amissa
was carrying a rifle. A big one. The one she had killed the nodosaur with. The
Dinoslayer.

She
aimed and opened fire.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Big Brutes and Little Bugs

The quetzalcoatlus
cawed in agony. The enormous pterosaur swayed in the sky. Joe clung to her
back.

A
second later, the sound wave reached him. A deafening boom. The gunshot rang
across the sky.

The
Q-pi wailed. Blood sprayed in a mist. Wind whistled through a hole in her wing,
a cruel imitation of a skyrider's call. Amissa had scored a hit. The Q-pi was
still alive, but she could barely move her wounded wing.

Again—a
gunshot rang out.

Beside
Joe, the other quetzalcoatlus wailed. Another shot to the wing! The big male
screeched. Simone, riding on his back, cried out in terror.

Joe
reached for his sleep-or-die, struggling to load the weapon while riding the
Q-pi. But the great pterosaur was slewing, struggling to stay airborne. Joe
slid across her back. He could not aim his gun. He fired as best he could. A
bullet hit the mountainside. Not even close to Amissa. Joe could barely see. He—

More
gunshots rang out.

The
pterosaurs wailed. Blood splashed.

And
the legendary flying reptiles plunged from the sky.

Simone
screamed and clung on to her mount.

Even
as they fell, Joe aimed his sleep-or-die. He saw the cave in the distance. He aimed.
Fired.

A
bullet slammed into the mountainside, missing his sister.

Dear
God, I just tried to kill my sister,
he thought.

Then
he only thought of falling. The Q-pis were plunging fast. Both pterosaurs were
still alive, but wind whistled through holes in their wings. They could not
fly, not even glide. They flapped as best they could, trying to reach the lake,
to land in the water. The waterfall roared nearby, and spray washed over Joe,
and the lake was rushing up toward him, and—

A
crash.

Cold.
Terrible cold.

Water
rushing over him.

Joe
kicked underwater, struggling to free himself from the lashing wings and
flailing neck of the pterosaur. He felt like a mouse trying to swim away from a
drowning cat.

Another
crash. The second pterosaur slammed into the lake. Still underwater, Joe saw
red hair and kicking legs.

Simone!

He
swam toward her, lungs aching for air. Her pterosaur was still alive,
floundering underwater. A wing buffeted Simone, and she tumbled through the
lake, bubbles rising from her mouth.

Joe
swam faster. He caught her, kicked off the struggling pterosaur, and they both
rose through the murky depths.

Their
heads breached the surface.

They
gulped down air.

"Are
you all right?" Joe said.

"No,
I'm not all right, Joe Triplehorn!" she shouted. "You made me fly a
dinosaur, and an insane woman is shooting at us!"

"Pterosaur.
It's a pterosaur, not a dinosaur." He winced when she punched him.
"Never mind."

Miraculously,
both Q-pis had survived the fall. They limped onto the shore, holes in their wings.
Joe had seen such injuries before. In time, new membranes would grow over the
holes. This was a good place for the pterosaurs to rest, find fish, and heal.

Of
course, for that to happen, Joe must stop Amissa. Or she would shoot every
creature within eyesight. Floating in the lake, he stared up the mountainside.
He could just make out his cave from here.

An
engine roared.

An
astrolite took flight from the mountainside.

Amissa!

Joe
aimed his sleep-or-die. He pulled the trigger, trying to hit her astrolite. But
the weapon was waterlogged.

He
swam toward the shore. Simone followed. They climbed onto the lakeside,
coughing, covered in algae.

"Why
is she flying away?" Simone asked. "Why isn't she still firing at
us?"

"Because
she's a predator," Joe said. "The greatest predators are always
cautious. Even the mighty T-rex, the strongest dinosaur on land, carefully
stalks his prey. He prefers to hunt the weak, the frail, or the young. Unless
he's mad with hunger, he'll avoid attacking strong, healthy herbivores like
Dozer. Headstrong predators die. Cautious ones live. Amissa couldn't know my
gun would jam. She's cautious."

"But
she'll keep stalking us," Simone said.

"You
can count on it. Wait. Don't move."

He
plucked a water snake out of Simone's hair. He tossed the little serpent aside.

Simone
paled. She covered her mouth. "I—I—I hate it here. I want to go
home."

Joe
brushed back her wet tresses. "I can't take you to your home on Cloventia.
But I can take you to my home. Let's see how badly Amissa trashed the place."

* * * * *

They
climbed the mountainside. By the time they reached the cave, their clothes were
dry and Nyx was setting. The portcullis, which normally secured the cave, was
open. Amissa must have picked the lock. Winded after their climb, Joe and
Simone entered the Last Home Hollow.

Yellow
eyes shone in the shadows.

A
creature darted forth, hissing.

Simone
screamed.

Joe
raised his sleep-or-die, heart pounding.

He
recognized the dinosaur. A deinonychus. A fierce female, hungry and mean.

Its
name meant terrible claw in Greek. And indeed, deinonychus bore a terrible
sickle claw on each foot. That claw never touched the ground. It was purely a
weapon. A type of raptor, she was smaller than achillobators, utahraptors, and
others in her clade. She was about the size of a mountain lion. Tiny for a
dinosaur. But like a mountain lion, she was fierce and—even worse—intelligent.
Millions of years of evolution had honed deinonychus into a perfect predator.
She opened her jaws, baring sharp fangs. The brown and white feathers across
her back bristled, making her seem even larger.

With
the gate open, the raptor must have sneaked inside while Joe and Simone had
been climbing the mountainside. Or maybe Amissa had lured the predator into the
cave—a little parting gift.

The
deinonychus leaped at Joe.

He
fired his gun.

And
it jammed. Again. Still waterlogged.

The
deinonychus slammed into him, jaws snapping. The dinosaur was heavier than him.
All that mass shoved Joe back against the wall. He raised his sleep-or-die like
a staff, fending off the terrible jaws. The raptor chomped down on the double
barrel, losing a tooth. No big deal. Dinosaurs constantly grew and replaced
teeth.

The
hungry carnivore pinned Joe to the wall. She raised one leg. The sickle claw
gleamed.

"Simone,
the rug!" Joe shouted.

"What?"

"Pull
the rug!"

The
sickle claw lashed. Joe swung his rifle, parrying. The claw sparked against the
barrel. The dinosaur leaned closer, jaws widening, and—

Simone
pulled the rug from under the raptor.

The
deinonychus, who still had one foot raised, crashed down.

Before
the dinosaur could recover, Joe grabbed a tranquilizer dart from his belt.
Normally he fired these darts from his sleep-or-die. Now he shoved the dart
down with his hand. The syringe sank into the deinonychus, flooding the animal
with relaxants.

The
raptor rose to her feet. She blinked at Joe. Her eyes narrowed, and her legs
wobbled.

All
it took was a few gentle pokes from the rifle. Joe was able to herd the woozy
dinosaur out the cave, then pull the portcullis shut. The deinonychus looked
through the bars, yawned, then flopped down and fell asleep.

"Sleep
it off, girl." He leaned down to stroke the jaws that had nearly savaged
him. "You'll feel better in the morning."

He
did not blame the predator for attacking. He blamed Amissa for placing the
dinosaur here. A cruel trap to spring on him.

This
whole thing was a trap, Joe thought. The
video. Mocking me. Just a way to lure me here. To kill me.

And
he knew that Amissa would not stop trying.

* * * * *

With
the dinosaur safely removed, Joe looked around his cave.

Amissa
had trashed the place. She had shattered his clay plates and mugs, overturned
his bed, pulled his books off the shelves, and scattered food everywhere. The
only thing she hadn't destroyed was the T-rex skull armchair. A hunting trophy
was sacred to her. All else was contemptuous. Mina's picture lay on the floor.
The glass frame was shattered. He knelt, lifted the photo, and shook off the
shards.

Simone
padded toward him, broken glass crunching under her boots. "I'm sorry,
Joe." She looked around her and shook her head sadly. "What a petty,
vindictive woman. I'll help you tidy up."

He
looked at her, silent. Thinking.

She
tilted her head. "Joe? Are you okay?"

He
nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Go rest. You've earned it. I'll clean up a
bit."

"No
way. I'm helping! You got a broom anywhere around here?" She looked
around, then laughed. "Who am I asking? Of course not. This is a bachelor
pad. Hang on, I can grab a frond from a cycad outside, and—"

"Simone,
it's all right. We'll tidy up another day. It's late. We're exhausted. Let's
get some sleep and reassess tomorrow."

She
yawned. "I am exhausted. I carried a baby sauropod today. And flew
on a pterosaur. I was shot at. Almost drowned. And finally pulled a rug out
from under a dinosaur. This was definitely the strangest day of my life. Since
yesterday, that is. Is Mintari always so … eventful?"

"It
was a helluva lot more peaceful before you and Amissa showed up, I can tell you
that much." He righted the bed, dusted off the blanket, and fluffed the
pillow. "Get some sleep. I'll take the floor."

She
climbed into bed, yawned again, and patted the mattress. "There's room for
two. Don't worry, I won't ravage you in the night. I'm two seconds away from
passing … out …"

And
she was asleep.

Joe
looked at her. Her hair spread across the pillow, the color of fire. Her face
was a field of freckles like stars. She was so beautiful. Of course—she had to
be.

Because
I stepped into another trap, Joe thought.

Somehow
Amissa had known. She had seen him flying over. Joe had found no evidence of
hidden cameras on the mountainside. Yet once the pterosaurs approached, Amissa
ended her video stream, grabbed her gun, ran outside the cave, and opened fire.
Only one other person had known they were flying on those pterosaurs.

Could
it really be you, Simone?

She
looked like an angel, lying there asleep, a Titian masterpiece brought to life,
a work of art made of porcelain and light. They had sent a goddess to trap one
they thought a devil. No monster could have slain Samson. All it took was
Delilah's touch.

He
waited to be sure she was in deep sleep. Then he knelt, lifted her pack, and
looked inside. Multiple bottles of sunscreen. Some trail mix and water. And her
SmartSphere. A computer with a camera and microphone.

He
lifted the SmartSphere. It unfolded in his hand, ballooning from a circle into
a sphere the size of a peach. A light flashed on the side. Joe shut the camera
off, but the light still flashed. He took a screwdriver, pried it open, and—

There.

His
heart crashed.

His
hands began to shake.

There
inside—a bug. A parasite. A foreign piece of electronics, crudely welded
inside. Eyes that forever saw, ears that forever heard. The little tracking
device bore an unmistakable logo. A triceratops head.

Joe
dropped the camera onto the floor. He crushed it under his boot. Hard. The
components shattered. Including the bug.

"Show's
over, Amissa," he said.

Simone
stirred and opened her eyes. "Huh? Did I fall asleep?"

"Get
out," Joe said.

She
sat up in bed, rubbed her eyes. "What?" Her eyes widened. "Was
that my SmartSphere? What—?"

"Get
out!" Joe said.

She
rose from bed. Her cheeks flushed. "Joe, what is going on?"

He
barked a bitter laugh. "I found out. I'm onto you. You're a Triplehorn
spy. Reporting straight to Amissa, aren't you?"

Simone
laughed too—a shocked, mirthless laugh. "What? Joe! Are you pulling my
leg?" She frowned. "Are you drunk?"

"I'm
dead sober. I know exactly who you are. Ha! I fell for it. Like a perfect rube.
You really are a good actress, do you know?"

"What
are you talking about!" she said.

"Stop
acting, tar it! The show's over. All those stories. About how Amissa killed
your sister. How you're scared of animals and need the big, strong Ranger to
protect you. Oh, what a performance!"

Her
face flushed. "How dare you, Joe Triplehorn! I opened up to you. I shared
my personal stories." Tears flooded her eyes. "And now you mock me,
accuse me of lying?"

He
rolled his eyes. "More acting! Give it up. I saw the bug!"

"What
bug?" she cried. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

Joe
knelt and lifted the crushed component. He waved it at her. "See this? You
thought I'd never find it. This is a tracking device. It kept your camera
constantly filming. And streaming the data right to Amissa!" He snorted.
"I was such a fool. You strutted in here, a beautiful temptress, and I
fell for it. Now get out of my cave."

Tears
flowed down her cheeks. "Joe, I had no idea … I didn't know that bug was
in there."

"Stop
acting!" His body shook. His own eyes burned with tears. "I knew I
should never have trusted humans. All humans do is betray one another. All they
do is lie and cheat and kill. Get out! Get out, tar it! Go print your tarry
story. Go laugh with my sister about what a gullible fool I am." He
gripped his bed and hurled it across the room. The driftwood frame shattered,
and he raised his voice to a deafening shout. "Get out!"

Weeping,
she fled. She tried to open the portcullis, but her hands shook.

Joe
lifted a chair and hurled it at the wall. It shattered. "Get
out!"

She
managed to unlock the gate, then fled into the darkness. Nyx was gone from the
sky. Simone vanished into shadows.

Joe
fell to his knees, shaking, tears on his cheeks.

Betrayed.
Betrayed …

"Why
did I allow myself to be hurt?" he whispered. "Why did I let another
person in? I knew humans were cruel. I knew it. I thought you were different,
Simone. I thought you were real."

He
lowered his head, and a sob wracked his body.

Even
his dinosaurs were not here. Dozer and Vinnie were miles away. Joe had not felt
so alone and broken since Mina had died.

Mina.

The
only human he had ever trusted. Ever loved. An angel in a sea of demons.

He
lifted her photo. He brushed off broken glass, cutting his fingers, and smeared
blood on her cheek.

"I
miss you, Mina," he whispered.

Her
photo stared at him. Mina spoke in his mind. Why did you send Simone away?

"She
was spying on me."

Maybe
she didn't know.

"She
knew."

Maybe
she was as shocked as you.

"She
knew! She's a human!"

So
am I. So are you. Not all humans are bad.

"I
don't know how to trust again. How do I trust anyone in a world where my sister
exists?"

With
time. Time turned single-celled organisms into dinosaurs. Time can change a
fuzzy hatchling into a nine-ton T-rex. Time can topple mountains and grow
forests over craters of fire. And time can heal a man.

Joe
wiped his eyes. He rose to his feet. And he noticed an item on the floor. It
must have fallen from Simone's pack while he was rummaging for the bug.

A
plastic figurine. An action figure of Jurassic Joe.

* * * * *

Simone
ran down the mountainside, tears in her eyes. She could barely see two steps
ahead, but she would not slow down. She had to escape him. He was worse than
any predator on Mintari.

He
was a brute. A monster. How could Simone have ever trusted him?

A
sob fled her lips. Seeing Joe like that … it was like a demon possessed him.
When he had smashed furniture, she worried he was going to kill her. She didn't
care if he was drunk. Didn't care what his excuse was. The man was toxic,
violent, dangerous.

She
stumbled over a pebble, fell onto the mountainside, and slid down for a few
terrifying seconds. She caught a tree root, halted her descent, and rose to her
feet. Her knees and elbows were skinned. She kept running downhill toward the
shadowy valley. Only the moonlight lit her way.

She
knew it was stupid. Hopeless. She was a three-day walk from Dinovia City,
assuming she found her way, which was doubtful. She had no map. No weapons. No
supplies. She would never make it. She wouldn't last an hour out here! But she
could not go back to that cave! She could not face that brute again! She would
rather take her chances in the wilderness.

I
was a fool to come here, she thought. I was a
fool to trust him.

It
all hit her at once now. Cody was dead. She would never see home again. She was
going to die out here.

She
reached the foothills. Tears flowed as she ran among the trees. All Triplehorns
were cruel! First Amissa had murdered her sister. Now this …

She
did not know who had bugged her camera. Maybe one of the Triplehorns back on Cloventia.
After all, Tobias Triplehorn owned eleven percent of the Cloventia Gazette
now. He could have gained access to the company equipment. Bugged Simone's
camera to spy on Joe. It wasn't her fault. She had been duped too!

But
Joe had not listened. He only wanted to shout. To smash things. To hate her.
What did Joe care about the truth? To him, her word was meaningless. She was
nothing but a femme fatale, apparently. Worse—a traitor! The things he
had said … bringing up her sister like that …

She
could not forgive him. Could never return to him. She had enough material for
her story now. Oh, she certainly had enough. A caustic smile twisted her lips.
She would smear him in the media! Show all her readers what a brute he was!

But
no. Even through the storm of her fury, Simone knew she would not do that. She
would drop the entire story. She would forget all about Mintari. Coming here
had been the worst mistake of her life.

Her
side was aching from running so much. She slowed down, breathing heavily, her
body weak, her emotions a raging ocean. Where was she? She looked around her.
She had reached the edge of Hell Valley. The trees were still dense here, but
nearby she would find the sprawling grasslands. She must make her way there,
walk west, and eventually she would reach the city. On the way, she might come
across a tourist jippi and hitch a ride. Once she reached Dinovia, she was in
the clear. The city had a spaceport. A few days from now, she would be home on
Cloventia, and if she never saw a dinosaur again, she would die a happy woman.

Part
of her knew she was being irrational. Overemotional. She should return to the
cave, try to smooth things over with Joe. At least long enough to call for
help. After all, she was a journalist. Talking to people, even angry or
irrational people, was part of her job. But her fear drove her onward. She
could not forget the rage in Joe's eyes. It had shaken her to her core.

And
it was more than that. Not just the rage. His loss of trust. His accusations.
Those cut as deeply as dinosaur claws.

A
branch snapped. Somewhere in the shadows ahead.

Simone
froze, heart galloping.

She
stared but saw nothing in the darkness. The moonlight struggled to pierce the
leafy ginkgo boughs.

A
growl sounded.

Her
heart raced faster.

A
shadow moved. A huge shadow. A shadow the size of a building. Enormous feet
cracked logs and boulders. And the beast emerged from among the trees in all
his terrible glory.

Simone
recognized this dinosaur. She remembered it from her field guide. The
terrifying illustration had seared itself on her mind. Now she saw that old
nightmare taken flesh and bone.

A
giganotosaurus.

A
predator as large as T-rex.

It
was said that Tyrannosaurus rex was king of Mintari, but giganotosaurus
was the tsar. The beast was truly gargantuan.

Crimson
scales covered his bulky body, and bright red spikes rose across his back and
head. A male, judging by the colors. He walked on two enormous legs, and claws
like swords tipped his feet. Like a T-rex, his rival apex predator, the giga
had short arms. But his jaws more than compensated. Those jaws were large
enough to devour Simone whole. Rows of serrated teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

A
giga had a smaller brain than a T-rex. Only about the size and shape of a
banana. Which was also the size of his teeth. Unlike a T-rex or raptors, who
were intelligent predators, the giga was a little slow. What he lacked in
brains, he made up for with brawn. He was a big, dumb brute, all sheer power
with no cunning. Every inch of him sprouted something that could cut, bite, or
slash you.

This
particular giganotosaurus was alone, rummaging for a midnight snack. And he had
just stumbled across a delicious bite-sized ginger.

His
eyes stared right at her. Oddly, in the darkness, Simone imagined the beast as
a giant pit bull. Like the one that had killed Elize. And this spiky,
dragon-sized pit bull was going to kill Simone. The dinosaur's mouth opened
wide, and a deafening rumble washed over Simone.

She
stumbled back, fear flooding her. She trembled. She could barely breathe.

"I—hate—this—planet!"
she managed to blurt out.

Then
she spun around and ran.

The
giganotosaurus ran after her. And the dinosaur had some seriously long
legs. Simone stood shorter than his knees. There was no way she was outrunning
this thing. Her only chance was to find another cave, a burrow, a tree she
could climb—something!

A
massive clawed foot slammed down at her left side. Another foot to her right.
They were like the talons of eagles. If eagles were the size of airplanes.

Simone
leaped over a fallen log, hit the ground, and rolled.

The
giga swooped down to bite. His jaws closed around the log, shattering it.
Splinters and moss flew. The beast raised his head, for a moment confused.
Where was his meal?

Simone
was already running again. It took a moment for the giga to realize he had
chomped down on wood. Then he ran again, his massive talons tearing through
roots, cracking fallen logs, and shattering boulders.

Somehow
I must outsmart him, Simone thought. It's
my only chance. She laughed bitterly. Some chance! Maybe I can challenge
him to a game of checkers instead?

After
his slight delay, the giga caught up with her again. The dinosaur was tarry
fast. Once more, the enormous mouth came swooping down, ready to scoop up
Simone. Saliva sprayed across the forest.

She
leaped again and rolled through the mud. The spiny snout slammed into the
ground. God, the size of his head! That head was bigger than her entire body.
The mouth was the size of a paddle boat. The eyes were like blazing red bowling
balls.

The
eyes.

His
weak spot.

Simone
grabbed a fallen branch. With a wordless cry, she thrust the branch at the
giga's eyeball.

Right
on target. The branch slammed into the eyeball … and did nothing.

The
stick shattered.

The
giganotosaurus blinked his nictitating membrane—a hard, transparent casing that
protected his eyeball like a contact lens of bulletproof glass. He turned his
head toward her, and his pupils shrank to pinpoints.

"Darwin's
beard!" Simone whispered.

She
spun and ran again.

A
ginkgo grew ahead, thick with wide branches like the rungs in a ladder. Should
she climb? No, she'd never get too far up. She had only seconds before—

The
giga's snout thrust toward her.

She
whipped around the tree. The dinosaur closed his jaws around the trunk,
shattering it. The great tree came crashing down. Simone ran, barely dodging
the falling ginkgo.

And
then she saw it.

There
ahead! A burrow under the outstretched roots of another tree. A cave. Not a big
cave like the Last Home Hollow. A small cave she could crawl into.

She
leaped toward the little grotto, flattened herself on her belly, and prepared
to crawl in.

A
raptor's feathery head burst out, screeching.

Simone
screamed right back at it.

The
raptor hissed and snapped its teeth, nearly ripping her face off.

Simone
scurried away from the cave. She slipped in the mud, landing on her back. The
giganotosaurus loomed above her. A foot slammed down, narrowly missing her. The
gargantuan predator salivated. Globs of drool splattered her. The raptor—who
was no larger than Simone—squeaked in terror and fled into its lair. More
squeals came from inside; an entire colony of raptors must live in there.
Simone might as well seek shelter in a meat grinder.

I'm
trapped, she knew. It's over. This is the end.
I'll be with you soon, Elize.

Light
flared in the distance, golden and beautiful.

I
must be dying already, she thought. This is
the light of afterlife.

She
saw no tunnel though. And the giga hadn't even bitten her yet. Which was odd.

The
light flashed brighter, then hurled across the sky, showering sparks. Simone
gasped. A flare! Somebody had fired a flare!

A
cry echoed across the forest.

"Hey
there! Hey you! Yes, you! Here!"

Simone
stared toward the east, and there he stood. There on the hilltop. A man in the
darkness, limned in moonlight. A ceratop hat topped his head, and he held a
double-barreled rifle.

"Jurassic
Joe," she whispered.

The
giga raised his enormous head, staring at the distant man. He opened his jaws
with a furious bellow that rippled across the land, fluttering leaves. His
teeth shone in the moonlight.

Joe's
sleep-or-die boomed.

A
tranquilizer dart slammed into the giga's neck.

Another
dart flew. And a third. And a fourth. They all hit.

The
giganotosaurus grunted, still awake, still furious, even with four tranquilizer
darts in his body. The theropod probably outweighed three well-fed hippos, and
he wasn't going down so fast.

Even
with his puny, banana-sized brain, the brute realized that Joe was his top
concern now. He turned away from Simone and charged toward the man on the hill.

Joe
fired a fifth tranquilizer dart. It hit the giga. The giant theropod kept
charging, crashing through trees. Simone remembered what Joe had taught her.
Tranquilizers took a few moments to kick in.

Within
a few moments, Joe would be inside the belly of the beast.

"Run,
Simone!" he cried. "I'll hold him off. Run!"

Simone
ran.

But
not away from the dinosaur this time. She ran toward it.

On
her way there, she scooped up the flare. It had fallen onto the forest floor
but still shone. It crackled in her hand like a medieval torch.

"Hey
you!" she shouted at the charging giga. "I'm over here! Here!"

The
dinosaur spun his head toward her. She hurled the flare with all her strength.
The light reflected in the giga's eyes. His pupils shrank, and he looked away,
blinded.

"Over
here!" Joe shouted from behind.

"Here!"
cried Simone. "After me!"

The
giganotosaurus spun his scaly head from side to side, bamboozled and
overwhelmed. These puny little mammals wanted him to attack, which was
terribly perplexing. Light was blinding him. Strange, unfamiliar sounds came
from ahead and behind. Weird darts stuck out from him, tipped with feathers.
And a strange warmth was oozing through him.

This
was a bizarre night.

The
giga took another step. Another. He was slowing down. Maybe he wasn't so hungry
after all. With a grunt, he flopped down into the mud, snapping branches and
shattering rocks. He laid his head on a pile of moss. Let the mammals run off.
What he needed right about now was a good nap. Soon the dinosaur was breathing
heavily, flitting in and out of sleep. He was down for the count.

Joe
walked around the sleeping giant and faced Simone.

She
stood in the dark forest, looking at him. She could only make out his silhouette.
The night cloaked his face.

"Did
you tell me the truth?" Joe said.

"Yes,"
she said. "Joe, I didn't know. About the bug. I didn't …"

She
could say no more. The shock of the night—of these past few days—was setting
in. She trembled.

Joe
was at her side at once. He pulled her into his arms.

"Oh,
Simone, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She
held him, her head against his chest, slowly calming down. She still feared him
a little. She still remembered how angry he had been. But as he held her, as
she felt his beating heart, she knew that he would never hurt her. He was like
a beast who had been beaten too many times, still lashing out, still hurting.
But he would never hurt her. He would always keep her safe.

"Can
you forgive me, Simone? For acting like I did? For my anger, my cruelty?"

"Cruelty?"
she said. "No, Joe, you're not cruel. You're broken. Maybe I am too."
She laughed as she cried. "Maybe Mintari has to break you down before it
can rebuild you."

He
brushed back her hair and caressed her cheek. "The real monsters on
Mintari are not dinosaurs. They're humans. I thought you were a monster too. I
was so wrong. I trust you, Simone. I trust you."

He
closed his eyes, and they held each other in the darkness. Beside them, the
giganotosaurus slept on.

"Can
we start over?" Simone said.

Joe
frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The
Cloventia Gazette bugged my camera. As of this moment, I quit. Joe
Triplehorn? My name is Simone LaRue. I'm an innocent tourist here and
definitely not a journalist. It's very nice to meet you."

He
smiled. And for the first time, there seemed to be true joy in his smile.
"It's good to meet you, Ms. LaRue. I have a cave nearby. It's not much,
but I have a fireplace and food. There is a great big fool who lives there. And
he promises to never hurt you again."

She
took his hand. "I would love to see this cave."

Soon
enough, they were inside the Last Home Hollow, sitting by the crackling
fireplace, nursing mugs of tea. Surprisingly, the terrible Jurassic Joe made a
decent cuppa.

"So,
Ms. LaRue," he said. The firelight painted his face orange and gold.
"Now that you're merely a tourist, any plans for the rest of your stay
here on beautiful Mintari?"

She
cradled her mug, gazing into the fire. "Yes. I plan to fight Amissa
Triplehorn. Together, we'll stop her. And we'll save this world."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Healing

Figaro spent the
day with her grandmother, learning many things. Lifa was wise, even wiser than
Long Tooth, the oldest achillobator in the pack. Maybe even wiser than White
Tail, the pack matriarch who had died two winters ago, buried under an
avalanche. All day, Lifa taught Fig her wisdom. How to mix herbs into potent
medicine. How to build a campfire. How to season and cook meat so that it
tasted better, offered more nutrition, and would not upset the stomach. She
even gave Fig a special device made of something called "metal." When
Fig pressed part of it, a spark came out, and she could light kindling. So much
magic!

The
old woman also groomed Fig in a special human way. She placed Fig into a wooden
thing called a "barrel" and scrubbed her skin raw with something
called a "sponge," removing years of grime, dried blood, and scabs. A
strange substance called "soap" covered her body with suds. Next, the
shaman used something called a "comb" to remove the lice and knots
from her hair. After the hair was clean, Lifa placed a bowl atop Fig's head,
then cut around the edges with metal claws called "scissors." It was
certainly neater than the haircuts Fig would give herself in the wild.

She
even gave Figaro a remarkable thing called a "dress." It was woven of
fabric—same as the rug and bed. Fig hated it. It kept rubbing against her skin,
all itchy and annoying. The "shoes" were even worse. Fig steadfastly
refused to wear those and tossed them into the bushes. She kept pulling the
dress off too, hissing, growling, and snapping her teeth when Lifa tried to
force it back on. Finally Lifa came up with a brilliant idea. She pinned Fig's
collection of red bator feathers onto the dress. Until now, Fig had simply tied
the feathers to vines, then slung them loosely across her body. She had to
admit: pinning them to a fabric dress was more practical. Fig wore it. She
still refused the shoes, however.

While
all this was going on, Red Scar kept himself busy running through the forest,
hunting alone. At one point, he loped back toward the camp, holding a turtle in
his mouth. His jaws were muscular, full of sharp teeth, and large enough to
bite a man's arm off, but still Red Scar could not crack open the shell. He
flopped the turtle down at Fig's feet, then mewled.

Open?
Open it for me?

But
before Fig could even try, the turtle raced into the stream and swam away. Fig
had never known turtles could move so fast. But apparently, when the need arose,
they could sprint.

Red
Scar snorted in disgust, then ran back into the forest in search of an easier
meal. The achillobator ignored Lifa, not growling or hissing at the woman.
Humans were friends, he had learned. Not food.

After
all her grooming, Fig stepped into her grandmother's hut, where she examined
herself in the mirror. She barely recognized herself.

Her
skin was clean. Her bowl-shaped hair was combed and neat, no longer a wild
tangle full of leaves and lice. She wore actual clothes, not just feathers. A
bone bracelet encircled her wrist, while a leather thong hung around her neck,
engraved with coiling ivy. Her sickle claw hung from the necklace like a
pendant.

I
look like a human, Fig thought. Oh, there
were still red feathers strewn through her dress, and that sickle claw was pure
achillobator, but … yes, a human. All doubts vanished from her mind now.

I'm
human. Mina was my mother. Joe is my father. I am …

She
tried saying the word again. "Fi-ga-ro." She turned toward her
grandmother. "La-ffff."

"Lifa,"
the old woman said.

"La-ffff!"

The
old woman smiled. Wrinkles appeared across her face when she smiled, making her
very beautiful. "Try saying it slowly, syllable by syllable. Li …"

"Li!"
Fig blurted out.

"Fa."

"Ffff!
Li-ffffthh!" She ended up spraying saliva, then groaned and flopped onto
the floor. "Arrrrroooo!" I can't do it! My mouth is broken.

Lifa
laughed and stroked her hair. "Your tongue isn't used to making human
sounds. It'll come with time. Keep practicing. Okay?"

"Oaey!"
Fig grinned. That came out not half-bad.

"I
have something for you," Lifa said. "A birthright."

She
handed Figaro a ring with a large gleaming stone. The crystal was red with a
golden streak like a reptilian pupil.

"This
is a unique crystal that is found only on Mintari," Lifa said. "It
doesn't have a name. But I call it the dinosaur's eye. It does look like a
dinosaur's eye, doesn't it?"

Fig
nodded—a gesture she had learned from Lifa. "Yi."

Lifa
slipped the ring onto Fig's finger. "A perfect fit. Keep it. It belonged
to your mother. Her spirit will always be with you."

Fig's
eyes widened. She tapped the stone. "Mi-na?"

Lifa
nodded. "She wore it often. She would want you to have it."

Fig
admired the stone. It gleamed and seemed to watch her like a real eye. She
treasured it. Achillobators had no concept of jewelry. They lived for
practicality—eating, mating, surviving. But here in Lifa's hut, Fig had
discovered the concept of beauty. Lifa had hung dream catchers throughout her
home. Crystals covered her shelves. She wore jewelry of bone and tooth and
stone. Fig didn't understand why humans collected shiny, pretty things, but she
found them beautiful. Another sign of her humanity. She hugged her grandmother
and purred, her way of saying thank you.

"Your
mother would have been so proud of you," Lifa said. "You look so much
like her."

Suddenly
that horrible truth hit Fig harder than ever before.

My
mother is dead.

Tears
fled her eyes. Fig had never spent much time thinking about her mother. There
had been the shaman long ago, a caretaker and nurturer. There were the
achillobators. There was her grandmother. All these souls had touched her life.
Mina was a stranger to her, but now Fig mourned her loss, craved the love of a
mother, a love she had never felt.

Why
am I here? she wanted to ask. How did my mother
die? Who was the shaman who tended to me, and where are the other shamans?

She
didn't know how to speak those words. But one question, perhaps, she could ask.

"Fa-de?"

Lifa
wiped away Fig's tears. "What is that, sweetness?"

"Fa-de?"
Fig bounded toward the photo album, flipped it open, and pointed at the photo
of Joe. "Fa-de?" She looked around her as if seeking him.
"Fa-de?"

Where
is my father?

"I'll
show you where he is."

Lifa
unfolded a large parchment map. She placed it on the floor, holding down the
corners with a geode, pine cone, theropod tooth, and ammonite shell. Fig leaned
over and her eyes widened. She had never seen a map before, but intuitively,
she grokked it at once. What a wonder! She needed to learn to draw maps herself
in dirt. It would certainly help planning a hunt. She could not read the
captions, but she recognized the landscape. There was the gorge where
pterosaurs reigned, and there flowed the river where hadrosaurs came to drink.
She spotted the grasslands where allosaurs prowled and the forests where
stegosaurs roamed.

She
tapped a place on the map, then gestured around her. Then at the map again.
Then around her.

Lifa
nodded. "Yes, that's where we are. Excellent! You're a natural."

Fig
beamed. She had always had a good sense of direction. The pack trusted her.
Often she led them to watering holes and hunting grounds, never losing her way.

The
old shaman tapped a mountain on the map. "This is Mudge Mountain. It's not
far from here. Just across the forest and meadow. Your father lives in a cave
on the western slope."

"Fa-de!"
Fig leaped to her feet. "Fa-de, fa-de!" She grabbed Lifa's arm and
tried pulling her toward the door. "Yip yip, awooo!" Let's go!

Lifa
smiled thinly. "Figaro, I'd love to go with you. But I'm an old lady. I
walk with a cane, and I'm weary after my recent trek to the henge. Here in my
neck of the woods, I know how to mark my home and trails with herbs that hide
me from predators. But in the open … no, a limping old woman like me wouldn't last
long."

Fig
mimicked riding an achillobator, then pointed out the window. Ride Red Scar!

Lifa
laughed. "He's learned to tolerate me to a degree. But I'm still a
stranger. He would not let me ride him. Joe comes to visit me when he can. If
you wait here with me, you'll meet him on his next visit."

Fig
whined. I want to see him now!

"Wait!"
Lifa laughed harder. "The impatience of youth. Joe will be here sooner or
later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a week or two. But he will visit again."

A
week or two! Fig could not wait that long. And it wasn't just her impatience.

It
was the pack.

With
Red Scar away, Crooked Wing must be planning a coup. The big, barren female had
been gunning for leadership for a while now. She was always testing Red Scar,
nipping at his feathers, pecking at his food, testing her limits, probing for
weakness. With Red Scar away, she would make a grab for power. The pack would
not wait forever for Red Scar to return and assert his dominance. A few days
more, and they might not welcome him home. Crooked Wing would slash and bite
him, send him fleeing, and the pack would truly be hers.

Red
Scar must return to protect his throne. Now. But the old male would not leave
Fig, she knew. So long as she was away, he would stay with her. The tarry bator
was loyal to a fault. And it might cost him everything.

Fig
looked out the window. The scarred old predator was sticking his snout into the
stream, drinking and searching for fish. This was no life for a bator. He
needed to be with his pack, hunting big game. Fig had tried sending him away,
going so far as to toss stones near his feet. But he remained steadfastly by
her side.

Maybe
after Fig met her father, after she learned more about her heritage, she would
return to the pack. She would choose to live again among the achillobators. And
Red Scar would come with her, a king in exile returning to reclaim his throne.
Or maybe Fig would choose to remain with the humans, and Red Scar would
understand and agree to leave her, though it would break both their hearts. In
either case, Fig could not linger like this, teetering between two worlds. It
was not fair for her friend.

I'll
go to the mountain, she decided. I'll
ride Red Scar. I must leave Lifa today.

She
looked into her grandmother's eyes, not knowing how to communicate all this.
But Lifa seemed to understand. She held Fig's hand.

"Are
you sure, child? Are you sure you're ready to leave this place so soon?"

Fig
nodded. "Fi-ga-ro … ca … bik."

I'll
come back.

Lifa
sniffed. "I know. I'll prepare you a basket. Hang tight."

The
shaman filled a basket with fresh fruit, dry fish, jars of herbs, bags of nuts,
a bottle of water, and a few flowers—just for their beauty. Finally she gave
Fig one more thing. A long hug.

"I
love you, wild child," she whispered. "You'll never be alone
again."

I
was never alone, Fig thought. I had the pack. I
still do.

Outside,
she called Red Scar to her. He ran up on his two powerful legs, crouched, and
she climbed onto his back. They left Lifa's hut behind. But Fig knew that this
place would be an anchor for her, that Lifa would forever be in her heart. She
would return.

She
rode Red Scar through the forest and across the grassy plains. The mountains
soared in the distance, and the air kissed her cheeks. Already Fig felt a
little better. She had felt warm and loved in Lifa's hut. But also cramped.
Trapped. Here in the wilderness it was like a weight was lifted. The grass
rustled, the sun gilded the snowy mountaintops, and clouds of dactyls glided
above. Mintari was so beautiful. Fig could never live in a hut, hidden away
from such majesty.

Nature
was full of hunger, cold snow, punishing sunlight, dangerous insects, venomous
snakes, and vicious predators. Nature was constantly trying to kill you. Nature
made you fight every day, every moment to survive. Nature had left Figaro a
scrawny thing with scabs on her arms, hunger in her belly, and lice in her
hair. So why did riding here, leaving the hut behind, feel so right?

As
she rode Red Scar across the grasslands, she buried her hands in his feathers,
and more than ever, she felt herself trapped between two worlds. Between two
species. Between two families.

* * * * *

Lifa
stood outside her hut for a long time. Long after Figaro disappeared among the
trees, Lifa stood there, watching as if she could still see her granddaughter
in the distance. Grief and joy mixed inside her. She had not felt such joy
since Joe had been born. She had not felt such grief since Mina had died.

"This
will break you at first, Joe," she whispered. "But then it will heal
you. It will heal our family."

She
had kept her emotional storm hidden from Figaro, but now it flowed over her,
and tears rolled down her wizened cheeks.

Twice
Lifa's life had shattered. Thirty-two years ago, the first storm struck with
unforgiving fury.

She
had lived on Cloventia then. An expatriate. A Mintarian, wild at heart, trapped
in the electric jungle of floating skyscrapers where billions of humans
scuttled like bees in a hive. She had wilted there. But she had loved her
husband then. Loved his strength. Loved his unstoppable force of will. He
coated himself with steel armor, but she saw the broken shards of soul that
rattled inside.

She
had even left her homeworld for him, trapping herself in a world of steel and
glass, a caged beast who yearned for the sky. Yes, she had left her beloved
Mintari for Tobias Triplehorn. What a silly, lovestruck girl she had been!
Naive. Broken. Manipulated. She had given Tobias everything. Her life. Two
children from her womb. Her soul. She languished but she stayed for him,
trapped inside her neon cage.

Until
he built his wretched empire. Until leaving Mintari was not enough for Tobias
Triplehorn. Until he decided to build weapons and unleash hunters on her world.
All because of his trauma, his twisted need for revenge. Dinosaurs had killed
his parents, but leaving Mintari was not enough for him. No. He had left
Mintari behind, but Mintari's dinosaurs forever haunted his mind. And they
would not stop tormenting him until they were all dead.

The
storm raged over her. And Lifa left him. She returned to Mintari, taking her
son with her. Joe had been only a boy, and Amissa had been only a baby.

And
that innocent baby remained behind.

Lifa
had tried everything, every lawyer, every judge, she had gotten on her knees,
kissed Tobias's feet, begged him … but one child he kept. So Lifa had fled with
her son and with her guilt.

The
guilt crushed her. She had abandoned her daughter, and back on Mintari, instead
of finding her home, she found only self-loathing. She lived in Dinovia City
then, her childhood hometown, but she felt trapped, felt the eyes staring,
heard the whispers.

She
married a killer.

She
abandoned her daughter.

She
was a monster.

And
they were right. All those whispers were true.

So
Lifa had fled the city, and in the wilderness of Mintari, she met the wild
women who danced on the mountains and in the rain. They welcomed her. Taught
her how to heal, how to read the stars, how to worship the gods of Mintari. She
danced with them in the moonlight between the stones. And she raised her son in
the wild.

Those
were hard years. The life of a shaman was often a short one. There weren't many
old shamans on Mintari. They worshipped dinosaurs as gods, but some gods were
cruel. Some gods devoured them. Sometimes the shamans starved during a drought,
and sometimes they froze in winter. Sometimes venomous snakes and spiders
felled them. Sometimes ticks bit them, and they wasted away, rotting inside
until they died as skin and bones, riddled with parasites. Mintari was such a
beautiful killer.

So
many were gone. A shaman must have found the infant Figaro, then died like so
many others, leaving the girl alone in the wilderness. The shamans who had
taken Lifa in, who had taught the secrets of mud and stone and stars—they were
no more. They were a dying breed, but Lifa remained, living in her little hut,
hiding from her ghosts. Sometimes she felt like a mere husk of a woman, full of
rattling demons.

Yet
as the years went by, she slowly found peace. She learned to feel joy again.
The first white strands invaded her hair, and the first wrinkles tugged at the
corners of her eyes when she smiled. The guilt never left her, but she learned
to live with that guilt. And in those years, after so long in the dark, she
smiled often.

And
then a second storm hit.

Then
Mina died.

Joe
had always been strong like granite. And like granite, when struck just right,
he shattered.

He
too left the city, moved into the wilderness. But not to seek peace as a
shaman. He chose a different path. A path of war. He fought the poachers in the
wild. He killed. At night he nursed his pain in a dark cave, a wounded
predator. At dawn he fought again, defending his territory. And his territory
was Mintari.

Tobias
and Joe. Father and son. Both lost loved ones in the wilderness of Mintari. The
father chose to exterminate the dinosaurs. The son chose to protect them.

My
son survived that terrible night fifteen years ago,
Lifa thought. But Ivan took so much from him. Not just Mina but also his
joy, his peace, maybe his soul.

But
now came one who could heal him.

One
who could bring back joy to their family.

A
scrawny child of the wild. L'enfant sauvage. Fi-ga-ro. They had all
thought her dead, lost with her mother in the belly of the beast. But the gods
had brought her back, and Lifa knew the girl was a miracle.

Tobias
is lost forever down the path of shadows,
Lifa thought. Maybe Amissa is too. But maybe … maybe this can restore Joe to
the man that he was.

"Ride
well, my granddaughter," she whispered into the wind. "You are a
blessing from the gods."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

We Are at War

Amissa stood on
the mountaintop, her arm in a sling. Her astrolite idled nearby in the snow.
From up here, she could see for many miles across the wilderness of Mintari.
All the way across Skull Swamp, Mudge Mountain, Hell Valley, and Marshwood
Forest. Beyond those misty woods it awaited. Dinovia. The only city on this
planet. Headquarters of the Mintari Rangers.

The
Rangers had declared war on her. And war was war.

It
was time to muster her troops.

Amissa
had come to this world by herself. But she was not alone. Her soldiers were
already here.

She
fished her SmartSphere out of her pocket. The device bloomed in her hand,
expanding from flat circle to gleaming sphere. The round computer boasted many
functions. Amissa's favorite app was QuickFame, the NyxNet's most popular
social media platform. But her SmartSphere could do much more. It was a
compass, an encyclopedia, a flashlight, a wallet, a communicator, a map, and
ten thousand other things. Right now Amissa activated the scanner app. The
sphere hovered above her and spun around its axis, scanning the landscape.

Triplehorn
Incorporated sold many products to hunters. Rifles and shotguns and knives—of
course. But also belt buckles, hiking boots, camouflage jackets, thermal tents,
trail mix, sleeping bags, and a hundred other products hunters needed. Each
product emitted a distinct signal, allowing Triplehorn HQ to track their
hunters in the wilderness. Well, not the trail mix. But the engineers were
working on that one too.

As
heiress to the clan, Amissa could access this feature. Her SmartSphere now
scanned for any Triplehorn product within range. And there they were. A dozen
lights on the map. A dozen hunters loyal to her clan. Here within her reach.

Amissa
grabbed the SmartSphere, turned off the scanner, and switched to camera mode.
She tossed the sphere a few meters ahead. It hovered before her, filming her
standing atop the snowy mountaintop, the wind in her hair.

This
time she did not stream a video for her millions of fans. This time she
broadcast her words on a private channel. She contacted only the dozen.

"Hunters!
This is your girl, Amissa Triplehorn. Ladies and gentlemen, we are at war. Meet
me at Dead Eye Crater tonight at sundown. And I will lead you to victory."

She
hung up.

She
got in her astrolite and flew.

The
landscape sprawled below, rich with life. Forests spread into the horizons.
Sauropods and ceratopsians herded across the plains, eating everything in their
path. Flocks of pterosaurs filled the sky. This planet was a cornucopia of
things to kill. But first Amissa must rid Mintari of the Rangers.

North
of Skull Swamp, past the volcano range and the basalt sea, she saw it. Dead Eye
Crater. A charred, lifeless depression in the land. No trees or grass grew
there. No dinosaurs roamed within that shadowy bowl. Even the very dust was
dead, and no worms or insects burrowed through it. Some tour guides said the
crater was radioactive. They would bring no tourists near. Some Rangers said
the crater was haunted. They feared to tread that barren land.

Dead
Eye Crater. A good place for hunters to meet.

They
call us poachers, Amissa thought. They
say we're monsters. But we are predators. And they are prey. We will bring them
down.

Most
hunters could not afford astrolites. Not even tricopters, simple flying
machines that couldn't even reach space. So Amissa arrived at the crater first.
She landed her astrolite in the center, stepped out, and looked around.

It's
like landing on an alien world, Amissa thought.

The
crater was only about the size of a football stadium, but standing inside, one
felt isolated. The crater's rim hid the forests, meadows, and grasslands of
Mintari. One could see no life from here. No growing things. No animals. Not
even pterosaurs dared fly over Dead Eye Crater. A towering volcano, located a
few miles away, was tall enough to see from down here. Its vent was leaking
lava and belching smoke, cloaking the sky.

It
feels like standing on a lifeless gray planet,
Amissa thought.

She
could not see the sun behind the smoke. But Nyx seemed to be setting, and
darkness spread across the crater like tar. Before long, the only light came from
the volcano vent.

Then—new
lights. High on the crater's stony lip.

Headlights.
A jippi. A big one too. Its wheels were the height of a man, and its cargo hold
could carry an elephant. Its cowcatcher could knock down a brontosaurus. The
juggernaut came trundling down into the crater, blasting smoke, and stopped
beside Amissa.

The
door opened, and a rawboned man emerged. He wore a black coat and a
wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face. He walked with his head lowered like a
man used to hiding his face. Bandoleers crisscrossed his chest, and two rifles
hung across his back. Spurs jangled on his dino-skin boots. When he reached
Amissa, he finally looked up, revealing a leathery face with sharp cheekbones,
a jutting chin, and a wide mouth full of big yellow teeth. He gave her a sickly
grin.

"Amissa
Triplehorn." His voice was like gravel crunching underfoot. "My, my.
The queen is here."

She
nodded. "Hello, Rattlesnake. Catch any dinos lately?"

His
grin widened, but no light filled his eyes. He had the eyes of a shabu addict.
Eyes that were pure black, no white to them at all. The drug painted your
insides black too, they said. Rattlesnake licked his yellow teeth. "A few.
Look into the back of the jippi."

Amissa
pointed her flashlight into the jippi's cargo hold. Her eyes widened in
delight. "My goodness, it's huge! What is that, a triceratops?"

Rattlesnake
nodded. "A big male bull. His head is eight feet long from beak to frill.
Barely fit in the cargo hold. Wish I could have taken the body, but I'd need a
bigger jippi." He barked a laugh. "The head will do nicely. I plan to
place it in my living room."

Amissa
whistled appreciatively. "If you can find a starship willing to smuggle it
back to Cloventia."

"I
have my contacts."

Yes,
Amissa knew about the smugglers. A network of criminal organizations trafficked
hunting trophies from the nature worlds to Cloventia. The Triplehorns knew all
the bosses by name. Had them on speed dial. If anyone asked, of course, they
were outlaw scum who had nothing to do with a reputable company like Triplehorn
Inc. The silk emperors did not tolerate crime. And their silken robes hid many
poison blades.

More
lights shone above, interrupting Amissa's thoughts. Another vehicle came
rumbling down into the crater. Another jippi. But this one was unusually small.
Barely larger than an antique sedan.

The
diminutive jippi rumbled to a halt beside them. One of the shortest women
Amissa had ever seen hopped out. The top of her head didn't even reach Amissa's
shoulders. She sported two blond braids, a tiny armored vest, and an enormous
shotgun. The rifle was longer than her. The little huntress held it like a medieval
pike. Her name was Avril Laurent, but everyone called her La Petite
Princesse.

"Bonjour,
mon chéri," Amissa said.

La
Petite Princesse grinned. "Amissa, my
darling!" She hugged her. "Good to see ya, queen. Loved the nodosaur
video! Shame about the supersaurus fail. You needed me there. I would have
taken the giant down." She winked.

If
any other hunter had ribbed her this way, Amissa would have put a bullet
through them. But she liked La Petite Princesse. She didn't take it
personally.

"I'm
sure you would have, little one."

"Hey!"
Princesse glowered. "I'm not so petite with this gun."

Typical
Napoleon complex, Amissa figured. What better way to compensate for her height?
She was no taller than a child. So she hunted the biggest animals that ever
lived.

Engines
roared.

Two
enormous motorcycles thundered down into the crater. Each bike was the size of
a horse, and their tires were like those of a jippi's.

"Ah,
the Guldner brothers are here!" said La Petite Princesse.

The
men riding the motorcycles were shockingly obese. Each man wore a leather
jacket, ripped jeans, and a bandanna. Their long beards fluttered in the wind.
The skulls of saber-toothed tigers adorned their motorcycles.

"Weak
men," hissed Rattlesnake. "Big bikes. Big guts. Few kills."

"They
kill enough to stay well fed, old friend," Amissa said.

The
Guldners did collect some trophies. But they primarily hunted for food. They
had no appetite for the synthetic meats you found in Cloventian grocery stores.
They craved the meat of legendary beasts, devouring tigers, mammoths, and
dinosaurs.

More
hunters arrived.

There
was Madame Maria, a towering woman, close to seven feet tall. She wore a black
velvet gown, a ruby choker, and opera gloves. Her midnight hair billowed in the
breeze, and her arched eyebrows rose as she regarded the "little
ones" with amusement. Next to Madame Maria, they were all small like La
Petite Princesse.

The
Scarred Man was here. That was what they all called him. He could not speak,
and they did not know his name. Long ago, some ruthless predator had clawed and
deformed his face. Now the Scarred Man could not speak, could not eat anything
thicker than paste. Most of his face was gone. But his eyes were unharmed.
Pale, pitiless eyes, almost colorless, completely emotionless.

The
triplets were here too. They were willowy, pale women with long platinum hair.
Their blue eyes were sunken, their cheeks gaunt. If Amissa hadn't known them
better, she would mistake them for corpses. Maybe ghosts. They appeared
weightless as they fluttered ahead. Their bare feet didn't seem to touch the
ground. The triplets said little, ate little, slept little, and killed a lot.
Despite their frail appearance, they were among the deadliest hunters in the
galaxy. Their home on planet Dagon brimmed with skeletons of their hunts—a
museum dedicated to killing the most wonderful creatures in the galaxy.

Tomahawk
had come. He was an enormously muscular man, almost as broad as he was tall,
and covered in tattoos. He looked like he could flip over a triceratops. A
crest of red hair topped his otherwise bald head, four rifles hung across his
back, and a dozen knives were strapped to his legs. Grenades dangled from his
belt. Tomahawk had been a soldier once. He had fought on the battlefields of
Earth, hunting down warlords. On Mintari he found more exciting prey.

Last
to arrive were Buster and the Bean. Whenever those ones showed up, Amissa could
not suppress a shudder. Buster was a handsome young man, athletic, tanned, with
coiffed blond hair and a smile full of white teeth. The Bean was his twin. His
parasitic twin. He grew out of Buster's chest, small and lumpy and cackling.
His little arms were like the arms of a T-rex, and they held handguns. Among
the two, Bean was far deadlier. Buster didn't even like hunting. He simply
carried his sadistic little brother around.

They
were all here.

The
cabal of hunters gathered in the crater. Together, they numbered thirteen.
Small for an army. Barely a squadron. But they were the deadliest killers this
planet had ever known.

Amissa
cleared her throat.

"Ladies,
gentlemen, freaks, and friends!" she cried out. "Thank you for
gathering here."

"What
do you want?" grumbled one of the Guldner brothers. His mouth was hidden
inside his great bushy beard. He slapped his ample belly, jangling his
bandoleer. "We're hungry. We want to get back to hunting."

Bean
cackled. It was a high-pitched, deranged sound. "Stop thinking of your
gut, Guldner! Looks like you've eaten a brontosaurus already." The little
parasitic twin cackled louder.

"At
least my belly doesn't have a psychopath growing from it!" Guldner
snapped.

"Boys,
boys, please!" Amissa said, raising her hands overhead. "We're all on
the same side here. We're all hunters. We're proud to be hunters. We came to
Mintari because this is the greatest hunting ground in the galaxy. We face a
common foe. The Mintari Rangers."

"Boo,
hiss!" La Petite Princesse said, coning her diminutive hands around
her mouth.

"They
are naughty troublemakers," said Madame Maria. At seven feet tall, she
towered over the others. She smiled crookedly. "I would love to teach them
some manners."

The
Bean cackled, twitching in delight on his brother's torso. "Slice the
Rangers up! Slice and dice them! Give them to the dinosaurs to eat! Or to the
fat biker twins, yes!" His high-pitched cackle echoed through the crater.

"The
Rangers tried to kill me," Amissa said. "They've tried to kill all of
us. We all know people who fell in this war. And make no mistake. We are at
war."

Rattlesnake's
thin lip curled in a snarl. "The Rangers must fall."

"They
will fall," Amissa said. "I have a plan. Listen carefully, my fellow
hunters. This is how we take them down …"

* * * * *

It
must all happen at once. A synchronized attack.

The
thirteen of them together—they would get it done.

It
took a lot of planning. Some bickering. Some returns to the drawing board. But
as night fell, they were ready. They would do what no hunters had ever done
before.

Attack
the Rangers on their own turf.

Amissa
crouched in the grass. The night was dark. Clouds hid the twin moons. But from
where she hid, Amissa could see the towering wall that surrounded Dinovia City.
Rangers manned the battlements like ancient soldiers. Spotlights scanned the
valley where Amissa hid, but they would not find a small human hiding in the
tall grass. The Rangers were there to protect their city from carnivorous
dinosaurs. They had no idea of the true predators who lurked in the shadows.

Several
lines of defenses surrounded Dinovia City. First there was an electric fence.
It could deliver a shock powerful enough to stun a T-rex. Two generators inside
the city kept the juice flowing. Next was a moat. Rumor had it that predatory
beasts lurked in the dark waters. A drawbridge, currently pulled up, was the
only way across. Next came the towering brick wall. Rangers stood there, armed
with sleep-or-dies. They were trained to fire on any predator who approached
the city. Sometimes pterosaurs flew near, but just the sound of a gunshot sent
them fleeing. Fence. Moat. Wall. Rangers. Amissa must take them all down.

She
planned an invasion of Dinovia City. An invasion from the ground, delivering
ruthless punishment and devastation. She would bring this city to its knees.

She
crouched lower in the grass. Crickets chirped and a cold breeze stung her
cheeks. Amissa unfolded her SmartSphere, held it in her palm, and broadcast a
message to her fellow hunters.

"They
will never hurt us again," she said. "For years, they came to our
territory. They attacked us in the forests and fields. They murdered our
brothers and sisters. Now we bring the war to them. Are you ready,
hunters?"

They
reported in one by one over a secure channel.

They
were ready.

"Let's
roll," Amissa said.

* * * * *

The
clock struck midnight, and Ronald yawned. Why had he agreed to take the night
shift? Oh right, better pay. He wasn't thinking straight. How could he at this
hour? He was exhausted.

Struggling
to keep awake, he popped the lid on his thermos and took a long, luxurious sip
of coffee. Lots of sugar. Lots of cream. It would keep him awake until the next
sip. He stretched, and the buttons on his shirt nearly popped. Tarry shirt
shrunk in the laundry again. He took another sip of creamy, sugary goodness.

Being
a Mintari Ranger wasn't all glamour and adventure. Sure, some guys like
Jurassic Joe were practically folk heroes. That dude wrestled dinosaurs and
rescued damsels all day long. But other Rangers, like Ronald here—they did the
grunt work. They couldn't all be legends. But if you asked Ronald, they were
all heroes.

An
electric fence surrounded Dinovia City, keeping dinosaurs out. It was the
city's first line of defense against the predators who prowled the wilderness.
A generator pumped power to the electric fence day and night. Somebody had to
guard that generator. Ronald was that somebody. Like all Rangers, he wore a tan
uniform and ceratop hat. Just like the action figures. Ronald almost felt like
a hero.

He
tucked his thumbs into his belt, feeling proud of his duty. Clearly his kids
didn't appreciate his heroism. If you asked his teenage daughter, he was
"totally lame." But tar it, Ronald sipped his coffee, and he stayed
awake, and he manned his post.

It
was a little past midnight when the girl appeared.

Ronald
had just wandered back from brewing a second pot of coffee. He had only left
his post for a moment. He had to. It was get coffee or fall asleep. Coffee won.
When he returned to the generator, his thermos refilled, the girl was there.

"Wha—
Who are you?"

The
girl was facing the generator, her back turned toward him. She wore a pink
dress, and ribbons adorned her pigtails. In one hand, she held a lollipop the
size of a saucer. In the other hand, she held huge clippers. Ignoring Ronald,
the girl was busy cutting cables in the generator. Snip snip. Cable after
cable. As she worked, she sang a tune. "Ring-a-ring-a-rosies. A pocket
full of posies. A tissue, a tissue. We all fall d—"

"Hey,
what are you doing!" Ronald said.

The
girl froze, her clippers poised over another cable. "Just disabling the
electric fence, sir."

"Stop
that!" Ronald grabbed her by the shoulder.

She
spun toward him, and he stumbled back, eyes wide. It wasn't a little girl after
all. She was a grown woman but very short. The height of a child.

"Oh,
sir, but I just love to cut things." She snapped her clippers. "Arts
and crafts, you see."

Ronald
blinked, confused for a moment. Where was all the blood gushing from?

That's
when he realized his fingers were no longer gripping her shoulder. They were on
the floor. He opened his mouth to scream. But the clippers closed around his
neck. And the scream came out as a gurgle.

La
Petite Princesse smiled, covered in blood. She lifted
the fallen thermos of coffee and sipped. Ah, nice and sweet!

She
pulled out her SmartSphere and called her boss. "My queen! Your little
saboteur reports. The generator is down."

On
the holographic screen, Amissa Triplehorn smiled. "Good work, mon
chéri."

La
Petite Princesse licked her lollipop.

* * * * *

Crouching
in the fields, Amissa tossed a pebble at the electric fence. It buzzed. Still
working. Even after La Petite Princesse's bloody sabotage.

The
Rangers were stupid, yes, but they had taken some precautions. They had a
backup generator.

Not
a problem. She had a man on the job. A man-and-a-half even. Amissa watched
through her SmartSphere.

On
the other side of town, another guard manned his post. He was an elderly man.
Eighty-two years young. He walked with a cane, and his hearing wasn't what it
used to be. But he was still a Ranger, and he would not retire until they
nailed his coffin shut. He wore the uniform and hat with pride.

When
he was younger, he used to go out on dangerous missions. To fight poachers. To
save dinosaurs caught in traps. He had shot and killed three hunters throughout
his career, and he had put the fear of God in a thousand others. Years ago,
when somebody broke into his house, he shot him too. He was a tough old
bastard, and his knuckles were still scarred from his days as a boxer.

In
recent years, he didn't sleep much. One curse of being old was lack of sleep.
So he volunteered to take a few night shifts. To guard the city. They stuck him
here in some back alley. Left him to guard a generator. Ha! Well, it wasn't as
glamorous as manning the wall, but he took the job. At least he wasn't in bed,
staring at the ceiling, the empty half of the bed so cold beside him. Since his
wife had died, the bed always felt so tarry empty.

He
was remembering the old days, reliving a boxing match he had won, when a
shadowy figure approached.

The
old man narrowed his eyes.

"Who
goes there?"

The
figure stepped closer. A young man in a trench coat. A lad with blond hair and
an easy smile.

"Hello
there, Gramps!"

"What
do you want?" the old Ranger growled. "This area is restricted. Get
the hell outta here, kid."

The
young man raised his eyebrows, never losing his smile. "Calm down, old
fella! I'm looking for the backup generator. That it behind ya?"

The
old man grunted. "I'll tell you what you're looking for, punk. Trouble.
And you found it." He drew his sidearm. "Now get lost before I put a
hole in your gut."

The
young man finally lost his smile. "You mean … this gut?"

He
pulled open his trench coat.

The
old man gasped.

A
deformed creature grew from the young man's abdomen. It looked like some sort
of conjoined twin. The face was bloated, the eyes yellow, the arms short and
stunted. That's all there was. Just a face and two tiny arms.

"What
the hell is that?" the old man cried.

The
parasitic twin held a gun in each hand. He fired.

The
old man fell. He never even got a shot off.

"Justice,"
said Bean. The little hunter fired again. This time at the backup generator. It
buzzed and went dark.

Bean
called Amissa and cackled. "We got it down."

* * * * *

When
Amissa tossed another pebble, it clanged against the fence without a spark. The
electricity was gone.

"Excellent
work, hunters!" she said, transmitting the message via SmartSphere.

"No
problem, big sis," said La Petite Princesse.

"My
pleasure, toots," said Bean.

The
Rangers on the wall probably didn't notice the power going down. But the
Rangers inside the control room, several blocks away from the wall, most
certainly did. They were all tired and bored, sipping coffee to get them
through the night shift. The radio was playing old Mintarian folk songs—music
for the soul. An array of monitors displayed views from security cameras atop
the fence.

The
Rangers had been sitting in this control room for hours. They did every night,
sipping their coffee and watching their monitors. It was usually boring.
Sometimes a curious iguanodon approached the electric fence, got a shock, and
fled. The tyrannosaurs and raptors had quickly learned to avoid the fence; they
were clever creatures. The pterosaurs had learned to fly around the city rather
than over it. Only the iguanodons never seemed to learn. Dumb creatures. It was
said that stegosaurus was the dumbest dinosaur, but at least they didn't
repeatedly shock themselves.

So
far, the night shift was quiet in the control room. The Rangers were still
hoping for some excitement tonight. Maybe a bigger, meaner dinosaur would try
the fence. Everyone kept dreaming of a giganotosaurus testing the fence—that
would really be something—but the big brutes were rare, and none had wandered
near Dinovia in decades.

Then
the monitors all shut down.

The
Rangers blinked, confused.

"What
the hell?" somebody said.

"The
power is down!" said another.

"Get
the backup generator going!"

"Why
isn't Hank answering?"

"Ronald,
you there?"

"What's
going on?"

They
didn't know about La Petite Princesse and the Bean. The way they didn't
know that two big, hairy bikers were heading their way.

Seconds
after the power went down, the windows to the control room shattered. Two
enormous motorcycles crashed into the room, destroying all in their path—chairs,
desks, monitors, and Rangers.

Two
obese men rode the motorcycles. They wore leather jackets, bandannas, and
sunglasses. Their long beards flowed in the wind. Before their motorcycles even
touched the ground, each man drew a handgun that was almost the size of a
rifle. They opened fire, filling the room with bullets.

Every
Ranger knew them. They were infamous poachers with an appetite for dinosaur
meat. The Guldner twins.

A
few Rangers managed to raise their guns, to open fire. They hit one of the brothers,
but beneath his leather jacket, he wore a bulletproof vest. He didn't even fall
off his motorcycle. Within moments, it was all over.

The
Guldner brothers walked across the floor, killing the wounded. Blood mixed with
steaming-hot coffee. They called Amissa. "The control room is ours."

* * * * *

A
mile away, Rangers manned the walls and guard towers, protecting Dinovia City.
They heard the gunshots. But when they tried to call the other Rangers, their
communicators failed. Without the control room, they were cut off. The night
was dark. The spotlights were dead. They could barely see anything in the
fields beyond the walls. They were blind.

A
handful of Rangers crowded atop the wall to discuss. Their flashlights painted
their faces an eerie white. They knew something was up. The power going out.
The gunshots. The jammed communicators.

"Somebody
is messing with us," muttered a young Ranger.

"We're
under attack!" said another.

"Hold
your horses," said Don, the highest-ranking guard on duty. "This isn't
a war zone. Nobody has ever attacked Dinovia City. Unless you mean a few
dinosaurs clawing at the fence during power outages."

"Dinosaurs
don't fire guns."

"Could
just be a popping sound from the generators dying," offered Gary, a Ranger
with a bushy gray beard.

"All
right, boys." Don grabbed his sleep-or-die. "I'm going to the
control room to take a look. Stay on the wall. I'll holler if I—"

He
blinked and stared.

"What
the hell?" whispered Gary, standing at his side. "You seeing this
too, Don?"

Don
saw it. Three young women, standing on the wall. Identical. Triplets. They wore
pale white dresses that did not move in the wind. Their skin was colorless,
their eyes sunken. They couldn't have been older than Don's daughters, but
their hair was white as snow.

"Ghosts,"
whispered Don.

The
triplets all tilted their heads as one, a perfectly synchronized movement. They
spoke in unison.

"We
are the living. You will be the dead."

They
raised their hands. They held long, cruel blades. For the first time, their dead
expressions cracked.

They
smiled.

The
Rangers didn't even have time to aim their guns. The triplets flowed over them,
around them, through them. Blades lashed necks. Guns clattered to the courtyard
below, unfired.

A
few seconds later, the bodies of Rangers thumped down beside the fallen guns.
Their necks were slit open.

Standing
atop the walls, the triplets raised three lanterns with ghostly lights within.
The signal to their leader.

In
the darkness beyond the wall, Amissa saw and smiled.

* * * * *

Not
far away from where the dead Rangers fell, living Rangers manned the city gate.

They
heard the clatters and thumps from the shadows. When they turned to
investigate, the Rangers found themselves facing the tallest woman they had
ever seen.

The
group of Rangers, all of them tall men, gaped in wonder. They didn't even reach
this woman's shoulders. She wore a black gown, and her long raven hair spilled
out from under a wide-brimmed hat. A red jewel shone on her choker, and sweet
perfume wafted from her pale skin.

"Hello,
boys," she purred, swaying closer. She wore opera gloves from whose tips
sprouted steel blades.

"Stay
right where you are, ma'am," said a Ranger.

But
she sauntered closer. Her perfume intoxicated the senses. Her low-cut dress
helped too.

"It's
her," whispered another Ranger. "The famous poacher. Madame
Maria."

The
towering woman pouted. Her lips were the color of Pinot Noir.
"Poacher?" She stroked the Ranger's cheek. Her steel claws scraped
along his skin. "I prefer the term huntress. I hunt animals. And I hunt
men."

She
smiled, licked her lips, and slashed her claws.

Blood
splattered Madame Maria's black dress. She licked her claws, savoring the
coppery taste.

The
other Rangers raised their sleep-or-dies. But Madame Maria moved with remarkable
speed for her size. Before they could pull the triggers, she was spraying her
crystal perfume bottle. Puff. Puff. Puff. Golden powder filled the night,
scented of honey and lilac.

The
Rangers' fingers slipped off their triggers. They smiled sleepily and wobbled
on their feet.

"Go
to bed, boys," Madame Maria said. "You've had a long day."

They
thumped onto the ground, snoring. The madame decided to let these ones live.
They had not insulted her, and she was not a monster. Maybe later she would play
with them. But not yet. The night was still young, and Madame Maria had a lot
of chaos to wreak.

She
walked around the snoring boys, stepping on one's hand with a crunch,
and approached the gateway. Wooden doors towered before her, even taller than
her. They were thick, banded with iron, and locked for the night. She would
deal with that later.

First,
an easier task. Lowering the drawbridge over the moat.

She
stood inside the city behind the defensive wall. The drawbridge was outside—just
behind the heavy locked doors. A motor normally lowered the drawbridge, but
with the power dead, the motor was dead too.

No
worries. Two huge chains, accessible from here, kept the drawbridge raised.
Maria flexed her fingers.

The
chains were forged from solid steel. Maria grabbed them. Her hands were
enormous. Her muscles bulged. She had the strength of three grown men. She
strained, twisting one link in the chain until it bent and popped open.

The
drawbridge swayed.

She
approached the second chain, grabbed a link, and grimaced. Veins popped on her
neck. She let out a growl … and she twisted this link too.

Both
chains tore free.

From
this side of the wall, she could not see the drawbridge crash down. But she
heard it. It made a spectacular sound.

Madame
Maria climbed onto the wall and stared downward. The drawbridge spanned the
moat. Perfect.

Now
there was just the issue of opening the heavy doors. Normally, another set of
motors opened these towering doors. But with the power out, the controls were
dead. The doors were designed to stop a charging dinosaur. They were too heavy
even for Madame Maria to force open.

She
would need some help.

She
pulled out her SmartSphere. "Tomahawk? It's your turn."

* * * * *

Tomahawk
stood a foot shorter than Madame Maria, but he was even stronger, which was
saying something. Instead of milk, the man poured protein shakes over his
cereal. Instead of munching on popcorn, he snacked on steroids. He was almost
as wide as he was tall. Often, Tomahawk hunted with his bare hands. Once, he
had strangled a tiger to death. He used to be a wrestler, but no human foe
could defeat him. So he turned to battling animals. Even dinosaurs.

Tonight
he would battle heavy wooden doors.

The
big hunter stood inside the city. The doors were closed for the night. A few
hours ago, Tomahawk had sneaked into the city, hitching a ride in a tourist
jippi. A few of his fellow hunters had slithered into Dinovia with him.
Entering the city was surprisingly easy, even for a big, beefy poacher.

But
there was a surprise outside, waiting in the fields. Something even bigger than
Tomahawk. Too big to smuggle in. The doors must come falling down.

Tomahawk
took a few steps back, lowered his head, then ran.

He
barreled into the doors … then stumbled back, groaning.

The
double doors hadn't even budged. Not so much as a crack marred the wood.

Tomahawk
snorted and shook his head wildly. He stepped back farther this time. He leaned
forward, pursed his lips, and charged.

He
slammed into the doors with all the might in his massive, muscular body.

Not
even a crack.

Tomahawk
found himself sitting on the ground, stunned. Stars danced before his eyes.

"What
the heck?" he muttered. He had knocked down doors before with ease. He had
crashed through a brick wall once. He had yanked doors off cars, wrestled
crocodiles to submission, and once—admittedly after a few drinks—killed a
gorilla with his bare hands. He was renowned for his great strength, but this
door still stood.

Impossible.
He would not let a mere door defeat him!

He
moved all the way down the block this time, then sprinted and slammed himself
into the door.

He
fell.

His
eyes rolled back.

As
he lay unconscious on the ground, Madame Maria sighed. The doors had won this
battle.

Her
SmartSphere rang. It was the Scarred Man. He stared at her from the screen. A
dinosaur had mauled his face long ago. He could not speak now. His lower jaw
was still mangled, his mouth covered in scars. But the mute man managed to
smile.

When
the camera panned out, Madame Maria's eyes widened. She hurriedly stepped away
from the doors.

These
doors were going down.

* * * * *

The
Scarred Man drove his jippi across the grasslands. He gripped the steering
wheel with scarred fingers, their tips missing. The dinosaur attack had savaged
more than his face. Dinosaurs had deformed him. Crippled him. He got his
revenge on the beasts every day. Someday they would all die, and he would be
fully avenged.

But
for now, he needed the dinosaur that rode in the back of his jippi. This
dinosaur would serve him well.

He
adjusted his rearview mirror. He could see the dinosaur chained behind him in
the jippi. A pachycephalosaurus.

They
were small dinosaurs, no larger than horses, and herbivorous. They had no sharp
claws, no deadly fangs. But they were among the most feared dinosaurs on
Mintari. Their weapons were their heads.

Bony
domes topped their skulls, ten inches thick. These enormous helmets sprouted
spikes and knobs. The dinosaurs used their fearsome domes to attack predators,
rival males, trees, boulders—anything that irked them. Which was most things.
Pachycephalosaurus was essentially a living battering ram.

Thankfully,
the one riding in the Scarred Man's jippi was chained. Like this, he was
harmless. But once unleashed, the domehead would hit the city like a hurricane.

The
Scarred Man parked his jippi outside the towering doors of Dinovia City. He got
out, pulled a spray can from his pocket, and began spraying the wooden doors.
In the can, he carried the musk of another pachycephalosaurus. A big, strong
male, seeking a female to mate with.

During
mating season, the domeheads fought constantly. Males headbutted each other,
competing for the females. The fights were the classic example of an immovable
object hitting an unstoppable force. They were a sight to behold.

The
thickness of their skulls left little room for brains. The domeheads were dumb
dinosaurs. They lived to eat, to breed, and mostly to ram into things. Such as
a rival male during mating season. Or a door that smelled like a rival male.

The
Scarred Man unchained his captive dinosaur.

And
the pachycephalosaurus ran.

The
dinosaur drove his bony dome into the doors of Dinovia City.

The
doors jolted and cracked.

The
domehead stepped back, shook his head wildly, then charged and rammed the doors
again. Wooden splinters flew.

A
third time the dinosaur rammed into the doors … and the doors shattered.

The
domehead tumbled into the city with a shower of wood. He rose, looked around,
and snorted in triumph. In his tiny brain, a simple thought arose.

That'll
show him.

Now
where was that female?

* * * * *

The
electric fence was powerless. The drawbridge was down. The doors were
shattered. The Rangers were in the dark.

Amissa
rose from the tall grass. She stood straight, stared at the city, and smiled.

"You're
mine now, Dinovia."

She
thought of those who had come before her. Brave hunters. Nature lovers.
Outdoorsmen. Adventurers. They had come here to Mintari only for the Rangers to
shoot them dead. This was not just about her. Not just about Triplehorn Inc.
This was for her fallen brothers and sisters.

The
city's defenses were down. It was time to strike.

Amissa
lifted her SmartSphere. "Rattlesnake, are you ready?"

On
the screen, she saw his gaunt face. He grinned a cadaverous grin. "Ready.
Here they come."

Excitement
tingled through Amissa. This was going to be good.

She
hung up, then tossed the SmartSphere into the air. It hovered above the dark
field, filming her, the grasslands, and the city walls.

"Hello,
Tripletots! It's just past midnight here on Mintari. I'm standing outside
Dinovia City, the headquarters of the Mintari Rangers. Not long ago, the
Rangers attacked me. They fired on me. They almost killed me. I was lucky. I
survived. But many proud hunters are gone. Tonight we hunters strike back. I
want you to watch this, my fans and my haters. This is what happens when you
declare war on Amissa Triplehorn."

For
a moment, the camera filmed only darkness. The grass rustled in the breeze.

Then,
in the distance, a few miles away from the city—headlights.

A
low rumble rose. Not the rumble of a dinosaur. Not yet. The rumble of a motor.

The
jippi gained speed. It rattled across the grasslands, heading toward the city.

Amissa
tapped buttons on her watch, operating the floating SmartSphere. The camera
zoomed in, revealing a pale, gaunt man in the driver's seat. His grin revealed
his yellow teeth.

Rattlesnake
increased speed, roaring in his jippi toward the city.

The
camera rose higher, revealing what lay chained inside the jippi.

Eggs.
A hundred eggs or more, secured with rope. Amissa recognized those eggs at
once. She knew them by their size, their brown shell flecked with orange.

T-rex
eggs.

Dinosaurs
had roamed Earth for two hundred million years before their shocking
extinction. Over that time, they had evolved a fanatical, all-consuming need to
protect their offspring. It was their strongest instinct. It trumped everything
else—hunger, pain, fear. A dinosaur must protect the next generation. Thus had
they survived for so long, grown so strong. Their parental instinct was a force
of nature.

A
dinosaur would stop at nothing to reclaim stolen eggs.

Rattlesnake
drove faster, charging straight toward the smashed doors. The scent of the eggs
wafted behind his jippi. Amissa could not smell it. But to a dinosaur, it would
be an intoxicating lure.

In
the distance, the forest rustled.

Trunks
cracked.

Conifers
crashed down.

And
there they came. They emerged from the forest, rumbling, racing after the
jippi.

A
pack of T-rexes.

Five
of them at first. Then two more burst out from the forest. Then several more.
They were slower than a jippi, but they ran faster than an Olympic sprinter.
They charged across the grass, consumed with fury. All they thought about was
getting their eggs … and killing anything in their path.

Amissa
was not in their path. They ran right by her, ignoring her. She stood no taller
than their knees. The T-rexes were truly enormous. Truly magnificent. They were
the greatest predators that ever lived, and Amissa gazed in awe as the pack
thundered by her.

Across
the galaxy, her fans watched. The comment section was dead. Everyone was simply
staring in wonder.

"These
creatures will destroy the city," Amissa whispered. "These creatures
can destroy a world."

For
a second, regret filled her. Hundreds might die. Maybe thousands. But she
hardened her heart. It wasn't her fault if innocent people died. The Rangers
had started this war.

"The
blood that spills tonight is on you, Joe Triplehorn," she whispered.
"Behold the might of Mintari. Behold Tyrannosaurus rex."

The
pack was almost at the gates now.

A
deafening grumble rose from the trees.

Amissa
turned around. One more T-rex emerged from the forest.

He
was larger than the others. Much larger. His scales were not brownish green but
as black as tar. His eyes blazed red like two torches. The beast ran, his
enormous claws cleaving the earth, shattering boulders and fallen logs. His
low-pitched grumble rolled across the land like thunder.

Amissa
lost her breath.

"Beautiful,"
she whispered, tears in her eyes. "He's beautiful."

She
recognized this T-rex from the stories. He had not been seen in years, but it
had to be him. The legend. The King of Mintari.

The
T-rex that had devoured Joe's wife. The T-rex that would bring down the Rangers
once and for all.

Ivan
ran ahead of the pack, thundered across the drawbridge, and stormed through the
shattered doors into the city.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sneaking Around

Earlier that day,
several hours before the tyrannosaurs broke into Dinovia City, a much smaller
predator hid in a tree.

She
was an odd predator. She had no claws and her teeth were very small. Her name
was Figaro, and like many small predators, what she did best was hide, watch,
and wait.

Like
a strange dactyl, she perched within the fronds of a cycad. She parted the clawlike
leaves and stared at the mountainside.

She
had climbed the tree that morning. It was the last tree before the forest gave
way to the stony mountainside. Fig had been perched here among the fronds for
hours. Waiting. Learning. Scared. Her muscles were cramping, and the spiky
cycad leaves kept jabbing her skin, but she stayed put.

There
on the mountainside, just a quick dash away—the cave. The place Lifa had told
her about.

My
father's home.

She
wished Lifa could be here with her. But Lifa was too old to walk long
distances. To reach Henge Hill, she had tottered on a cane, and the journey
left her exhausted. She had told Fig that she was sixty-eight years old.
Sixty-eight! Fig had nearly fallen over. She had not known anyone could live
that long. An achillobator grew up within six or seven years, found a mate, and
began to lay eggs. Fig had thought herself ancient at fifteen, but if humans
could live to be almost seventy …

I'm
barely more than a hatchling, she realized.

Thankfully,
Red Scar was with her. The big achillobator hulked below the cycad. Bators were
bulkier than humans, and while they were excellent mountain climbers, they
struggled to climb trees. The poor bator kept wheezing and coughing. The scrub
that clung to the mountainside irritated his lungs. To distract himself, Red
Scar tried digging through the soil, searching for fluffy little mammals to
torment, but he found none. Mostly Red Scar simply stood watch, sniffing the
air and scanning the horizon for enemies.

They
were both nervous. They were strangers in a strange land. The dreaded allosaurs
roamed the nearby grasslands. Here in the forested foothills, the gargantuan
megaraptors prowled. The raptors had covered the hills with their spoor,
marking their territory. Fig and Red Scar were behind enemy lines.

But
Fig must be here. She must learn more. She must meet her father.

Must
I? she thought. Doubts filled her. She
already had a pack. She had Red Scar, Sharp Eyes, Long Tail, all the others.
Why was she risking her life out here?

But
she sensed, deep inside her, that the bonds of family meant something. That
they were precious. Even to her, this wild child who had grown up feral. When
Lifa had hugged her, Figaro had felt down to her bones that this was right.
This was human. For a few moments of warmth and love, she had felt like a real
human girl.

Once
Lifa had told her where Joe Triplehorn lived, Fig had rushed over at once. But
now that she was here, fear gripped her. What if her father rejected her? What
if he laughed and said Fig wasn't his daughter at all? What if human males were
truculent by nature, and he attacked her? So she remained hidden, spying.

She
had been here all day. And so far—nothing. Nobody entered or left the cave. A
few times, Fig had almost climbed the mountainside. She ached to peer into the
cave and investigate. But whenever that itch filled her, she hesitated. She
remained here in the tree, perched among the palm fruit.

Her
worries kept pestering her like mosquitoes. What if Joe had found another mate,
replacing Mina? What if he had new hatchlings now, wild little humans with
sharp sticks? What if his new mate attacked Fig? She had seen such things
happen among bators. Or what if Lifa had been completely wrong and Joe wasn't
her father at all? He would see Fig as an intruder, a menace. He was big and
strong and would tear Fig apart. Or what if he was simply indifferent? Oh,
you're my daughter? Well, good for you. A pat on the head and off you go.

Fig
had traveled all this way, but she dared not take the last step. So she
remained in the tree, watching, waiting, weaving all these scenarios in her
mind, each one worse than the last.

Her
body was aching. Humans were good climbers, perhaps, but even humans were not
meant to sit all day inside a tree. Her stomach growled. She was famished. Lifa
had packed her a basket of fruit and fish, but it was below the tree. Red Scar
was guarding it. She should go down, eat, maybe go back to Lifa's hut. Maybe go
back to her pack. Maybe all this had been a mistake, and—

Movement.

Movement
from the cave!

Fig
tensed, all her anxieties imploding into a single blazing point of terror.

Hidden
in the cycad, she parted the fronds and stared.

A
man emerged from the cave.

Fig's
heart leaped. Her limbs trembled. The fronds shook around her. It was him. The
man from the photo. Joe Triplehorn.

Her
father.

From
this distance, Fig couldn't see him clearly. But she saw enough to recognize
him. He looked different from her. Bigger. Bulkier. Stronger. Hair grew from
his face, and he wore those strange fabrics Lifa had called
"clothes." A large, strange stick hung across his back. It was shaped
like a stick, at least, but it was black and smooth like basalt. Clearly it was
one of the magical artifacts humans used, though Fig could not guess its
purpose. She feared it.

I
must not fear him, Fig told herself. He's
my father. I must go to him.

She
took a deep breath, steeling herself. She was about to jump from the tree when
a voice came from the cave.

"Joe?
Joe, you all right?"

Fig
froze, still hiding among the branches. Below her, Red Scar tensed and crouched
in the tall grass.

A
woman stepped out from the cave. A young woman. Fig stared in silent wonder.

She's
beautiful. Her jaw dropped. She's the most
beautiful thing I've ever seen.

The
woman looked nothing like Figaro, who was scrawny and covered in sap and burrs.
She looked nothing like Lifa, who was wrinkled and bent. This woman was … Fig
had never seen anything so perfect. The woman's face was smooth and white like
fresh snow. Hair the color of fire cascaded down to her waist. Even from this
distance, Fig could see the blue of her eyes. Her body was full and strong and
healthy.

Fig
felt ugly. Skinny. A little pest like a tick that crawled out from the mud.

"Well,
well, Simone," Joe said. "Finally up from your nap?"

The
woman—this Simone—placed her arms around Joe. "Yep! Why aren't you
making me coffee?"

Fig
hissed. Below the tree, Red Scar heard her. He tensed and hissed too.

My
father took a new mate! Fig thought. After my
mother died, he found another female!

She
began to shake. She was in danger, she knew. Fig had seen this happen in her
pack. Achillobators mated for life. But in the harsh wilderness of Mintari,
life could be short. Sometimes a mate died, perhaps in battle, perhaps from a
snakebite, a wasting tick disease, or starvation during a long winter.
Sometimes bators became widowers, left alone to raise their chicks.

Those
chicks were in great danger.

During
mating season, a widower was up for grabs. Strong, hungry females would court
him. Aggressively. Sometimes a particularly aggressive female, desperate to
breed, would kill a widower's hatchlings. She would then mate with the grieving
male and lay her own eggs. It was brutal. It was cruel. But it was the law of
survival. On Mintari, they all had to play this Darwinian game. A dead female
was a weak female, and so her weak hatchlings must die. And a strong female
wasn't afraid to kill them.

Right
now this redhead was the strong, hungry female, gunning for the widower. Her
babies would be strong, beautiful, healthy. Everything Fig was not.

That
meant it was open season on Fig.

If
Simone learns I'm his hatchling, she'll kill me,
Fig knew. She's big and strong. I'm a runt. She'll want to replace me with
her own offspring.

Fig
hunched down lower among the fronds.

"Joe,
you all right?" Simone said. The air was still, and her voice carried
clearly across the distance.

"I
thought I sensed something," Joe said.

"Sensed
something?" Simone cocked her head.

"Yes.
Maybe I heard it. Or smelled it. Or maybe just imagined it. Something … new.
But very old." He shook his head. "Probably nothing."

Red
Scar tensed in the tall grass, ready to race forward to battle. Hiding above
him in the tree, Fig made soft cooing sounds, too soft for Joe and Simone to
hear. The bator calmed down.

"Come
back inside, Joe," Simone said. "Make me coffee. I demand it."

He
turned away from the wilderness. "Geez, princess, were you so bossy back
on Cloventia with your servants?"

She
gasped and placed her hands on her hips. "I did not have servants on Cloventia!"

"And
you don't have them here. You make us coffee."

Simone
snorted. "Oh please! Last time I made coffee, you said it tasted like
mud."

"Fine!"
Joe said. "I'll show you how to make a proper brew. You'll learn from the
master. You see, the trick is all in how you grind the beans …"

He
reentered the cave, and his voice faded.

Just
then, Red Scar let out a snorting cough. The bator had been holding it in.

Simone,
who was halfway into the cave, paused. She looked at the wilderness. Right at
the tree and grass where Fig and her bator hid.

Fig
froze, not even daring to breathe.

She'll
kill me. Oh stars above, she'll kill me. She's bigger, healthier, stronger. I'm
dead.

Simone
remained standing for a while longer outside, frowning at the area where Fig
hid.

"Simone,
you coming?" came Joe's voice from the cave. "You're missing
this!" A grinding rumble came from inside.

"Coming,
oh coffee master." She rolled her eyes. Muttering something under her
breath, the redhead reentered the cave.

Fig
exhaled in relief. For now, she was safe. Clearly this "Simone" was a
vicious predator. A part of Fig suspected she was being silly. Sure, Fig was
small. But she had taken down parasaurs before. Could she really not handle
Simone? But Fig was used to hunting parasaurs. This was something alien.
Frightening. In this strange land, her courage faltered.

She
climbed off the tree and knelt beside Red Scar in the tall grass.

The
bator tilted his head. "Arroooo?" Are we going into their cave?

"Heeeuuurrrrr,"
Fig purred. Not yet. Caution.

Red
Scar snorted and twitched his sickle claw. Achillobators were patient hunters,
but they did not like waiting this long. Red Scar was getting restless. He
wanted to do what bators do. Run, hunt, eat. Not skulk in the tall grass for
hours on end.

Fig
didn't like skulking either. But she found herself torn. Should she return to
the pack, live the rest of her life as a bator? Or should she summon her
courage, enter the cave, and challenge Simone?

She
felt trapped between two worlds. She stood at a crossroads. One path led toward
life in the wilderness, wild and free, running with the bators. Another path
led to humanity. To language, tools, clothes, a life unlike any other on
Mintari, as foreign to her as life underwater or above the clouds. She must
choose.

Red
Scar purred and nuzzled her. Choose me.

Fig
embraced him. She loved the bator. He was her dearest friend. Her family. Her
pack. So many nights, she had found warmth among his feathers, shedding her
tears into his plumage. So many days, she found courage in his strength, in the
sharpness of his teeth and the swiftness of his claws. She had ridden him on so
many hunts, had shared meat and her innermost secrets with him. How could she
abandon Red Scar and his pack?

She
turned to leave, to abandon this silly quest for humanity, to return to the
pack where she belonged.

But
after a few steps, she paused. She hesitated.

For
years, she had thought herself an achillobator. Smaller than the others,
certainly. A weird, malformed runt, yes. But still a bator. Now that she knew
the truth, how could she live with the pack again? Would not her curiosity
torment her, the lingering question: What if?

No.
She had walked too far down the path of humanity. She had met the girl on the
hill. She had met Lifa, her grandmother. She had seen her father on the
mountainside.

I
know who I am now.

"Fi-ga-ro."

She
could no longer turn back. Tears streamed down her cheeks, wetting Red Scar's
feathers.

I'll
wait until night, she thought. I'll
sneak in while Simone is asleep. I'll talk to my father.

* * * * *

The
day went by in nervous anticipation. This was megaraptor country, and the big predators
hunted by scent. Normally, Fig would be dead by now. Without a pack, a bator
rarely lasted long. Especially not a puny thing like Figaro Triplehorn.
Thankfully, Lifa had gifted her a jar of aromatic herbs. The old shaman had
taught Fig how to crush the leaves, then smear them across herself to mask her
smell. Fig had perfumed herself and Red Scar with the pungent ointment, and no
megaraptor approached. The herbs seemed to work. It was probably how Lifa had
survived so long in the wild.

Red
Scar remained ever at her side. Fig had cooed to him, urged him to return to
the pack. Every day that passed, Fig knew, Crooked Wing would grow bolder, more
dominant. If Red Scar tarried too long, he would return to find that Crooked
Wing had usurped him. He would then be driven away to die alone, too old
already to form a new pack. The achillobator must know this. Yet he chose to
remain with Fig. To guard her for as long as she needed. He had several
offspring in the pack, but they were grown and strong. To him, Fig was like an
eternal hatchling, one he would die to protect.

Sunset
draped the land in gold. The stars wheeled across the sky. In the spring and
summer, a glowing little spiral appeared in the night sky. The shape reminded
Fig of a seashell, and it was about the size of a seashell held at arm's
length. It wasn't a moon or a star but something unique. Next time Fig met her
grandmother, she would ask the shaman about the meaning of the glowing spiral.
But one thing Fig already knew. When the spiral reached its zenith during early
spring, it was midnight.

And
it was time to meet her father.

Red
Scar was sound asleep. Fig kissed him on the snout, then tiptoed among the
trees. She scurried from cycad to cycad, bounding across the foothills, and
reached the mountainside. The cave was high up, but Fig was small and quick and
a good climber. She scurried up the mountainside like a little brown spider.

She
inched toward the cave, prepared to sneak inside, gently wake her father, and
speak to him while Simone slept.

But
the way was blocked.

Enormous
teeth filled the cave! They were long and gray. Fig reached out, gingerly
touched a tooth, then pulled her hand back. Hard and cold! Not a tooth. It felt
more like basalt. Some strange material humans could wield. More magic.

Fig
examined these "teeth" more closely. The strange sticks were placed
in a palisade. Perhaps Fig could squeeze between them? She stepped closer,
pressed her face between two sticks, and—

A
feathered creature leaped toward her—from inside the cave!

Fig
stumbled back.

A
snout thrust between the hard sticks, and the creature screeched.

Fig
exhaled in relief. She had nearly wet herself. It was only a velociraptor, a
creature so small she could kick it over the mountaintop.

A
deep, weary voice rumbled inside the cave. "Vinnie? Vinnie, are you
growling out the bars again?"

The
raptor looked over his shoulder and whined.

"Shut
up!" rose the sleepy voice. "Just pee in your pot. I'm trying to
sleep."

The
velociraptor glared at Fig between the metal sticks—bars, as Joe called them.

"Go
… pee … yo' pa'!" Fig said.

The
raptor growled, snapped his teeth at her, then loped back to his master.

Fig
waited, then inched closer to the bars. She peered into the shadowy cave. She
couldn't see Joe from here. It was too dark. But she could make out Simone's flaming-red
hair. The woman was sound asleep. Vinnie sat by the slumbering redhead,
scowling at Fig. Clearly the velociraptor considered himself something of a
bodyguard.

Fig
tested the bars again. They were made to keep dinosaurs out. Fig, who was
smaller than all but the smallest dinosaurs, was able to squeeze between two
bars. Vinnie groaned and huffed but dared not wake his master again.

Fig
crept through the cave. She had expected something like a typical theropod cave,
full of old bones, shed feathers, eggshells, and rancid meat. But she found a
place as cozy as Lifa's hut. Rugs covered the floor. Paintings of dinosaurs
spread across the stony walls. A fireplace glowed with embers.

Simone
was still asleep, lying on a sort of elevated platform built of wood and topped
with fabric. It must be similar to the beds of leaves, feathers, and supple
twigs achillobators built in their nesting grounds. Joe, meanwhile, slept on
the floor. A T-rex skull rested in the back of the cave, filled with fabric
beddings—somebody had turned the skull into a sort of nest. But nobody slept
there.

Fig
paused in the darkness, considering. Mated bators often slept nuzzled together.
Were humans the same? If Joe and Simone were sleeping separately, maybe they
were not mates after all. Maybe Fig was safe. Maybe Simone would not murder
her, then try to bear a child to replace her.

She
stepped around the redhead, tiptoeing toward her father. He sniffed, grunted in
his sleep, and rolled over. Fig probably still smelled of Lifa's herbs. She
cringed. She had gotten used to the smell. Of course Joe and Simone would smell
her!

Simone
sniffed too, rolled over, but kept sleeping soundly.

Vinnie
hissed at Fig, then let out a deafening shriek.

Fig
froze, heart pounding.

Joe
leaped up. "Tar it, Vinnie, what is it?"

The
tall, bearded man rose from the rug, looking around.

Fig
crouched behind the T-rex skull, peering from the shadows. Joe blinked, rubbed
his eyes, but could not see her.

Fig
wanted to leap out, to tell him, "I am your daughter!" But fear
pounded through her. She could understand language, but she could barely speak
it. What if Joe didn't understand? What if he thought her a thief? What if he
beat her while she begged? Again, all the worst-case scenarios rattled through
her mind. Fear paralyzed her.

Vinnie
grabbed Joe's leg with his clawed little hand. He began pulling Joe toward the
T-rex skull, whimpering.

"Vinnie,
what is it?" Joe said. "If it's a mouse, just—"

A
loud beeping filled the cave.

Hiding
behind the skull, Fig cringed. The sound! It was so loud and jarring. Like the yip
yip yip of a ferocious raptor. She covered her ears. At first she thought
it was Vinnie. But the velociraptor stood silently, his mouth closed.

The
beeping woke up Simone. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. "What is
it?" she mumbled.

Joe
lifted a strange box from an alcove. Another photo album? No, this was some
other form of magic. When Joe tapped the box, it went silent. Light shone from
the box, illuminating Joe's face.

Fig
peeked from behind the skull. She got her first good, up-close look at her
father. He was a tall man. If she stood beside him, she guessed, she would not
reach his shoulders. And broad shoulders those were, and his arms were muscular.
Fig had always thought humans were all like her. Weak, skinny little things.
But Joe looked like a predator, lean and powerful. It scared her.

Yet
when she looked more closely, she saw more to him.

She
saw herself.

Their
faces were different. His was harder, older, and sprouted hair. But the
similarities were there. It was the tension in his muscles, always ready to
spring forward. It was the dark somberness in his eyes. It was the tightness in
his jaw. It was his body language which called out: I am a human. I have no
claws or fangs. But I'm strong. I bite.

There
could be no doubt now. This man was her father.

Joe
lowered the device. He looked at Simone. "It's a call from the Rangers.
Red Alert. The highest alert possible. Dinovia City is under attack."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ruler of the Pack

Joe rushed out the
cave into the night. His sleep-or-die was slung across his back. His ceratop
hat topped his head. Fire blazed inside him.

Dinovia
City. Under attack.

His
belly knotted, his heart raced, and his upper lip twitched in a sneer. The news
had just come in. An urgent call for all Rangers across Mintari.

The
city gates had fallen. The enemy was within. Joe knew who was behind this.

My
murderous sister.

The
twin moons lit the night. Standing here on Mudge Mountain, Joe could see the
cycads on the foothills, the grassy plains of Hell Valley, and the dim shadows
of Marshwood Forest. The city lay beyond the horizon.

Simone
emerged from the cave too, hopping on one foot, then another, as she struggled
to pull on her boots. "How will we get to the city? I hope not flying on
dactyls again."

Joe
shook his head. "We don't need a plane for this battle. We need a
tank."

He
placed his fingers into his mouth and whistled. The sound pierced the morning,
carrying across the forested foothills and grassy plains. Roused from their
sleep, dinosaurs raised their heads from their blankets of shadows. Their eyes
gleamed in the moonlight. Then they returned to slumber. The sound must have
just been some crazy dactyl, they figured. They were tired after a long day of
hunting and eating, and they returned to their slumber.

All
but one dinosaur.

This
dinosaur had spent the past few days trudging across the wilderness, vacuuming
up plants. He was wounded, but with every bush, fern, and tree devoured, he
grew stronger. His body bore the scars of many battles. Carnivore teeth were
lodged into his bony crest. Scratches covered his horns. His scaly hide still
showed the marks of claws.

He
was a triceratops. A big male bull. Among the strongest dinosaurs on Mintari.
He had fought many great battles and won them all. He had crushed the dreaded
sinraptors and allosaurs. He had even defeated the terrible spinosaurus and
giganotosaurus. He was the terror of every carnivore on Mintari. He was like a
living tank, an unstoppable beast, and there was no foe his horns could not
slay. When he heard that whistle, he knew its meaning. He trudged through the
grass and trees, not even pausing to eat. His friend summoned him.

Standing
on the hillside, Joe and Simone saw the colossal shadow move through the
foothills, knocking down cycads.

Dozer
emerged from among the trees, snorted, and stamped his pillar-like feet. He was
not a great mountain climber, so he waited at the foothills. Joe and Simone
climbed down the mountainside to him.

Dozer
lowered his enormous one-ton head. Joe hugged him, kissed his beak, and rubbed
the base of his horns. The trike licked him and made low, affectionate grunts.

"Get
a room, you too," Simone said.

Joe
ignored her. "How are you, friend?" he whispered to his dinosaur.

Dozer
rumbled and grunted. Good. Strong. Ready. Let's fight.

"Dozer,
a pack of T-rexes is attacking the city," Joe said. "And they say a
big black T-rex is among them." A shudder ran through him.
"Ivan."

The
T-rex that killed my wife and unborn child.

Joe's
eyes stung. His jaw tightened. Ivan. He was still alive. He was back.

Dozer
grunted and nuzzled him. Joe sometimes swore that the trike could understand
him. Many offworlders thought dinosaurs were dumb, lumbering beasts,
evolutionary failures revived and displayed here as theme park attractions. But
Joe knew they were vibrant, intelligent, sentient beasts. If Dozer could not
understand his words, he understood the emotion behind them.

The
trike placed the tip of his beak on the ground, turning his head into a ramp.
Joe grabbed the animal by the horns, climbed up his head, and hopped onto his
back. Simone followed, a little clumsier, but she managed to climb the dinosaur
without help. This time she sat in front of Joe. Better that way. She could
hold Dozer's frill instead of crushing Joe between her arms.

Joe
had decided to leave Vinnie behind. A battle was no place for a little
velociraptor. Too easy for a trike or T-rex to crush the pint-sized raptor
underfoot. Joe looked back at the cave, which yawned open on the mountainside
above. Vinnie stood just outside the barred opening, watching him, yellow eyes
glowing in the moonlight. The diminutive dinosaur was slender enough to squeeze
between the bars. If he got hungry, he could go inside and raid the pantry. The
poor guy was probably feeling left out, but he stayed put, obeying his master.

"Goodbye,
Vinnie!" Joe called up toward the cave. "I'll be home soon. Hold down
the fort."

Vinnie
cawed, chattered, and tossed his head. He was not happy about being left
behind. But the little raptor understood.

"Now
ride, Dozer!" Joe said, patting the big dinosaur he sat on. "We must
ride faster than ever before."

The
triceratops shook his head, a gesture he had learned from Joe. He snorted.

"Dozer,
ride!" Joe said. "The city needs us."

Again
the trike shook his head. He reared on his back legs, opened his beak wide, and
bellowed. Joe had never heard him cry out so loudly. The sound aroused sleeping
dinosaurs across the land. Dactyls took flight from their mountainside nests,
screeching. Grunts and groans and hoots sounded across the grasslands. A second
time Dozer howled, a sound that echoed across the land. Still he did not ride,
only kicked his front feet in the air.

"What's
wrong with him?" Simone cried. With Dozer rearing, most of her weight was
pressed against Joe. He wrapped his arms around her, securing her in place.

"I
don't know!" he said. "He's never done this before! Maybe he doesn't
want to leave Vinnie?"

A
third time Dozer cried out … then finally lowered himself onto all fours,
snorted, and was still.

For
a moment nothing happened.

Then
the land shook.

Trees
collapsed. Stones cascaded down the hillsides. Dactyls fled across the moonlit
sky, and grunts and grumbles filled the night.

They
came from the grasslands. At first Joe saw only shadowy lumps. They moved
closer, stampeding, splashing across streams, tearing down cycads. Steam rose
from their backs. Their horns pierced the mist.

More
triceratops.

They
stampeded uphill. A full eight of them. Each one was bigger than a mammoth.
Combined, they were a hundred tons of herbivorous fury.

Simone
gasped. "Dozer, it's your family!"

Dozer
snorted with pride. The eight other trikes came to stand around him. They
ranged from young, powerful females to gruff old males with lumpy gray skin.
The youngest looked barely full-grown, a cocky bull who snorted and reared and
kicked the air. The older ones were larger, bulkier, and bore battle scars like
badges of honor. One old bull was missing his central horn. One cow sported a
row of T-rex teeth embedded into her frill; the bone had healed around the
teeth, locking them in place. But every one, even the oldest and most scarred,
was a force to be reckoned with. Together they were an army.

Simone
looked over her shoulder at Joe. Her eyes were wide. "Where did they come
from? What does this mean?"

"It
means war." Joe slapped Dozer's side. "Now ride!"

Dozer
reared in the moonlight, and his cry pierced the night. The trikes began to
run. They charged through the brush, crushing reeds, bushes, and trees. The
land seemed to shake. Joe held on tightly, and a savage grin spread across his
face.

You
declared war on this world, Amissa. Mintari is ready to fight back.

* * * * *

Hiding
among the ferns, Fig watched and heard it all happen. The triceratops herd
gathering. Joe and Simone mounting one of the horned herbivores, a scarred bull
named Dozer. Talk of war at a city across the horizon.

Fig
wasn't sure what a "city" was, but it sounded important. Possibly it
was the nesting grounds of a large human pack. And T-rexes were attacking it.

A
shudder passed through Fig. Long after the trikes vanished into the distance,
she remained hidden.

With
trembling lips, she took a stab at pronouncing a human word. "T-wik."

Well,
she tried. In her mind, she heard it clearly. T-rex. But while she could
understand human language pretty well, she struggled to speak it. Her mouth was
used to making achillobator sounds. Her tongue stumbled around human words.

While
she could not speak it, the word T-rex haunted her, a ghost from early
childhood. She knew what the word meant. The shaman had used that word to
describe the huge, ravenous predators. Every dinosaur on Mintari knew them.
Every dinosaur had a word for them, be it a grunt, snort, yowl, or pheromone
that cried out: flee!

Achillobators
referred to T-rexes with a high-pitched, raspy screech. It was the harshest,
loudest sound they could make. The pack feared these colossal carnivores. All
dinosaurs did. Even the mighty triceratops gave them a wide berth. Even the heavily
armored ankylosaurus avoided them, and those brutes could shatter boulders with
their clubbed tails. Fig had seen a T-rex only once and only from a distance—a
towering monster prowling in the sunset, his scales black, his eyes red. It was
years ago. To this day, she sometimes dreamed that the dreaded meat eater was
chasing her, and she woke up drenched in cold sweat.

That
was no ordinary T-rex she had seen, Fig knew. She remembered his name. A name
her caretaker had whispered by the fire in darkest nights. The shamans worshipped
him as a god.

"Ayyyyvum,"
Fig whispered.

Ivan.
King of Mintari.

Oh
gosh, she needed to practice speaking. Well, there would be time for that
later. Right now her father was riding toward the human nesting grounds. To
battle Ivan and his pack of tyrannosaurs. It was foolish. Even with an army of
triceratops, he could not do this. Perhaps Joe did not know how terrible
T-rexes were.

But
Fig knew. And she knew that Ivan was not just the deadliest dinosaur on
Mintari. She remembered what Lifa had told her.

Ivan
killed my mother.

This
was personal. This was Fig's fight too. She must go help her father.

She
turned toward Red Scar. The bator was crouched in the tall grass. He had been
patient so far, watching her from hiding, ready to pounce if she needed help.
But he was getting restless. An achillobator did not like skulking around like
a mammal. He was born to run, hunt, fight, mate, and eat. Not hide in bushes.
His muscles were tense, and his feathers bristled. But despite his nearly
overpowering instincts, he had remained at her side, spying on the humans. He
met her eyes.

What
now? his gaze asked.

Fig
pointed westward. Bators pointed with their snouts, and Fig did the best she
could with her small nose. She purred, the word for a nesting ground. Then she
marched around, legs as straight as sticks, chattering and gesturing with her
hands. Humans. She pointed her nose westward again. There's a human
nest that way.

Red
Scar snorted and shook his feathers. So? I care not!

Fig
repeated her chattering and funny walk, emulating a human nest. Then she tossed
her head back and added a grainy screech that left her throat raw.

T-rexes.
T-rexes at the human nest.

Red
Scar snarled. He took two steps back. We are strong, but we cannot win such
a fight.

Fig
shook her head. "Aroororororroo!" No, we must fight!

He
hissed, tossed his head, and mewled. We'll die.

Fig
snorted and took a few steps westward. Then I'll go alone.

Red
Scar hurried toward her, his sickle claws raised. I won't leave you. His
red feathers bristled, and he bared rows of sharp teeth. If you go, I go
too.

She
bared her own decidedly less-impressive teeth. We will fight together.
Then she lost her snarl and hugged him, burying her face in his feathers. She
cooed softly. I love you.

The
big, scarred predator licked her. I'm always here for you, little one. We
are pack.

He
crouched, and Fig leaped onto his back, straddling him. She tugged his
feathers. But they were not heading west. Not just yet.

They
both knew they could not do this alone. They needed help. They must summon the
pack.

* * * * *

Amissa
strutted across the drawbridge, a rifle in her hands, a grin on her face. Like
a victorious empress, she passed through the breached gateway, entering the
city.

The
huge oaken doors lay shattered at her feet. The pachycephalosaurus had made
short work of them. Ranger corpses lay among the splinters—the work of her
assassins. Amissa refused to feel any guilt. These Rangers had started this
war. They knew what they were getting into. Their blood was on their own hands.

A
groan sounded below.

"Please
… help … please."

Amissa
walked toward the sound. A Ranger lay in the rubble, gurgling. Bullets bled
across his torso. His skin was gray, his eyes sunken. He looked at Amissa.

"Help
… please."

He
reached out a shaky hand to her.

She
raised her rifle.

His
eyes widened. A tear fled down his cheek. "Wait. Wait, I have kids, I—"

She
fired a bullet between his eyes. He slumped down dead.

It
was funny. It had not been long since her first human kill. Back then, she had
felt nauseated, had nearly fainted. By now, shooting a man was no different
from shooting an animal. No, she decided. It was even less than that. When she
killed an animal, she felt a sense of pride. Now Amissa felt nothing.

"You
are nothing, Rangers. Nothing more than mud beneath my boots. I will crush you,
then wipe you away."

She
walked deeper into the city, her smoking rifle in her hands. These little
Rangers were a distraction. Pawns, that was all. She hunted a specific Ranger.

"Where
are you, brother?" she whispered. "Do you still hide in the
wilderness like a coward while your city weeps?"

No.
He would come. Joe was foolhardy that way. His sense of nobility would kick in.
He would come save those who had rejected him. And he would meet Amissa's gun.
What a noble fool!

A
rumble sounded far ahead, rippling through the city and interrupting her
navel-gazing. Screams followed.

A
smile spread across Amissa's face. Her pets were at work.

She
walked down the cobbled road, moving between chunks of wood, scattered bricks,
and corpses. The dead lay everywhere. Not all were Rangers. Not all were in one
piece. A severed arm lay on the road, still holding a basket of fruit. Dates
and persimmons spilled across the bloodied cobblestones. A house wall was
cracked. A balcony had collapsed, shattering dozens of clay pots.
Chrysanthemums lay in crimson puddles.

Huge
three-toed footprints had cracked the cobblestones. Amissa followed the trail
of destruction. It looked like a hurricane had passed through Dinovia. The
round, clay houses were cracked, some shattered. Most people hid in their
homes. Others ran down the streets. A pigtailed girl was wailing, holding a
pink pliosaurus toy, calling out miserably for her mother. Amissa kept walking
through the pathetic throng of crying, fleeing cowards.

She
stepped into a city square, and her smile widened.

Two
of the T-rexes were there, wreaking havoc. One was male, the other female. Both
were equally gargantuan. They must have weighed ten tons each, maybe more.
Their powerful feet crushed cobblestones. Their scaly tails swung, shattering
buildings. Their tiny-yet-powerful hands grabbed balconies, ripping them off
buildings. Their enormous snouts shoved through windows, sniffing, cracking the
walls around them. A few corpses lay on the ground, crushed.

They
were not randomly destroying the city. T-rexes were not movie monsters, hell-bent
on destruction. There was purpose to their mayhem. These two were a bonded
pair, and they were looking for their eggs.

Rattlesnake
and the other hunters had hidden these eggs. Now a pack of T-rexes were
stampeding through the city on a frenetic Easter egg hunt. Deep rumbles shook
the city. Human screams pierced the night. The T-rexes would stop at nothing to
get their eggs back. A lot of humans filled this city. A lot of humans stood in
their way. And so a lot of humans were dying.

The
big female T-rex stomped toward a round clay house. She grabbed the walls with
her ridiculously small hands, steadying herself, then thrust her gargantuan
muzzle through a second-story window. Her snout didn't fit properly. Chunks of
clay fell to the ground. The T-rex shoved her head deeper, seeking her eggs.
Screams sounded from inside the home. A gunshot boomed. The female rex screeched
and pulled her head out from the window. A bullet hole bled on her snout. With
a deep growl, she swung her tail again and again, shattering the house. The
clay walls collapsed. Screams rose from inside, then fell silent.

I
guess there are no eggs in that house,
Amissa thought. Not anymore, at least.

Meanwhile,
the big male T-rex was digging, tossing aside cobblestones and the underlying
soil. He must be seeking the eggs underground. Before long, the beast hit a gas
pipe, and a steaming geyser blasted from underground. The male T-rex stumbled
back, grunting in annoyance. As he retreated, his claws sparked against the
cobblestones. The gas leak caught fire. Flames roared skyward, lighting the
square. The rexes howled and stepped back. The huge predators feared nothing
but fire.

Amissa
stared in wonder, eyes wide. The firelight washed over her. It was beautiful.
Such beautiful destruction!

An
engine roared.

A
jippi rumbled into the square. Rangers leaned out the windows, aiming rifles at
the rampaging rexes. They fired.

They
were firing live bullets.

They
were panicking, Amissa knew. Tranquilizers took a while to work. The fabled
Rangers, the so-called conservationists of Mintari, were now trying to kill
dinosaurs. Hypocrites!

Bullets
plowed into the T-rex pair. They howled, trapped between flames and rifles. The
female recoiled, stumbling into an alleyway, but the male was having none of
it. Overcoming his fear of fire, the big rex charged. He ran around the flaming
geyser, heading toward the Ranger jippi. Bullets crashed into him. His green
scales chipped. Blood splashed the cobblestones. But still the T-rex charged.

The
Rangers put their jippi in reverse. Too slow. The T-rex leaned down and caught
the vehicle in his gargantuan jaws. A Tyrannosaurus rex had the strongest bite
force of any animal nature had ever produced. The legendary predator could bite
down with 35,000 newtons of force. That was equivalent to the weight of a
full-grown Asian elephant pressing down on each single tooth. The T-rex crushed
the jippi like it was made of tinfoil. The Rangers inside tried to jump out.
They didn't make it. The terrible jaws ripped them apart.

With
a flick of his neck, the T-rex tossed the jippi aside. The vehicle flew through
the air, crashed into a house, and shattered the walls.

Amissa
walked across the square, stepping around piles of debris and bodies. The
firelight lit her way. The two T-rexes spun toward her, snarling. They were mad
with fear, pain, and worry for their eggs. They stomped toward her, their great
jaws opening, baring teeth the size of bananas.

"You
are magnificent!" Amissa said as they charged toward her.

She
pulled a gun from her belt and fired.

But
she was not firing a bullet. And not firing at the T-rexes. She fired a
cannister full of pheromones, aiming at a nearby street. The cannister banged
off a haberdashery wall, then skidded across the road, leaking aromatic gasses.

The
rexes spun toward the smells, forgetting all about Amissa. The scientists at
Triplehorn Tech had crafted these cannisters. Many dinosaurs communicated with
pheromones, excreting them in their urine, droppings, saliva, or from glands in
their skin. The chemicals formed a complex language, one nearly as elaborate as
human languages. The cannister Amissa had fired leaked a pheromone tyrannosaurs
used to challenge rivals during breeding season. The T-rexes inhaled the scent.
Their minds translated it as a furious cry: "Hey, you! I'm going to breed
with your mate! If you get in my way, I'll attack you!"

The
T-rex couple forgot all about Amissa. They thundered after the cannister,
seeking the invisible challengers. They were intelligent predators, but
instincts burned hot in dinosaurs. They could not resist the infuriating lure
of these pheromones. On their way, they crashed through buildings, overturned
jippis, and tore through a water pipe. A torrent gushed skyward, washed over
the fire, and an eruption of steam flowed over the city. A few people were
fleeing their shattered homes. The female T-rex stomped on one running man,
flattening him against the cobblestones. The male scooped up a woman, crushed
her in his jaws, and gulped down the remains.

Amissa
kept walking through the city. More tyrannosaurs rampaged everywhere. Three big
males, their scales dark green and their backs spiky, were swinging their tails
against buildings, cracking walls, then rummaging through the ruins for their
eggs. Whenever they encountered a human, they snapped their mouths or lashed
their tails, crushing these annoying mammals who got in their way. To them,
humans were little more than gadflies.

A
Ranger emerged onto a roof and fired his rifle, hitting one of the green males.
With a deafening grumble, the T-rex spun around, charged, and barreled into the
building. His teeth scraped the rooftop. The Ranger leaped off the roof in a
desperate attempt to flee. He landed hard on the pavement, breaking both legs,
and screamed. The rex scooped him up and gulped him down.

This
was all fine and dandy, but it would take the T-rexes weeks to destroy the city
house by house. Amissa needed them to destroy more quality targets. She loaded
a fresh cannister, climbed onto a nearby house, and saw it there.

Pangaea
Hall.

It
rose three or four blocks away, its domed roof looming over smaller buildings
like a rising stone sun. Inspired by the Pantheon of Rome, Pangaea Hall was the
largest, finest building on Mintari, built over four hundred years ago. Of
course, on Cloventia it would barely be an outhouse, but here on Mintari, this
building was legendary. Amissa stared, her lips tight. From that grand rotunda,
the tyrannical government of Mintari reigned.

They
would soon learn who the true rulers of Mintari were.

Amissa
fired her cannister. It flew over buildings, passed between two columns, and
clattered down onto Pangaea Hall's portico.

The
three green T-rexes spun around at once, sniffing.

So
did other rexes across the city. Amissa could see their heads swiveling across
the neighborhood, staring over rooftops toward Pangaea Hall. The cannister
leaked blue mist. These pheromones smelled like T-rex eggs. Eggs in peril.

The
intoxicated predators charged, crashing through homes, racing toward Pangaea
Hall. They reached the rotunda but found no eggs. They began ripping the
curtain walls off, shattering the columns, seeking eggs that were not there.

I
control them, Amissa thought. I harnessed this
might. This is the greatest army on Mintari. And it's mine.

But
as she watched the tyrannosaurs destroy Pangaea Hall, she noticed something.
The greatest T-rex among them was not here.

Where
was the mutant? The giant with black scales? Where was King Ivan?

Then
she heard the distant rumble. It sounded nothing like the sounds the other
rexes made. This sound was like a trumpet heralding an army of demons. It was
like a foghorn from the depths of the abyss. It was a storm from hell, rolling
through heaven.

The
shamans worshipped Ivan as a god. Amissa could almost understand them. This was
the cry of a dark deity.

And
there he came, stomping through the city, crushing jippis, shattering buildings
with his tail.

God,
he was enormous. He towered over the buildings around him. His scales were
darker than the night. Spikes like the blades of Lucifer sprouted from his
back. His teeth were forks of lightning. His eyes were red cauldrons where the
souls of sinners burned. In his jaws, he carried three corpses. His arms were
perhaps small for his body, but they were large enough to carry one corpse with
each hand.

He
was boasting of his kills. He was not like the others, who simply cared about
their eggs. When the other rexes killed, it was merely because humans got in
their way. Ivan was different. Ivan delighted in killing for its own sake. With
every step, he swung his tail and lashed his claws, slaying bystanders,
covering the city with blood. Bullets bounced off his scales. Tranquilizer
darts shattered against him. With a deafening rumble, he swept his tail through
a crowd of Rangers, snapping their bones. He lunged at fleeing citizens,
crushed them in his jaws, and spat them out. He was the angel of death passing
over the city.

As
he stomped toward city hall, the other T-rexes paused from their frantic
search, stepped back, and bowed their heads in submission. They were enormous
beasts. True giants. The greatest predators nature had ever crafted. And they
were small by Ivan. The mutant black T-rex dominated them all. He was the true
king of Mintari.

The
beast swung his tail, destroying what remained of Pangaea Hall. The dome
collapsed, burying anyone unlucky enough to remain inside. Ivan climbed onto
the hill of broken stone, beams, and columns. He towered above all the other
T-rexes in his pack. Clouds gathered above as if summoned by his very presence.
Lightning flashed, illuminating his scales and terrible teeth. He tossed back
his head, and his rumbling cry masked the sound of thunder.

Amissa
stood in the courtyard, staring. And something strange happened.

Terror
gripped her.

Terror
like icy claws inside her.

"What
have I done?" she whispered.

* * * * *

Fig
and Red Scar ran hard across the grasslands.

She
did not ride the achillobator today. They had a long way to travel, and Red
Scar would need to conserve his strength. Fig didn't weigh much, but she didn't
want to add even an extra feather of weight onto Red Scar today.

They
ran side by side through the night, panting and tired but pushing themselves
onward. The land rose and fell around them. It was a hard run for both of them.
Achillobators were sprinters, not marathon runners. Humans were good at long-distance
running, but they were slow. Each pushed themselves to their limits tonight.
They both knew the stakes.

They
must summon the pack. And fast.

Fig
understood maps, but Red Scar led the way tonight. The pack left scent markers
across the land. While bators communicated to some degree with yowls, growls,
and yelps, their language mostly used smells. The wind carried the pheromones
across forests and glens, warning all that here was a pack of achillobators. If
you are one of us, come closer for mating. Any other predator—stay away!

Red
Scar wasn't interested in mating tonight. He was an old bator and had already
sired many hatchlings. What he craved was power. The pack was his, and he would
reign again. And Fig was determined to help.

Finally,
winded and wheezing, they saw the pack.

They
stood by a moonlight stream. The achillobators had just taken down a juvenile
iguanodon. Adult iguanodons were too dangerous to hunt. They were powerful, multiton
herbivores, and their thumb spikes could easily kill a bator. So the pack
normally waited in hiding for a juvenile to wander off. Then they pounced.
Tonight's catch was just a yearling, but the young iguanodon was already bigger
than any bator. The meat would feed the entire pack.

As
Fig drew closer, she noticed something that made her wince. The iguanodon was
still alive. The bators were ripping into its belly, sticking their snouts in,
and feeding on the delicious entrails. The iguanodon twitched and kicked as the
pack ate him alive. The smell of meat, blood, and offal filled the air, masking
all other scents. The bators didn't even notice Red Scar and Fig. They were
busy feasting. It was a grand old time. A banquet.

In
Fig's absence, some eggs must have hatched. A brood of bator hatchlings bustled
around, nipping at bones, sniffing at meat. One hungry hatchling leaped into
the carcass to feed on the soft innards. Half Tail, a big male with many scars,
tried to pull the greedy youngster out. The hatchling's mother growled, snapped
her teeth, and shoved Half Tail aside. A few other hatchlings chewed on the
iguanodon's tail, but their teeth were too small to pierce the scaly skin, and
they must keep ducking as the iguanodon kicked. Their mothers ripped off bits
of meat and fed their youngsters. The big herbivore finally stopped moving. It
sometimes took a few bites to finally kill big prey.

Red
Scar stomped forward, salivating. He was hungry after his long race, and the
smell of food tugged his nostrils. He shoved his way between the other bators,
reaching for a meaty iguanodon flank. Some of the younger females moved aside,
making room for the big old male.

Before
Red Scar could take a bite, a screech pierced the air.

A
huge achillobator rose from behind the carcass, her jaws covered in blood. Her
muscles rippled, and her red feathers bristled. She placed one foot atop the
carcass, and her sickle claw twitched. One of her arms was crooked, the
feathers white—an old injury from a fall down a cliff. But even with her
injury, she was the strongest female in the pack.

Crooked
Wing climbed onto the carcass, leaned down toward Red Scar, opened her bloody
jaws wide, and shrieked. You didn't need to understand achillobator language to
understand this.

There
was a new sheriff in town. Red Scar was no longer welcome.

The
old male bator took a step back.

Big
mistake. That made him look weak. That emboldened Crooked Wing. She leaned
closer to him, claws digging into the iguanodon carcass. She gazed down at him
from her fleshy throne. A third time, she let out a terrible screech.

"Ayyyeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Ka, ka!"

The
pack is mine! Be gone!

Her
muscles twitched. Blood stained her teeth and claws, and her eyes blazed. The
rest of the pack closed rank around her, gazing at Red Scar silently. They
would not fight him. But they were showing their allegiance.

Your
time is over, old one, they were saying. Crooked
Wing leads us now.

Red
Scar growled low in his throat. He was old. He was weary after his run. He had
eaten nothing but fish and frogs these past few days. Now he faced a furious
usurper, a big female who was younger and stronger. He growled threateningly,
but he took another step back.

Crooked
Wing raised her snout and yipped. She swung her head from side to side, looking
at the others. See? I told you. He's a weakling.

Emboldened,
Crooked Wing leaped off the carcass, landed on the grass ahead of Red Scar, and
snapped her teeth. Go, go!

Red
Scar growled. His feathers bristled. But he took another two steps back.

Crooked
Wing cackled—an almost human display of laughter. She looked back at her pack. See
the weakling run!

That
was when Fig seized her chance.

She
leaped toward Crooked Wing, her sickle claw flashing. The big bator was looking
away. She never expected a runt to attack. Crooked Wing was several times Fig's
size. But Fig lunged at her nonetheless, swung her sickle claw, and slashed
through Crooked Wing's shoulder.

Feathers
flew.

The
bator screamed and kicked.

Fig
leaped back, narrowly dodging her foe's claws. Crooked Wing had nearly
disemboweled her.

The
big bator stared at her, hissing, disbelieving. How dare this runt attack
me! Blood trickled from her wound, beading over her feathers. But Fig had
not cut deep. The thick layer of feathers had softened the blow.

Fig
crouched, snarled, and raised her bloodied sickle claw. She snapped her teeth
and slashed the air.

Crooked
Wing quickly got over her shock. This impudent little runt had cut her! For too
long, Crooked Wing had tolerated this mammal. No more. She did not belong in the
pack. She belonged inside Crooked Wing's belly.

The
bator lunged, reaching out her clawed wingtips. Bator wings were flightless but
not useless. Mean claws gleamed on their tips. They were smaller than the claws
on a bator's feet, but they were sharp enough to rip Fig to shreds. For a
second, Fig could only stare in terror at the vision of oncoming death.

With
a howl, Red Scar leaped forward.

He
slammed into Crooked Wing with a thunk.

The
two dinosaurs went down, snapping their jaws, kicking, clawing. The other
bators surrounded them, hooting. Even the hatchlings watched and yipped. The
meal was forgotten.

Fig
leaped to her feet and faced the battle, her teeth
bared, sickle claw in hand. She felt so small by the two battling bators. She
was an ant watching scorpions duking it out.

But
this ant could sting.

The
two dinosaurs walked backward, putting more distance between them. They circled
each other, maintaining eye contact. Their leg muscles stiffened, and their
feathery tails stuck out straight. Then they both crouched, placing their
bellies close to the ground. Like jousting knights, they were prepared to
charge.

Fig
bolted forward. While Red Scar was crouching, she leaped onto his back and
tightened her legs around him.

With
a screech, Cooked Wing pounced.

A
split second later, Red Scar leaped toward her.

Both
dinosaurs unleashed furious screeches. They slammed together. At once, they
were biting and clawing. Crooked Wing twisted her shoulder away, narrowly
dodging Red Scar's snapping jaws. She chomped down hard, catching Red Scar on
the shoulder. Blood flowed between her teeth. Red Scar howled.

Riding
his back, Fig leaned forward and plunged her sickle claw down.

The
blade ripped across Crooked Wing's snout.

The
bator opened her mouth to screech, releasing Red Scar's shoulder. Blood gushed
from both dinosaurs. At once, Red Scar was lashing his wingtips. The claws
ripped through his foe, tearing off feathers and strips of skin.

Crooked
Wing stumbled back, shrieking, fluttering her clawed wings. Unfair, unfair!
Two against one!

Fig
didn't care. Nothing was fair on Mintari. Only survival mattered. Red Scar
pressed the attack. He lunged forward, raised one leg, and lashed his sickle
claw. Crooked Wing fell back another step. She thumped into the iguanodon
carcass. Red Scar pinned her against the scaly corpse, lashing his claws,
snapping his jaws, ripping out feathers. The big female landed a few blows of
her own. Her clawed wingtip tore a gash along Red Scar's muzzle. One of her
sickle claws nicked his leg, drawing blood.

Still
riding Red Scar, Fig leaned forward, slashing her sickle claw. But she could
not reach Crooked Wing. Curse her short arms! Fig rose to stand on Red Scar's back.
For a moment she wobbled, arms windmilling. Then she leaped forward and landed
on the dead iguanodon. Her feet almost slipped on the bloody hide.

The
two bators battled below the corpse. Fig jumped again. This time she landed on
Crooked Wing's back.

The
female bator yowled. She bucked madly but could not shake Fig off. In a clever
attempt, Crooked Wing leaped backward into the iguanodon, slamming Fig into the
carcass with tremendous force. Normally, that would shatter Fig's bones. But
the iguanodon's hard, scaly skin had been peeled away. Fig merely splashed into
soft meat. Clinging onto Crooked Wing, she brought her sickle claw down hard.

Crooked
Wing screeched.

Meanwhile,
Red Scar kept attacking from the front. He clubbed Crooked Wing's jaw, knocking
it aside. A tooth flew out.

Fig
clung onto her foe. She climbed along Crooked Wing's back, nearing the bator's
feathery neck. Reaching around, Fig placed her sickle claw against Crooked
Wing's throat.

"HAEEEEeeee!"
Fig cried. Stop! "Haeeee!" Stop now!

At
once, Red Scar retreated and lowered his head.

Crooked
Wing froze. She didn't like obeying the little mammal on her back. But she
feared the claw on her neck. With a single movement, Fig could end the big
bator's life. And Crooked Wing knew it.

"Haeee!"
Fig said, more brusquely this time. Enough!

Crooked
Wing made a sound halfway between growl and mewl.

"Harrrooo!"
Fig said, shoving the back of Crooked Wing's neck. Get down!

The
dinosaur obeyed. She lay down on the bloodied grass, panting. Her adrenaline
was wearing off. She was bleeding, hurting. When Fig climbed off, Crooked Wing
rolled onto her back, exposing her underbelly. I surrender.

Fig
took a deep breath. It's over. We won.

But
she had to make sure Crooked Wing was not humiliated, that she would not hold a
grudge. Not against Fig or against Red Scar. A leader who led with fear would
forever be looking over his shoulder, just waiting for his enemies to pounce. A
leader who earned true respect and loyalty would command his pack forever. So
Figaro knelt, and she began to lick Crooked Wing's wounds. It was a way of
saying: I can hurt you, but I can also heal you. If you rise against me, I
will strike you down. But if you bow before me, I will raise you up.

Red
Scar knelt beside her, and he too began to lick Crooked Wing's wounds. The big
female bator made soft, subservient purring sounds. She bared her teeth in
something resembling a smile. In human body language, that indicated joy or
mirth. Among achillobators, a smile was a show of submission, the opposite of a
snarl.

You
rule over me, Crooked Wing was saying. I'm
sorry. I serve you.

Everyone
in the pack had witnessed Crooked Wing beaten. And everyone had seen the mercy
given and the mercy taken. She would never rise up again. The other bators
would not accept it. Perhaps someday, after Red Scar died of old age, Crooked
Wing might reign, or perhaps someday she would strike out on her own, form her
own pack in another territory. But one thing was certain. She would never so
much as snarl at Red Scar or Fig again.

"Yirrr
yooorrr," Fig purred to Crooked Wing. Then she snarled, eyes blazing.
"Yeeeuuur, yae yaep!"

I
need more than your groveling. Will you fight for me?

Crooked
Wing rose to her feet. She was bleeding, panting, but her tail struck out
straight, and her upper lip peeled back. I will fight.

Fig
turned to Red Scar next. He too was bleeding and panting. But none of his
wounds were serious. Crooked Wing had not tried to kill him, it seemed, only to
humiliate him and drive him away. Still, Fig took some of the healing herbs
Lifa had given her. She crushed the leaves and placed them into his wounds. Red
Scar winced but let her keep working. Crooked Wing would never allow anyone to
touch her wounds like this—silly runt behavior! But Red Scar understood. He
accepted Fig's medicine. His wounds stopped bleeding, and the herbs would
prevent infection.

Fig
stroked his snout, gestured with her chin, tilted her head, and mewled. Can
you run?

He
gave a low snort and crouched in the grass. Climb on.

Fig
climbed onto his back, and he rose to his feet. She pointed northwest. She used
her finger to point—a human mannerism.

"Hai,
hai!" she barked.

Red
Scar began to run, and the pack followed in the darkness. They left their meal
behind for the scavengers, showing ultimate loyalty to their leader. Yet as
they ran across the grasslands, Fig wondered: Do they follow Red Scar … or
me?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rex Rampage

All night long the
tyrannosaurs rampaged, devastating Dinovia City. And the hunters helped.

The
surviving Rangers tried to mount some pathetic defense. They hopped into their
jippis, prepared to roll into battle, only to find their tires slashed. They
raced toward the armory, seeking more tranquilizer darts, only to find the
place burning, all their weapons gone. A squad of Rangers ran down an alleyway,
heading toward the city square where the rexes raged. They didn't get far.
Snipers on the roofs took them out.

Amissa
was one of those snipers. She lay atop the roof of the Tar Pit, one of
Dinovia's run-down hotels, and blew smoke from her muzzle. Rattlesnake crouched
at her side, his own muzzle smoking. The other hunters lurked farther back,
shadows in the night.

"Good
work, boys and girls," Amissa whispered.

All
night, while the T-rexes searched for their eggs, the hunters kept moving
through the city like shadows, picking off the Rangers one by one. The Rangers
fashioned themselves warriors. They were no such thing. They were just
glorified zookeepers. But Amissa and her posse had been stalking big game for
years. To them, hunting men was no different.

Sounds
of destruction came from her left. Amissa turned her head. A T-rex stood in a
nearby yard, tearing apart a domed house. The dinosaur had cracked open the
roof. Clutching the house with his tiny hands, the T-rex stuck his snout
through the roof, rummaging for eggs. Screams sounded from inside. Apparently
the rex didn't find eggs, but he did enjoy some lovely snacks.

A
shadow darted. A young Ranger ran up toward the T-rex. He looked barely twenty,
new to his badge and ceratop hat. Probably fashioned himself a hero. He aimed
his sleep-or-die at the T-rex and opened fire. He was using bullets. Ha!
Bullets! Watching from a block away, Amissa laughed. The kid was like some
medieval knight facing a dragon with nothing but a sword.

With
a rippling rumble, the T-rex raised his head from the house. A severed arm was
stuck between his teeth. The dinosaur spun toward the young Ranger. The kid
held his ground. He fired again, and bullets chipped the T-rex's scales.

The
dinosaur pounced. With an enormous three-toed talon, he kicked the kid down,
crushing every rib in his body. Then, almost delicately, the T-rex used one
claw to knock the sleep-or-die aside. With the indigestible metal stick
removed, the T-rex gulped down the poor Ranger. Smart dino. Amissa wondered how
many guns the T-rexes had swallowed before learning they were indigestible.

This
was what the Rangers did not understand. They built walls around their city
like a medieval fortress. They feared dinosaurs. They thought them monsters.
But dinosaurs were merely animals. Big, powerful, and majestic, yes, but just
animals nonetheless. The T-rexes were simply looking for their eggs and maybe a
bite to eat. The true monsters were humans. Humans like the Rangers, who
terrorized good hunters. Humans like Joe, who betrayed his clan. Humans like
Simone, who spread lies with her pen. They acted like they were above nature. Amissa
was part of nature. The savage part, yes. A predator. A huntress. But still
part of nature. The Rangers were an abomination.

She
rose on the rooftop and faced her fellow hunters. They rose too, standing on
roofs across the city. They raised their glowing spheres, communicating across
the darkness.

"Tonight
we end the illegitimate reign of the Rangers," Amissa said. "When
dawn rises, Mintari will be ours. The self-righteous Doctor Dolittles will be
gone. And we, the hunters, will be masters of Mintari. Move through the city
with me, friends. Find every last Ranger who still lives. And kill them. For
the hunt!"

"For
the hunt!" they all cried.

Amissa
hopped off the roof and landed in a garden. She stomped over the petunias, made
her way onto the street, and cocked her rifle. The other hunters joined her.
They spread out, slinking from shadow to shadow, seeking their enemies.

There
ahead—two Rangers were running toward a rampaging rex. One was a burly, bearded
man, the other a young and slender woman. Both had auburn hair and broad faces.
They looked like father and daughter. They must have been out of ammo, or maybe
they realized bullets were no use here. Instead of firing guns, they were
swinging a chain.

The
T-rex wasn't paying the two Rangers any attention. The dinosaur was digging
through the ruins of a school; Amissa had tossed a cannister of egg-scented gas
in there an hour ago. Working together, the father-and-daughter duo managed to
lasso the chain around the rex's neck.

"Dad,
we got him!" the younger Ranger cried. She grinned.

Foolish.
The titanic theropod merely swung his head. The younger Ranger flew through the
air, slammed into a house, then crashed onto the ground. The slender woman
moaned, her body broken. Amissa walked toward her. The Ranger lay on the
cobblestones, groaning in pain. Her ceratop hat had fallen off, revealing her
bloodied auburn hair. The skull was probably fractured. The Ranger looked at
Amissa through squinting eyes, unable to speak.

Amissa
put a bullet in her head. It was a mercy.

The
older Ranger let out a strangled cry.

"Daughter!"
he cried.

The
T-rex stomped toward him, snarling. To his credit, the bearded Ranger did not
back down. He swung his chain in wide arcs, then lashed it against the rex's
snout. Scales shattered. The dinosaur grunted in pain.

Amissa's
rifle boomed. The brave Ranger fell. Amissa had shot his leg. She could have
hit his head, made it quick, but … eh, she was out of mercy tonight. At once,
the T-rex was on him, ripping him apart.

Amissa
kept walking. Two more Rangers down. Not many left to go now. She would purify
this city.

As
she walked past the bodies, a chill gripped her. Her legs began to shake. Her
head spun.

What
am I doing? Oh God, I'm killing people. I'm murdering them.

Blackness
spread across her peripheral vision. The domed houses swam around her. Sounds
distorted, seeming distant, and Amissa swayed on her feet. Panic was creeping
in. She took a deep breath, burning away the terror with her fury. Her vision
cleared. Her mind steadied.

This
is war. There can be no mercy in war. Tonight I am a soldier.

Two
Rangers ran toward her, guns firing. Amissa leaped aside. The bullets hit a
domed house. She crouched and returned fire, mowing them down. Both Rangers
fell. Amissa examined her arm and winced. A bullet had grazed her skin. Another
inch to the left, and the bullet would have shattered her bone, maybe even torn
her arm off. Lucky.

Gunshots
sounded across the city.

As
the tyrannosaurs terrorized Dinovia, hunters and Rangers clashed. Bodies fell.
Warriors died on both sides. The mighty Tomahawk crashed down, bullets in his
barrel chest. Madame Maria stomped through a crowd of Rangers, lashing her
steel claws, lacerating Rangers. Their bullets hit the seven-foot-tall woman.
She howled and fell. Rangers were on her at once like sinraptors crawling over
a fallen sauropod.

But
for every hunter fallen, they took down ten Rangers, maybe more. And Amissa
knew: This city is ours.

As
she fought onward, shooting from the shadows, she noticed that the shadows were
no longer so dark. The first hint of daylight gilded the rooftops. The night
was ending. And her conquest was almost complete.

Then
she heard it.

A
rumbling.

A
chorus of snorts, grunts, and thumping feet.

The
T-rexes stopped their rampage. Across the city, their scaly heads rose over the
rooftops. They stared east, sniffing, squinting in the rising sun.

The
rumbling grew louder. Louder still. The cobbled alleyway shook below Amissa's
boots.

She
climbed onto a pile of rubble, hopped onto a balcony, and pulled herself onto a
rooftop. She still couldn't see anything. The city was shaking now. Dust danced
across the ruins. The T-rexes hissed and bared their teeth and whipped their
tails.

Amissa
hopped from roof to roof, moving to higher ground, until she could see the
eastern wall of the city. The sun was rising. Light blinded her. The rumbles
deafened her. She squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

There.

She
saw them.

They
came charging from the dawn. A herd like a tank battalion. Triceratops.

The
horned dinosaurs raced over the drawbridge. They stormed through the shattered
gates. One T-rex was near the gateway, a young female with green scales. She
snapped her teeth at the charging herd, then lost her courage, turned tail, and
fled. A T-rex, the mightiest predator on Mintari—fleeing.

Amissa
stared in silent horror.

Then
she saw something else. A gasp fled her lips.

A
man and a woman rode the lead triceratops. The man wore a ceratop hat and
carried a sleep-or-die. The woman's flaming-red hair billowed in the wind.

Rage
flared over Amissa's horror. Standing on the rooftop, she raised her
binoculars. Ah yes. Just as she had suspected. A thin smile stretched across
her lips.

"Welcome,
Joe and Simone. Welcome to your graveyard."

* * * * *

The
triceratops herd charged into the city, cracking cobblestones, sending a T-rex
fleeing.

Joe
rode at their lead, staring ahead with narrowed eyes.

"Dear
God," he whispered.

Dinovia
teetered on the edge of destruction. Much of the city lay in ruin. Hundreds of
round, domed homes had cracked open like eggs. Chunks of clay spread across the
desolation, and clouds of dust sparkled in the morning light. Bodies lay across
the cobbled roads. Bodies of Rangers. Of civilians. Children too. Some of the
bodies had tooth marks and claw marks on them. But others were riddled with
bullets.

Amissa
had stopped filming herself a while ago. But she had done this. Joe was sure of
it. And he would put a stop to it.

A
pack of T-rexes would not simply invade a human city, trapping themselves between
walls and houses. They were not monsters hell-bent on destruction. Like all
dinosaurs, they were simply interested in survival. A city was full of danger
and only small, bony humans to eat. Amissa must have done something to lure
them here. She would have no bond with them, not like Joe's bond with Dozer.
No. She must have …

"Eggs,"
Joe said. "She must have stolen their eggs."

Simone
sat before him on Dozer's lumpy back. She clenched her fist. "Amissa! Tar
her. How do we fix this, Joe?"

He
thought for a moment. Joe could try to herd the T-rexes out of the city with
brute triceratops force. That might work. But the rexes would resist. It would
not be pretty. Perhaps Joe could find and remove the eggs. Judging by all the
shattered buildings, the T-rexes had already done a thorough search. How would
Joe, without a tyrannosaur's keen sense of smell, find what they could not?

"If
I'm right, Amissa hid T-rex eggs here. And she'll know where they are." He
raised his voice. "Amissa! Tar you, Amissa, where are you?"

No
reply.

His
cowardly sister was hiding.

He
bulldozed onward through the city. Dozer's enormous feet crushed cobblestones,
leaving deep footprints. The trike weighed a dozen tons, enough to pulverize
the city streets. Ahead, Joe saw more T-rexes moving through Dinovia, stomping
between buildings, furious and confused. They seemed torn, desperately wanting
their eggs but also seriously concerned about the charging triceratops army.

The
two species were mortal enemies on Mintari. They were about the same size—both
bloody massive. T-rex was taller. Triceratops was broader. T-rex had the most
powerful jaws known to nature. Triceratops had the most powerful horns. In the
wild, they gave each other a wide berth, but sometimes they did come to blows.
Their battles could go either way. Joe had seen rexes kill trikes before. But
just as often, trikes killed rexes. They were the two greatest warriors on
Mintari. Now they were trapped here in this gauntlet.

Dozer
smelled the T-rexes ahead. But he did not cower, not even hesitate. He actually
gained speed, raring for battle. The burly triceratops charged through the
city, leaving potholes in his wake, overturning carts, knocking down trees.
People fled before him. But Dozer would not harm a human. It was his old mortal
enemies he smelled here. The T-rexes had slain many of his kind. He had lost brothers
and sisters to the terrible tyrannosaurs. Now they threatened humans, whom
Dozer considered allies. He was eager to thrust his horns into any tyrannosaur
foolish enough to get in his way.

One
T-rex was foolish enough. She was a big female, driven mad by the loss of her
eggs. Scars ran across her scaly green body like red rivers, and her black eyes
blazed with fury. The prodigious predator stomped into an alleyway and faced
the charging herd. She was a Tyrannosaurus rex. An apex predator. The greatest predator
that ever lived. She did not fear some herbivores! What could they possibly do?
Nibble some grass around her? Facing the charge, she placed her feet at a wide
stance, opened her jaws, and unleashed a deafening rumble.

Normally,
facing such an opponent, even the mighty triceratops would flee. But Dozer was
no normal triceratops. He kept charging, opened his beak, and unleashed his own
furious cry. Emboldened by their leader, the other trikes charged with him,
shaking the city.

Sitting
ahead of Joe, Simone clung to Dozer's frill. "I want off, I want off, I
want off!"

"It's
too late to get off Dozer!" Joe said.

"I
mean off this planet!" she screamed.

The
trike kept charging. The green T-rex stood her ground, teeth bared. Joe winced.
Simone ducked behind the frill. The two animals charged closer, closer, and—

The
world shook.

Trike
and rex slammed together.

The
horns drove into the T-rex's chest, shattering scales, drawing blood. The
theropod howled. But she did not die or flee. In blind animal fury, the
tyrannosaur leaned forward. Her legendary jaws chomped down on Dozer's frill.

Screaming,
Simone pulled her arms back. She nearly lost them to the terrible teeth.

The
tyrannosaur jaws squeezed like clamps. Banana-sized teeth punched into Dozer's
bony frill. A T-rex had the greatest bite force of any animal alive. It made a
shark's bite seem like a gentle kiss. Bone snapped and cracked.

But
the triceratops kept charging.

Dozer
shoved his horns deeper into his enemy's flesh, carving through muscle and
bone. His thick legs shoved against the ground. Those legs were so muscular
they made elephant legs look like toothpicks. Even with those dreaded teeth
chomping into his frill, the triceratops kept shoving, digging his horns
deeper, brutalizing his foe.

And
then the other trikes were with him, running, barreling forward, a great
stampede.

For
a moment longer, the T-rex clung onto Dozer's frill. She was like a dog
refusing to release a favorite toy. It seemed she would rip Dozer's head right
off his body.

Then
the combined might of the triceratops herd overpowered even the great
Tyrannosaurus rex. One second, the tyrant was gnawing on Dozer's head. The next
second, she was beneath his stomping feet. Then the feet of the herd. The T-rex
was an enormous dinosaur, weighing more than two mammoths. And the trikes
steamrolled over her, crushing her bones.

The
herd kept plowing through the city. One young T-rex, a powerful male with gray
scales, found himself in their path. He glanced down at his dead sister, up at
the herd, then turned tail and ran. There were few things in this universe that
could make a T-rex flee. Right now a dozen of those things were stampeding
through Dinovia City.

"Amissa!"
Joe cried. "Where are you, Amissa? Did you hide eggs here? Oldest trick in
the book! Where are you?"

Then
he saw it. A figure on a distant rooftop.

Dinovia
Library was the largest building still standing in the city. Its dome rose
several stories high. The library would barely be a hut on Cloventia, but for
Mintari, it was a colossus, taller than even the rampaging rexes. Joe had spent
most of his life in the wilderness, but whenever he visited the city, he would
take time to visit the library, to drown himself in books. To him, books were
like nature. They took him to places of danger and wonder.

Now
Amissa stood on the library dome. Her chestnut hair streamed in the wind. She
seemed almost to glow in the sunrise.

"Good
morning, big brother!" she said. "And good night."

She
aimed her rifle at him and fired.

* * * * *

"Can
I hold her, Mother?" the boy asked. "Can I hold my baby sister?"

Lifa
lay in bed, recovering from a difficult birth. This baby was eight years in the
making. After having her son, she had tried again. And again. Over and over.
But her first birth had broken something inside her, and for years, doctors
told her she would never have another child. Here, finally, in this hospital
floating above the neon sea—a miracle. A baby girl.

"Mother,
can I hold her?" asked the boy.

Lifa
smiled thinly. Her son spoke with a Cloventian accent. She herself had been
born and raised in the savage beauty of Mintari. But she had followed her
husband to this synthetic world. She was raising her son in this so-called
civilization, a place of metal and light where the only leaves were made of
plastic. Lifa was wilting here in her exile, trapped inside the floating
skyscrapers, and all the wealth of her husband could not set her free. He kept
her in a neon cage.

Joe,
this sweet and somber boy, was her light. Her life. She taught him the ways of
Mintari, taught him about the great animals who roamed there, the mountains
that soared, the air that was scented of pines, not chemical purifiers. And
still he spoke with a Cloventian accent. But Lifa knew his heart was wild.

Now
in her arms she held a new blessing. A miracle baby. A daughter.

"Amissa,"
she whispered. "I name you Amissa."

"Mother!"
Joe said. "Can I hold her?"

She
laughed weakly. "Of course."

The
eight-year-old held his newborn sister, rocked her gently, and kissed her
forehead. "Hi, Amissa. I'm Joe, your big brother. I love you. And I'll
protect you forever."

Thirty-three
years later, as the gunshot rang out in Dinovia City, that memory flashed
through Joe. He had suppressed most of his memories of Cloventia. It had not
been a happy childhood. But that day always remained with him. One last day of
light before the long shadow years.

Now
that gunshot snapped through his reverie. The bullet missed him. It slammed
into Dozer's central horn, embedding itself into the bone. The trike reared and
howled. He was already wounded from long days of battle. T-rex teeth were still
stuck in his frill. But his fury flooded through him. It would take more than a
bullet to stop him. He charged onward.

Riding
the trike, Joe raised his sleep-or-die. He aimed at Amissa.

For
a second, he almost fired from the right barrel. A live bullet. Then he quickly
flipped the switch and fired a tranquilizer dart at his sister.

She
vanished behind the library's domed roof. The dart flew overhead.

Joe's
jaw clenched. "After her, Dozer!"

He
didn't need to knee the trike in the right direction. Dozer knew his mission.
It was no longer to trample over rexes, as much as he enjoyed the activity. It
was to crush the little human. His master's sister. Like humans, trikes had strong
family bonds, and Dozer knew that the human on the rooftop had broken that
sacred bond. With a bullet in his horn and teeth in his frill, he rumbled
toward the library.

Yet
as they got closer, the streets narrowed. The library was located in the Old City.
These streets were five hundred years old, dating back to the first colonists
from Earth. Back then, the city had been only a town, and the colonists walked
everywhere. The streets were too narrow for jippis. And certainly too narrow
for dinosaurs. Dozer found himself stuck.

The
triceratops was forced to stop on Horner Lane, a cobbled street that led to the
library. The entire herd crowded behind him. Clay buildings rose alongside,
grazing the trikes' lumpy flanks. These buildings were ancient. Some still had
the original shops on their bottom floors, while the shopkeepers lived above.

Trapped
in the narrow road like a potato in a man's throat, Dozer swiveled his enormous
head around. He looked at Joe with one eye. He grunted something that sounded
like a question. "Hau?" What now?

Joe
knew that if he ordered it, Dozer would keep going, simply bulldozing over the
buildings. But he had come to save this city, not cause further devastation.
Especially not to historical buildings.

"I'll
keep going on foot," Joe said.

"I'll
go," Simone said. "Somebody needs to lead the trikes, and—"

Gunshots
boomed.

Bullets
pinged off triceratops horns and thudded into scaly flesh. The dinosaurs
reared, trapped in the narrow road.

Tar it!
Joe saw them. Snipers on the rooftops. All along Horner Lane. So Amissa had
brought a posse.

Joe
aimed his rifle and took a shot. A bullet hit a sniper. The man grunted and
fell back. More bullets rained down. One grazed Joe's thigh, and he hissed in
pain. Dozer bellowed.

"Back,
get back!" Joe shouted. "Dozer, get out of here!"

The
triceratops tried to retreat, but Horner Lane was cramped. A perfect place to
trap a herd of bulky dinosaurs. In a panic, a few triceratops leaned into
nearby buildings. Walls collapsed, revealing the insides of a millinery shop, a
toy store selling wooden dinosaur skeletons, a gallery of paleoart, and a chocolatier
offering dino-shaped treats. More bullets whizzed. The trikes were trying to
spin around, toppling more buildings. A statue of Mary Anning tipped over. A perfumery
crumbled, spraying the alleyway with a thousand aromas.

More
bullets flew. Dozer reared. The dinosaur ran through the clouds of perfume. His
scaly flank grazed a doll shop, peeling off the wall. A few little girls
cowered inside, perhaps seeking shelter in a familiar place of comfort. They
screamed. Dust and broken dolls filled the alleyway.

Then
Joe heard it.

A
low, rippling bass that raised his hackles. Pebbles danced on the ground. His
chest ached.

The
sound of grumbling tyrannosaurs.

One
T-rex came from behind. Another from the front. They blocked both ends of
Horner Lane. The gargantuan carnivores slammed into the herd, front and back,
biting, kicking, shoving the trikes closer together. One triceratops fell with
an earth-shaking thud, and his neighbors trampled him. And the bullets
kept flying.

I
led us right into an ambush, Joe realized.

"Joe,
lead the herd out of here!" Simone shouted. "I'll go after
Amissa!"

"Simone—wait!"
he said.

But
the tarry redhead was already leaping off Dozer. She landed on a pile of
rubble, hopped down to the road, and ran, vanishing into a cloud of perfumed
dust.

The
T-rexes shoved harder against the herd. Clouds of dust hid their bodies, but
their jaws emerged from the storm, biting at the trikes. Joe bared his teeth,
aimed his gun, and fired a tranquilizer dart at one rex. The dart snapped
against the scaly skin, only enraging the carnivore. More tyrannosaur howls
came from behind.

And
in the distance, miles away, rose an even deeper rumble.

A
familiar rumble. A sound like thunder. Like an earthquake. A sound that ached
in Joe's bones. It was a sound so low in frequency Joe could barely hear it.
But he could feel it. The sound waves thumped against him.

It
was a sound Joe had not heard in years. And a shiver ran down his spine.

"Dozer,
pull back to the city square!" Joe said. "We'll lure the big green
rex out. Go!"

The
trike could not understand human language well, but he understood the tone, the
situation, and the urgency. He managed to spin around, crumbling more walls. He
lowered his head and charged, his horns shoving aside rubble.

The
triceratops made his way off Horner Lane and onto Bakker Road, which was just
as narrow. Barbershops, restaurants, and souvenir shops lined the cobbled road.
A few other triceratops followed, fleeing the gauntlet on Horner Lane. As they
charged, the dinosaurs shattered cobblestones, cracked the walls of shops, and
knocked over a water fountain. Merchant stalls overturned. Locals fled. A few
tourists snapped photos.

Joe
held on tight. Dozer led the trikes down Bakker Road. The herd trampled
everything in its path. Horns grazed balconies. They collapsed, and balustrade
rails clattered down everywhere like pickup sticks. A teashop cracked open,
spilling aromatic leaves across the cobblestones. Dust filled the air. Joe's
eyes burned. He could barely see.

He
glanced behind him, blinking the dust out. He could make out several rexes and
trikes still battling along Horner Lane. Simone had vanished, seeking Amissa in
the destruction.

A
deep rumble sounded farther down Bakker Street.

Joe
tried to see the source. Too much dust. When you built a city out of clay and
stone, then raced a herd of triceratops through it, apparently that caused a
lot of dust. Who'd have thought? The rumble sounded again, closer now. Joe
leaned over Dozer's head, trying to see, then gasped. Dust filled his mouth.

"Rex!"
he shouted, coughing.

Dozer
understood that word. He crouched, snarled, and lowered his head, aiming his
horns ahead.

A
brown T-rex burst out the clouds of dust. The predator crashed through a
balcony, shattering stones, and lunged at the triceratops.

Dozer
charged at full speed, driving twelve tons of triceratops ferocity into the
T-rex. His horns pierced the scaly skin with sickening thunks.

The
T-rex leaned back, howling in rage. How dared this herbivore make him bleed! He
took a few steps back, then lunged forward, prepared to finish this impudent
vegetarian. Dozer was already charging and rammed into the rex again. A second
trike, then a third added their bulk, plowing over the combative carnivore.

The
tyrannosaur had enough. He was used to hunting docile hadrosaurs. At worst, he
dealt with an iguanodon and their terrible thumbs. A herd of truculent trikes?
No meal was worth this. He fled down a narrow road, which the trikes were too
bulky to enter. His chest was bleeding, and his pride hurt even more, but the
T-rex would live to terrorize smaller herbivores another day.

That
deeper rumble sounded again in the distance. That old familiar bass.

Joe
knew he should try to herd the rexes out of the city. He knew he should fight
the poachers on the rooftops. The last thing he needed to do was chase that old
deep bellow.

But
that sound had been haunting him for fifteen years. It echoed through his
dreams every night. Now it was here, pealing over the city.

The
sound of King Ivan. The dinosaur that had devoured his pregnant wife.

Joe
could not see the tyrant from here. But he would recognize the monster's rumble
anywhere. Joe's upper lip rose in a sneer. Let Simone track Amissa down. He had
another battle to fight.

He
dug his heels into Dozer's sides.

"Go,
Dozer! Follow that sound. He awaits us deeper in the city. Ivan is here, Dozer.
Charge!"

The
scarred old triceratops ran, stomping through the city toward the echo of a
nightmare.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A Dinosaur in the Library

Simone ran down
Horner Lane, coughing and waving aside the dust. The sounds of rumbling,
stampeding, and battling dinosaurs rose all around. A chunk of building slammed
down ahead of Simone, blocking her way. She skidded to a halt, wheeled away,
and ran down another road.

"Where
are you, Amissa?" she shouted. She had last seen the huntress hiding
behind the library. But where was the library? Simone no longer knew left from
right, up from down. She could barely see anything through the collapsing city.

She
raced down the cobbled road, then leaped back. A salmon-colored triceratops,
a big female with a cracked frill, raced down an intersecting road. The dinosaur
was wounded and bugling in terror. A T-rex stomped after the horned herbivore,
leaning down and snapping his jaws. He managed to catch the trike's tail,
severing the tip. The two dinosaurs stumbled aside and slammed into a building.
Balconies came crashing down. A bell tower collapsed. The bell clanged as it
rolled down the road.

The
dueling dinosaurs shoved off the crumbling building, then wobbled sideways,
lumbering toward Simone. The rex's tail swung. Simone ducked. The scaly tail
slammed into a pottery shop, shattering the wall. A thousand clay pots and mugs
spilled onto the street. The triceratops charged, thrusting her horns at the T-rex.
Simone screamed and leaped away, narrowly dodging the trike's foot. A music
shop's wall collapsed. Guitars, cellos, and violins fell across the street with
a discordant symphony. Simone felt as small as a mouse, trapped between a
battling dog and cat.

The
T-rex managed to get past the bony frill, to close his jaws around the
herbivore's neck. But the salmon-colored triceratops kept fighting, shoving her
bulk forward, goring her tormentor with her horns. Simone didn't stay to see
who won. She ran onward, leaving the mortal enemies behind.

There!
There past that fallen statue! The library.

The
domed building still stood, an island rising from a sea of dust. Amissa was no
longer on the roof. Had she gone inside, perhaps to regroup with other hunters?
Or had she fled to another neighborhood?

Shadows
darted across the road. Screeches rose above. Simone pressed her back against a
wall, heart pounding. She glanced up. Pterosaurs! Pterosaurs above Dinovia
City!

A
flock of them flew above. Joe had told her that pterosaurs dared not fly over
Dinovia. The Rangers on the walls shot them with stinging pellets. Now many
Rangers were dead, the walls were abandoned, and the pterosaurs flocked.

Simone
screamed and cowered as pterosaurs swarmed down toward the road. The beating of
their wings blasted her hair back and raised swirling dust devils. They were
only dactyls. Members of the Pterodactylus genus—relatively small
members of the broader pterosaur clade. But each dactyl was still big enough to
rip her apart. Memories of her time in the hatchlings' nest spun in her head.

Thankfully,
the pterosaurs ignored her. They flew down the block, then landed on … Simone
gasped. A triceratops corpse!

For
a terrible moment, Simone thought it might be Dozer. But it was a different
triceratops, a young bull with blue-gray skin. A big male T-rex stood above the
fallen herbivore, one foot on the carcass. The theropod tried to swat the
pterosaurs away, but with his tiny arms, he wasn't swatting anyone anytime
soon. He must content himself with sharing his meal. The T-rex tugged back the
frill, revealing the soft meat of the neck, and tucked in. The dactyls began to
peck at the tougher torso.

Simone
took a few deep breaths, then coughed out dust. She needed to find Amissa—and
fast. If the poacher had indeed hidden eggs across Dinovia City, the only way
to stop the rex rampage was to find those eggs. And only Amissa knew where they
were.

Another
T-rex ran down the road, sniffing, shattering everything in her path. Simone
retreated into the Fossil Garden, a small restaurant. It served Mintarian fare—lots
of meat, potatoes, and beer. Mintarian fare, yes, though it was all likely
imported from the farming world of Dagon. Same place Cloventia got its food. In
any case, the kitchen was now closed. People huddled inside the dining hall,
hugging one another, their faces pale. One man had lost an arm; a tourniquet
wrapped around the stump. Simone peeked out the window. Would the predator
visit the restaurant for a meal? Yes, waiter, I'll have the redhead journalist
with a glass of Merlot. Thankfully the T-rex ran by, searching for her eggs.

The
people hiding in the restaurant began to pray. A few invited Simone to join.
But she wasn't here to hide for long. She pulled out her SmartSphere. Joe had shattered it back in the cave, and bits of tape held it together. It looked clunky, but when she
tapped a button, the device unfolded into a glowing digital sphere. Simone ran
her hands over the sphere, selecting menu options, and found Amissa
Triplehorn's QuickFame profile.

Bingo!

The
poacher was broadcasting. Right now.

Simone
ground her teeth. Why that vain, monstrous woman! She looked so pleased with
herself. Simone wanted to reach through the SmartSphere and strangle her.

"Yes,
my Tripletots, it's war!" Amissa was saying. She had taken time during the
battle to fix her makeup and brush her hair. "The Rangers are attacking
from all sides. They vow to kill me. And every other hunter. If they can, they will
kill you too. Do you eat meat? The Rangers want you dead! Do you go fishing?
They will shoot you! The Mintari Rangers are a fanatical, misanthropic hate
group that places animals above humans. But don't worry, my fans. I'm here in
Dinovia City to crush them once and for all. If you hear this broadcast, join
me. Bring your weapons, bring your fury, and come fight with me for
freedom!"

"Why
you tarry little—" Simone began. But she was so angry words failed her.

Then
she looked more closely. Amissa was speaking from a shadowy place. When Simone
increased the sphere's brightness … there.

Bookshelves.

Amissa
was in the library. The mystery section.

"Gotcha!"
Simone said.

She
didn't have a weapon. She walked toward a table in the restaurant and lifted a
steak knife. The waiter stared at her, pale, and gulped.

"I'll
bring it back," Simone said, tucked the knife into her belt, and ran
outside.

She
raced down the street, sending a few dactyls flying. She headed toward the
library.

* * * * *

"Ma'am,
ma'am! You have to stop, ma'am. Head back now!"

Simone
was only a block away from the library. A big, beefy Ranger came walking toward
her, holding out his hand in a "stop" gesture. His uniform was a size
too small and covered with dust, and a gash bled on his cheek.

Simone
skidded to a halt, panting. "Sir, I'm a journalist. I don't have my press
badge, but—"

"Ma'am,
step back now!" he said. "Get into one of the shops and—"

The
sound of stomping feet silenced him.

The
Ranger looked to his left. He cursed and raised his sleep-or-die.

A
second later, a T-rex thundered toward him. He was a big male, his scales
green, his eyes yellow. Bullet holes bled on his chest.

The
Ranger didn't even have time to fire. The T-rex grabbed him and ripped him
apart. Clearly the predators had learned to hate the Rangers and their horrible
guns.

Simone
stood, frozen like a deer in the headlights. She knew she should flee. But she
just stood there, panting.

The
T-rex nudged the dead Ranger with his snout, grumbled, and kicked the body
aside. Then the beast raised his head and looked at Simone. He actually made
eye contact. Simone could see intelligence in those yellow eyes. This was no
mindless monster. He was sentient. Simone had heard that T-rexes were as smart
as dolphins and chimps. Right now she believed it.

She
wanted to run, but she stood her ground. Running would mark her as prey. She
simply stared back.

The
T-rex sniffed the air, then loped away. He was not hungry. He had only killed
the Ranger in self-defense. Simone was not a threat, so he let her live. The
dinosaur walked onward, sniffing, searching for the eggs Amissa had stolen.

Simone
kept running. With every footstep, the T-rex had left potholes. Simone had to
zigzag around them. Finally she reached the library.

Back
on Cloventia, there were no libraries. Paper was a rarity, available only to
the elite; no trees grew on Cloventia. The Cloventia Gazette did publish
a paper edition, but barely anyone bought it. Most Cloventians read everything
on their SmartSpheres. Some people—not Simone, but some—got neural implants
that fed information directly into their brains. But Mintari was a world beyond
time. A world where the past came to life. That didn't only mean dinosaurs. It
was also how people lived. Their ancestors had colonized space, but here on
Mintari, people looked back in time. They still built libraries and filled them
with paper books.

Columns
lined the library portico. The double doors were open. Simone raced inside.

For
a moment, she almost forgot about the T-rexes rampaging through the city.

The
library was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.

Simone
had seen old movies and photographs featuring libraries. Well, she had also
seen photos of dinosaurs. Seeing some things in person was a completely
different experience.

A
stained glass window glittered between the bookshelves, dappling the library
with light in every color. Upholstered armchairs nestled in nooks, little
havens for bookworms to sit and escape into a book. Antique globes stood in
brass holders, depicting the five rocky planets of the Nyx system. Cloventia,
the neon world, a planet for humans. Dagon, the grass giant, a farming world.
Borealis, a cold planet for Ice Age animals. Thalia, a warm planet for victims
of the Holocene extinction. And Mintari, a world of dinosaurs.

The
globes were works of art, adorned with precious metals and gems, but the books
were the star attraction. Shelves soared several stories tall, lined with
spiraling metal staircases and wheeled ladders. Simone resisted the temptation
to slide on a ladder, one arm stretched out. Millions of books covered the
shelves, centuries old. Most were bound in leather. The smell of old paper
filled the air, intoxicating. There was so much knowledge here! Millions of
books that could take Simone to another world. Many were books written here on
Mintari, but most were books from old Earth. From the days before the Slum Wars
and the nuclear fallout. Back when dinosaurs still hid underground and the
stars were but a dream.

Completing
the tableau was a massive fresco. The painting spread across the domed ceiling,
depicting dinosaurs. The fresco was arranged like a pie graph, divided into
four geological eras. The Permian era featured dimetrodons with spiky sails on
their backs, a hungry scutosaurus with lumpy plates of armor on his body, huge
insects bustling in a marsh, and other animals that predated the dinosaurs. The
Triassic section of the mural featured turtles, crocodiles, a tanystropheus
with a ridiculously long neck, and the earliest dinosaurs, who were still
humble and small. The Jurassic era featured the dinosaurs coming into their
own. Stegosaurus roamed the forest, massive sauropods dominated the land, and
dreaded theropods like allosaurus preyed upon them. Finally, the Cretaceous
section of the mural depicted the golden age of dinosaurs. Here appeared the
classic dinosaurs. Tyrannosaurus rex. Triceratops. Velociraptor. The largest of
the sauropods. Here the dinosaurs were at the top of their game.

The
Cretaceous ended with a bang—literally. The asteroid doomed the dinosaurs on
one terrible day. Gaping at the mural, Simone wondered. What would have
happened had the asteroid never wiped out the dinosaurs? What new eras might
have followed? How would they have continued to evolve? Would the sauropods
have grown even larger? Would T-rex have lost his vestigial arms? Would new,
wondrous species take form? Nobody would ever know.

But
then again—maybe they would know. What the asteroid had interrupted was
continuing here on Mintari. Using time-casting, scientists had rescued
dinosaurs from before the asteroid impact, regrew them from DNA here on
Mintari, and let them loose. They were irresponsible, those old scientists.
They mixed animals from all four eras on one planet. They opened it up to
tourism. They played god instead of letting evolution take its slow, delicate
course. But that was centuries ago. Those old visionaries were gone, and Mintari
was in danger. Amissa and her poachers were hitting Mintari like the asteroid
had hit Earth. Yes, the dinosaurs were big and strong, and they could kill a
few humans. But they could not survive humanity for long. Not with poachers
like Amissa running wild. Even the mighty T-rex would not fare much better than
the lions, whales, and elephants of Earth. The dinosaurs too, confronted with
humanity, could face extinction again.

And
Simone realized what this war meant. What the stakes were. Not just to save a
few dinosaurs. But to save them all. To let evolution continue its grand game.
It was too late to stop the asteroid from hitting Earth, but they could stop
humanity from polluting Mintari. This was a noble war. It was a war Joe had
dedicated his life to. And Simone, who had come here as a journalist, realized
that she was now a soldier.

"I
could have shot you ten times by now, you dumb tart," came a voice from
the shadows. "You're in a war, and you're gaping at a ceiling."

Simone
started, drew her knife, and stared toward the shadowy bookshelves.
"Amissa, I'm not here to fight!"

Amissa
still remained hidden in shadows, but her laughter echoed through the library.
"And you draw a knife. How cute! Hasn't anyone ever told you not to bring
a knife to a gunfight?"

A
shot rang out. The blade shattered in Simone's hand.

It
took Simone a moment to realize what had happened. Amissa had shot the blade!

With
a trembling hand, Simone tossed the hilt down. It clattered. "All right, I
get it! You're a good shot. You have me in your scope. I'm at your mercy.
Believe me or not, I didn't come here to kill you. I want to talk, Amissa. I
want to know where the eggs are."

For
a moment, silence filled the library.

Then
Amissa stepped out from between the bookshelves.

Her
SmartSphere floated beside her, a ball of light like a small moon, filming
everything. Even here, even now, Amissa was putting on a show. She swayed as
she walked—an exaggerated strut designed to accentuate her curves. She smiled
crookedly and raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. In the chaos of battle, she
had found time to fix her makeup, and her cleavage was so deep Simone worried a
pterodactyl would try to nest there. Dramatically, Amissa blew smoke off her
muzzle. She was playing a role, the seductive huntress, the perfect social
media queen. Her QuickFame followers were eating it up.

Simone
had known such women all her life. She had gone to journalism school, reported
from war zones, and written hard-hitting stories of serious journalism. And she
had never gotten one percent the ratings of QuickFame Queens like Amissa
Triplehorn. On their popular channels, they broadcast themselves across the
galaxy. QuickFame Queens were always young, attractive, seductive. They posed
aboard luxury starships, inside penthouses, or—in Amissa's case—with the
corpses of slain dinosaurs.

Simone
was pretty, or so she had been told. She knew that with her looks, she could
abandon the Cloventia Gazette, open a QuickFame channel, flirt on
camera, and make more money. Much more. She had always resisted that
path. She went into journalism with a sense of purpose, while Amissa disgraced
mass media.

"Did
you hear that, Tripletots?" Amissa said. "She wants to talk! How
cute. Is she going to beg for her life? How about we have a vote, my fans?
Should I let her talk? Or should I put a bullet through her head?"

Simone
raised her chin. "Boasting for your followers, huh? Go ahead. Shoot me on
live stream. Let everyone see you're a murderer. Murder me like you murdered my
sister. Maybe finally you'll face justice. Or you can end this charade! Tell me
where you hid the eggs, and we can end this senseless destruction!"

Amissa
tossed back her head and laughed. This time her laughter was higher in pitch,
almost deranged. It echoed through the library. "Do you hear her,
Tripletots? Making those baseless accusations again. She lost at court! The
judge was clear. I'm innocent of killing her silly, stupid twin. Yet still she
slanders me! And she came at me with a knife. You all saw it." Amissa aimed
her rifle. Her face hardened. "You declared war on me, Simone LaRue. You
fought me in the courts. Now you fight me on Mintari. You've lost. This is your
end. You'll finally be famous, Simone LaRue. Your death will get a hundred
times more views than anything you've done in life."

That's
all this is to her, Simone realized. Drama.
She's putting on the biggest show of her life. I can use that.

"Please,
Amissa … I beg you," Simone said.

Amissa's
eyebrows rose. She smiled. "Ah, you want to grovel, do you? Do you want to
see her beg, Tripletots?"

Comments
and likes came flooding in, hovering as little holograms around Amissa's
SmartSphere.

The
QuickFame Queen stared at Simone, eyes hard. "They want to see it. Get on
your knees and beg."

Simone
stepped closer.

Careful.
I must be careful.

"Amissa,
I shouldn't beg you. I should beg your fans. They should decide if I
live or die."

Comments
burst around the sphere. The fans were loving this. Millions were watching.
Amissa dedicated herself to her fans. She could not reject Simone's suggestion.

"Very
well," Amissa said, unable to hide the note of annoyance from her voice.
"Look at the camera, LaRue. And beg them."

Simone
turned toward the camera. She took a deep breath. It was the largest audience
she had ever spoken to. But she was no stranger to cameras.

It's
showtime, she thought.

She
tossed her luxurious red hair. She pouted, making puppy dog eyes at the camera.
"I beg you, Tripletots. Please let me live."

"Get
down on your knees," Amissa said. "Let's see some proper
groveling."

Simone
obeyed. She stared up at the floating camera. "Please, oh please let me
live." She shuffled forward on her knees. "I beg you. I would do
anything."

"Beg
harder!" Amissa said. "Put your back into it!" She was loving
this.

Simone
sniffed. She inched even closer to the floating sphere. The camera tilted down
toward her. "Please. I'm nothing compared to Amissa Triplehorn. I'm only a
lowly, useless girl, while she is rich, beautiful, and …"

While
Amissa was basking, Simone reached out and grabbed the SmartSphere. The round
computer was logged into Amissa's QuickFame account. Simone held the sphere in
both hands, staring right at the camera.

"…famous,"
Simone said.

She
tapped a few buttons, deleting Amissa's QuickFame account.

With
a quick confirmation tap, it was gone forever. Along with her hundreds of
millions of followers.

Simone
turned toward Amissa. "You lose."

Amissa
stared in silence for long seconds. It wasn't sinking in. The huntress just
blinked, face blank.

Then
it clicked. And Amissa screamed.

It
was a scream of pure heartbreak. Of unstoppable fury. A scream of a mother who
lost her children, of an empress who lost her throne. Amissa Triplehorn had
lost her fame, and to her, that was a tragedy worse than a thousand deaths. Her
tortured scream echoed through the library. Outside the windows, the grumbles,
snorts, and huffs of rampaging dinosaurs ceased. They must have heard that terrible
sound.

"I'm
sorry, Amissa," Simone said softly. "I know it hurts. But your
addiction to fame drove you mad. It drove you to kill. You can still redeem
yourself. There is a path back to forgiveness. Where are the eggs?"

Amissa's
scream died on her lips. She gazed at Simone, but her eyes were blank like doll
eyes. Her face was pale, expressionless. Something had broken inside her,
devouring whatever last shreds of humanity she had possessed. There was no more
soul there, Simone realized. Only a hollow space for demons to haunt.

Amissa
spoke softly as if trapped in a dream, her eyes still unfocused. "Death by
bullets is too good for you. I can't believe I almost showed you such mercy.
That's off the table now. Your death … will be far more agonizing. I killed
your sister with a dog. And I will kill you with an animal much, much
bigger."

She
lowered her rifle and pulled a spray can from her vest.

"Amissa,
the show is over," Simone said. "Nobody is watching us now. Let's
talk. Just two women. Tell me where the eggs are, and we'll—"

Amissa
sprayed her from the can. Simone coughed. The miasma covered her clothes, her
hair, her face.

"What
are you doing?" Simone cried.

Amissa
tilted her head. "You wanted to know where the eggs were, didn't you?
Well, truth is, I don't know. My people hid them across the city. Maybe the
dinosaurs found them already. But oh, don't worry. I brought backup. Spray that
smells just like T-rex eggs." She pouted. "Oh, I am afraid that right
now … the eggs are you."

A
grin spread across Amissa's face.

For
a moment silence filled the library.

Then
a rumble like thunder rolled outside. Footsteps thudded. Thump. Thump.
Thump. The books danced on the shelves.

"What
did you do?" Simone whispered.

Amissa
pouted and waved. "Bye-bye, Simone. Say hi to your sis from me."

The
huntress spun on her heel and strutted away, vanishing between the bookshelves.

* * * * *

The
grumble rolled again. It was coming from right outside the library's western
wall. Simone turned, facing the huge stained glass window. A thousand hues of
light dappled her. The window was shaking. A shadow loomed beyond. The
parti-colored light dimmed, leaving Simone in darkness.

Then
a Tyrannosaurus rex burst through the stained glass window, crashing into the
library with a furious bellow and a hailstorm of colored glass.

The
gargantuan predator landed in the center of the library. It was the big green
male. The one Simone had watched slaughter a Ranger. The beast whipped his
scaly tail. Bookshelves shattered. Books fell to the floor, scattering pages.
The T-rex shook wildly, tossing off shards of glass, then raised his head and
howled. It was a cry every bit as horrible and heartbroken as Amissa's scream.
She had lost her fame. This dinosaur had lost his unhatched children.

Then
the beast saw Simone.

He
lowered his head and sniffed. His pupils dilated. Eggs! My eggs!

Simone
ran.

She
raced between two bookshelves, arms pumping. The T-rex followed. The colossal
predator barreled down the aisle, shattering shelves. Books rained, thumping
onto Simone. She ran through the storm. The dinosaur huffed and grunted behind
her, jaws thrusting out to bite her. She could imagine his thoughts.

You
stole my eggs! I smell them on you, thief! Die!

The
terrible mouth snapped shut. Simone leaped away just in time, rolling between
bookshelves. The T-rex found himself biting a bunch of history books. He spat
them out, then crashed through the shelves, following the little egg thief.

Simone
rolled through piles of books, leaped up, and ran onward. Shelf after shelf
collapsed behind her. Genre after genre tumbled. Mysteries, science fiction,
romance—they all crashed down. Simone ran with her arms over her head. Books
thumped onto her, bruising her pale skin. Other books ended up crushed inside
the maw of the T-rex.

Simone
whipped around a corner, then shoved a bookshelf with all her strength. The
shelf collapsed onto the T-rex, showering the dinosaur with books. She might as
well have tossed confetti onto him. The dinosaur burst through the shelf with
flying pages and chips of wood.

Simone
ran. The T-rex lashed his tail. A shelf came crashing down, blocking her
escape. She turned, leaped over fallen cooking books, and slid into the classic
literature section. The predator followed, crushing the books under his
enormous feet. Arms pumping, Simone made her way toward a metal staircase. The
stairs spiraled up toward a mezzanine—the early Cloventian literature section.
She wasn't going to make it. The beast's breath washed over her. The terrible
jaws opened wide, and—

The
T-rex slipped.

He
slipped on books!

Literature—saving
the day again!

It
took the T-rex only a few seconds to leap back up. By then, Simone reached the
staircase and ran up, spiraling higher and higher.

The
tyrannosaur lunged forward. His mouth closed around the corkscrew staircase.
Simone leaped several stairs upward, dodging the terrible teeth. The metal
stairs and railing shattered below her feet. She scrambled higher. The jaws
snapped again, tearing through more metal stairs.

She
leaped onto a long mezzanine and ran. Bookshelves stretched to one side. At her
other side, a railing protected her from a fall to the library floor. The
dinosaur ran on the ground floor, crushing the fallen books, knocking over
globes, shattering the study tables. The mezzanine was probably three stories
tall, even taller than the T-rex. For a brief moment, Simone thought she was
safe.

Then
the rex jumped. His head slammed into the mezzanine from below. Simone jolted
and fell.

She
pushed herself up, ran onward.

The
dinosaur jumped again.

The
mezzanine cracked in two. Simone wobbled. She found herself sliding down the
tilting mezzanine. The dinosaur's mouth widened below, waiting to devour her.

She
grabbed a piece of mangled railing, halting her fall. Her legs kicked in
midair. The rex leaped up to bite. Still clinging to the railing, Simone curled
her legs upward. The jaws snapped shut just inches below.

"I
don't have your eggs!" she cried. For all the good it did. Her terror and
rage exploded from her with tears and a passionate cry. "I hate! This!
Planet!"

She
pulled herself back onto what remained of the mezzanine. The T-rex leaped up,
his head shattering the support beams. The entire mezzanine ripped off the
wall, along with an ungodly amount of books.

As
the mezzanine collapsed below her, Simone leaped into the air.

She
sailed for a terrifying second that lasted an eternity.

She
grabbed a chandelier and swung. Crystals tore off, pattering into the T-rex.

Simone
let go, flew for another eternal second, and landed on another balcony.

"Holy
shit!" she blurted out. She almost regretted turning off Amissa's video
stream. That was one for the record books. Maybe she should turn on her own
SmartSphere and try again.

Wait
a minute …

That
gave her an idea.

The
T-rex blinked, covered with sharp crystals. He shook them loose, looked round,
and saw Simone on the other mezzanine. He stomped closer. Bits of mangled metal
hung between his teeth. This balcony was lower than the last one. She was eye
level with the dinosaur.

Simone
chewed her lip. All right. She had a plan. Of sorts.

"All
right, all right! I do have an egg!" she said. "Easy, boy. Easy …
I'll give you what you want."

Standing
on the mezzanine, she reached into her pack.

The
T-rex tensed, ready to pounce but waiting, watching. In a sudden moment of
terror and hilarity, the dinosaur reminded Simone of a dog waiting for its
master to toss a stick.

Inside
her pack, she felt her SmartSphere. It was switched off and flat like a
pancake. She didn't pull it out yet. Glancing into her pack, she tapped a
button, and the computer ballooned from a circle into a sphere. She tapped
another few buttons. The sphere turned white.

The
T-rex took a step closer, sniffing. She stood on a balcony, he stood on the
ground floor, but they were still eye level. Bits of stained glass and broken
chandelier crystals clung to his green scales. Shredded books dangled from his
claws. He let out a terrible cry. His rancid breath blew Simone's hair back. Where
are my eggs!

Simone
pulled out the round, white computer. She cradled it in her hands.

"Here
you go! An egg. The only egg I have."

She
placed the SmartSphere on the edge of the mezzanine.

The
dinosaur bolted forward. Simone scurried backward until her back hit a
bookshelf. The T-rex thrust his enormous snout closer, nostrils flaring,
sniffing the SmartSphere. The size of that head! The skull in Joe's cave had
seemed large. But covered with muscle, fat, and lumpy skin, a T-rex head was
even larger. Easily large enough to devour a redhead with a single bite. Yet
for now, the dinosaur ignored her. He was still sniffing the sphere.

He's
not going to fall for it, Simone thought. He's
too intelligent. He'll know I duped him. Who am I kidding?

The
dinosaur's eyes narrowed. Those eyes appeared tiny on the massive head of the
carnivore. But standing so close, Simone realized the eyeballs were the size of
grapefruit. He must have impeccable eyesight. Now he focused those eyes on the
strange, round object. Simone could imagine his thoughts. This is strange.
It doesn't look quite like an egg. Too small. Too round. He sniffed. But
it smells like an egg!

Finally,
with surprising gentleness, the dinosaur lifted the SmartSphere in his mouth.
He had teeth the size of bread knives, yet he managed to hold the sphere
without shattering it.

Ah
well, he was probably thinking. I'm just a
male. What do I know of how eggs look? I'll bring this one back to my mate.
She'll know more. The redhead can live for now.

The
T-rex turned away. He stomped out of the ruined library, gently carrying the
"egg" in his mouth.

Simone
slumped to the floor, shaking, head spinning. She let out a weak laugh, and
tears flowed down her cheeks.

I'm
alive. I faced a T-rex. An actual T-rex, the worst dinosaur of them all! And
I'm still alive.

She
stood up, trembling, and descended a staircase to the ground floor. Yes, she
was alive. But she had failed. Failed to talk sense into Amissa, to find out
where the eggs were. Even if the triceratops drove the T-rexes out of Dinovia,
it would be temporary. The tyrannosaurs would simply bide their time, then come
back. They would not stop until they found their eggs. One SmartSphere would not
satisfy them. Especially when they realized it wasn't a real egg.

Something
shiny caught her eye. Simone looked down at a pile of books.

A
SmartSphere lay there. At first Simone thought it was her own computer. Had the
T-rex dropped it, realizing he'd been duped? But no. It wasn't hers.

This
was Amissa's SmartSphere.

A
trap? No, Simone realized. Without her QuickFame account, the sphere was
useless to Amissa. She had discarded it like a piece of garbage. It lay among
torn books, a crack along its round screen.

Simone
lifted the computer. She tapped a few buttons, scrolling through screens. A few
photos, that was about it.

Then
…

Simone
gasped.

"Bingo,"
she whispered.

A
map of Dinovia City. And on the map—red dots marking the locations of the
hidden eggs.

"So
you do know where they are!" Simone said.

A
bunch of dots glowed in different locations. Eggs. Scattered across the city.
And the dinosaurs were after them too.

Simone's
heart sank. She had hoped all the eggs would be in one location. Simone had
barely survived an encounter with one T-rex. How would she survive an Easter
egg hunt across so many locations, competing with the frenetic dinosaurs?

"How
the hell do I collect all these eggs, take them out of the city, and avoid
being eaten?" she whispered.

No
wonder Amissa had let her find the map. The knowledge was useless. It was
impossible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Egg Hunt

As the noon sun
beat down, Figaro Triplehorn rode into the city, leading her pack of
achillobators.

She
had never seen anything like this place. None of them had.

Houses
rose everywhere. Fig had thought that Lifa had lived in a proper house. That
was nothing, she realized. Houses here weren't made of branches and grass. They
seemed built of hardened soil like termite mounds, but they were as big as brontosaurs.
And the people! There must have been hundreds of them! Figaro had never
imagined so many humans could exist, let alone live in one place. There were as
many humans here as ants in a colony. Indeed, the entire city reminded her of a
huge hive.

Many
of those strange, stinky, metallic machines rumbled about, belching out smoke.
Humans rode inside. Lifa had told her about those. What were they called again?
Right. Jippis. Terrible things! Lifa did not use one, nor did Joe. Smelling the
exhaust and hearing the rumbles, Fig understood why. She realized that Joe and
Lifa, while so strange to her, were still beings of the wilderness, more like
Fig than these urbanites with their terrible machines.

It
truly sank in now. How different humans were from dinosaurs. How different Fig
was. Humans were unlike any other animal on Mintari. They were not like
dinosaurs. Not truly like insects either, despite their bustling hives. Not
like fish or frogs, certainly. They were something entirely alien to her. Fig
suddenly felt very afraid. Of this city. Of herself. Of who she was.

I'm
not a real bator. But neither am I truly human.

She
wanted to turn around and flee. To escape into the wilderness. To hide among
the bators and live as one of them. Even if she would always be the runt. She
had been happy with the pack. Why had she ever gone into this world of humans?

Red
Scar was nervous too. He snorted and sneered and his eyes kept darting between
the buildings. Like her, he felt trapped. The other achillobators snapped and
snarled at everything. Crooked Wing lunged toward a human child, her toothy
jaws open wide. The boy fled down an alleyway. Fast Foot, who had the quickest
legs but slowest mind in the pack, began chasing a jippi, biting at its bumper.
The pack was scared. Becoming too wild. Too aggressive. This was not their
natural habitat. They had followed Fig here dutifully, but now they acted like
animals in cages.

Riding
Red Scar, Fig tossed back her head. She let out a loud howl.
"Arooooo!"

Red
Scar tossed back his head too. "Aroooo!"

The
other bators returned the calls. Their howls echoed through the city.

"Ahhh-woooo!"
Fig cried. Gather here! Unite! Be together! Be strong!

The
pack formed rank behind her. They were on a mission. Fig had been spying on her
father. She didn't understand everything that was going on. But she understood
enough. The city was in danger. And her father was here. She must help him.

"Arooo!"
the pack members cried. Battle cries.

And
from the distance came a deeper, louder sound.

A
bass rumble.

The
sound of a T-rex.

So
what Fig had heard was true. The rexes were attacking the city.

The
bators sniffed the air, then sneered and moved closer together. Their sickle
claws twitched. Fig couldn't smell it, but her hackles rose. Her heart burst
into a gallop. The greatest enemy of the achillobators was here. In this city.
The creatures they feared most on Mintari.

The
rumble rolled again.

Footsteps
thudded in the distance.

A
huge shadow fell upon the road.

Fig's
lip twitched. Her hands trembled. She wanted more than anything to flee. But
she forced her fear down. Still riding Red Scar, she straightened her back,
raised her chin, and lifted her sickle claw high. She let out the loudest cry
her lungs could manage.

"Ahh-ooooooooeeee!"

To
battle!

Just
then, the T-rex burst from behind a building.

Fig
almost fainted. Her heart skipped a beat. Tears sprang into her eyes.

She
had never seen a Tyrannosaurus rex up close before. Now she stared at a
towering female, a true goddess of hunger. By the stars, they were massive
animals. Even larger than she had imagined. This dinosaur dwarfed the
achillobators. Every one of her teeth put a sickle claw to shame. Not that a
T-rex would even need teeth against Fig. This dinosaur could gulp her down
whole, no chewing required. True to their name, they were tyrants.
Tyrannosaurus rex ruled Mintari.

And
this one wasn't even fully grown, judging by the fuzz across her back. Rexes
sported fluffy feathers as hatchlings, then gradually shed them as they grew,
unveiling their hard, scaly skin. This T-rex looked just old enough to begin
laying eggs. She might be here searching for her first brood. At this young
age, she had only lost the feathers across her flanks and snout, revealing
snaking patterns of brown and yellow scales. She stomped closer, shattering the
cobblestones with every step. Her jaws opened wide, ready to destroy this pack
of puny predators. This was her territory now.

Fig
liked giving dinosaurs names in her mind. She named this towering foe
Featherback. A silly name, perhaps. But there was nothing silly about that
hungry hellmouth.

"Ahh—ooooo!"
Red Scar cried and charged.

"Aooo
aooo!" the pack replied.

They
all ran to battle.

Featherback
stopped in her tracks. The young T-rex blinked. She must have been thinking: Who
are these little feathery creatures attacking me? They must be crazy! I'll
teach them a thing or two.

The
enormous predator thrust down her primary weapon—the most powerful jaws nature
had ever created. She reached for one achillobator. The one the puny human cub
was riding.

Fig
stared upward, eyes wide. Featherback's mouth widened above, prepared to close
around her. Fig raised her sickle claw. It felt so pointless. She might as well
be wielding a twig.

But
Red Scar was fast enough. The bator bolted under the T-rex's snout, carrying
Fig to safety. Featherback's jaws snapped shut behind Fig, missing her but
catching the tip of Red Scar's tail. The young T-rex spat out red feathers. Red
Scar let out a deafening "awoo!" Thankfully, he only seemed to have
lost some feathers, not any flesh.

Tail
trimmed, the bator raced alongside the T-rex. Figaro didn't waste a second. She
leaned sideways and lashed her sickle claw against Featherback's leg.

Nothing.

Nothing!

This
sickle claw could disembowel a hadrosaur. It barely even scratched
Featherback's scaly skin.

The
other achillobators attacked together. They leaped at Featherback's legs. One
brave bator bit the giant on the tail. The T-rex howled and kicked and lashed
her tail, shaking them off. Annoyed now, the prodigious predator tried using
her main weapon again.

Success!
This time she grabbed an achillobator!

Fig
stared in horror. It was Slender Snout! A female and new mother. Her hatchlings
were only a few days old, waiting back at the nesting grounds with an iguanodon
leg to sustain them.

Featherback
chomped down with relish. Ah, this was better! Not just feathers but actual
meat!

Slender
Snout screamed. The sound was so horrible that Fig would never forget it. Bones
crunched. Blood spurted. Featherback hurled the mangled body aside, then seemed
almost to grin, showing off her bloody teeth.

Fig
shouted in rage.

She
tugged on Red Scar's feathers and pointed at a nearby house. "Yi,
yiii!"

Red
Scar understood. He ran, scaled up the house walls with his sharp claws, landed
on the roof, then jumped toward Featherback.

The
achillobator landed on the tyrannosaur's feathery back. Fig swayed, but she
managed to keep riding Red Scar, clenching her thighs tightly around him.
Beneath them, the young T-rex bucked and howled and danced around, but Red Scar
held on. His claws dug through Featherback's coating of fluff and found her
skin. Fig leaned over, lashing her own sickle claw. She sliced through the
juvenile T-rex's feathers and nicked the scales beneath.

Featherback
was not happy. She was only a youngster, not used to battles. There was a nasty
little stabby thing on her back. And more stabby things were attacking her
legs. A few were scurrying up walls, then launching themselves at her flanks.
Terrible little predators! They stung and it hurt. A few of their claws made it
through her scales. Blood seeped. Featherback bucked and wriggled, shaking them
off.

Red
Scar tumbled off the T-rex, thumped down hard onto the road, and growled. Fig
spilled onto the cobblestones, skinning her elbows, but leaped back onto Red
Scar at once. She bared her teeth and raised her claw.

"Ahoo,
ahoooo!" Fig cried. Keep attacking!

The
achillobators were intelligent hunters. They learned from Red Scar. Instead of
attacking Featherback from below, they climbed onto buildings, then swooped
from above. Their wings spread, helping them glide through the air. They could
not fly like pterosaurs. They were too heavy. But their wings made them decent
gliders, and they mobbed the T-rex, attacking from everywhere.

Featherback snapped her jaws, catching Curly Tail, a young bator with resplendent plumage.
Featherback crunched him between her jaws, then spat out red feathers.
Meanwhile, her tail walloped Long Tooth, a brave and experienced hunter. The
old achillobator flew through the air and slammed against a house. The wall
cracked. Long Tooth's leg bent with a sickening snap. Clouds of feathers
filled the road. But the survivors did not flee. They kept clawing and biting,
and more and more blood seeped down Featherback's flanks.

Finally
the big carnivore had enough. Fig could imagine her thought process. This was
pointless, the rex must have decided. She was searching for her eggs—her very
first brood. Why was she risking her young life fighting these little assassins?
Not worth it! Very dangerous creatures, these snapping, biting things with red
feathers. She would avoid them in the future.

The
T-rex ran, heading toward the city gates. The pack of achillobators chased her,
snapping at her heels and tail, until the mythical beast was out of Dinovia
City.

Fig
gasped in shock and relief, her body shaking. For the first time, the pack had
defeated a T-rex! They won the battle!

But
then tears flooded her eyes. The victory was not without sacrifice.

With
their enemy scared away, the survivors of the pack approached their fallen.

Figaro
let out a hoarse cry of grief.

Three
bators lay on the road. Slender Snout and Curly Tail were dead. Featherback's
teeth had crushed them. T-rex teeth were dull. They were designed not to cut
flesh but to crush bone. The bator bodies were broken, but their heads were
still whole, gazing skyward with blank eyes. Long Tooth lay on a pile of
rubble, groaning. His leg was broken. Maybe several ribs too. To an
achillobator, that was a death sentence.

Figaro
fell to her knees, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

I
led us here. This is my war. Now three of my pack members are gone.

The
surviving bators nudged the dead with their snouts, then cried in mourning.

Tears
in her eyes, Figaro pointed at the shattered gates. She made a series of
groans, yips, and mewls.

Go,
pack. Return to the wild. I'll continue alone. This is my war.

Achillobator
language was not complex enough for so many words, but she conveyed their
meaning with her tone and body language. They understood.

Growling,
Red Scar came to stand at her side. I'm with you.

Crooked
Wing joined them, head raised. She snorted. I'm with the little runt.

The
others joined too, surrounding Fig. They were pack. They would fight for her.
They would never leave her.

Their
loyalty touched Fig. But how could she continue? If she stayed to fight, more
bators might die. Should she leave Dinovia, leading the pack back into the
wild?

But
the pack moved down the road, heading deeper into the city.

They
want to continue, Fig realized, tears
running down her cheeks. For me.

Sniffing,
she joined them.

They
left behind Long Tooth, the old hunter with the broken leg. As they walked,
they heard his pitiful wails. He was calling out to them. Don't leave me!
Don't leave!

But
they left him. With a broken leg, he could no longer hunt. Nor could he lay
eggs, being a male. He was useless to the pack now. So they left him to die.
His death would be slow and torturous. It would take him days, maybe weeks to
starve to death. But that was the way of Mintari. Of survival. The lone bator
died but the pack survived.

I
wonder if humans would leave one of their own,
Fig thought. I wonder if they would think us savage. Maybe humans are nobler
than us. But we are pack. We are survivors.

And
strangely, here in this city full of humans, Fig felt more like a bator than
ever.

* * * * *

Gunshots
rattled in the distance.

A
dinosaur howled, then a thump shook the earth.

Fig
jumped. The bators snarled. The pack looked toward the source of the sound.

Down
the block, a T-rex had fallen. A big male with brown scales. Only his head was
visible, lying across the road. Several holes gaped open on his skull.

Over
the past few days, Fig had learned a little about these terrible weapons humans
wielded. These things called "guns." They struck with the force of
many claws. During her time outside Joe's cave, eavesdropping on her father,
she had learned about poachers hunting with these guns. Killing dinosaurs for
sport.

And
Fig realized something. This mission here in Dinovia City—this wasn't just her
war. This wasn't just about finding her father.

It
was a war for Mintari. A war between those who wanted to protect Mintari and
those who sought to destroy it. That was why Joe had come here. To fight for Mintari.
And that was why the pack must fight too. Maybe the bators had understood this
before Fig. Maybe they had been trying to tell her.

Motors
hummed. Smoke wafted from down the block, obscuring the dead T-rex head. Voices
sounded from around the corner.

"Good
shot, brother! Tarry good shot."

"Got
a T-rex! Even Amissa hasn't killed one of these bastards."

"We're
the first ones, brother! The first hunters to ever kill a Tyrannosaurus
rex!"

"And
the first ones to eat a Tyrannosaurus rex. Tuck in, brother!"

Fig
could not see who was speaking. But those words shot trembles of rage through
her. Those were cruel voices. She knew enough about humans to recognize that.

She
gestured to the pack with her eyes. They understood. Fig climbed onto Red Scar,
and they slunk down the road, silent, approaching the dead T-rex. They could
only see the head. The dinosaur's body was still hidden behind the corner.

Fig
heard the sound of eating. Not, not just eating but guzzling. It was a wet,
gurgling sound. Years ago, Fig had stepped on a beached jellyfish, squelching
it under her foot. It had made a similar sound. Riding on Red Scar, she turned
the corner and saw them.

Two
enormous humans sat atop the dead T-rex. Fig's eyes widened. They were the
largest humans she had ever seen. They had round bodies like a brontosaurus but
without the graceful necks. Without any necks for that matter. They both
had messy hair and big bushy beards. They looked exactly the same—twins, she
surmised. While eavesdropping outside the cave, Fig had heard Simone talk of
having a twin.

The
hirsute brothers did not notice her. They were busy devouring the dead
dinosaur. With big blades, they were peeling back the skin, sawing off chunks
of meat, and stuffing their cheeks. Saliva and blood matted their beards. They
paused only to belch, then kept guzzling meat down. This was not eating to
survive. It was sloth, conquest, a show of dominance. It disgusted Fig. She
growled low in her throat. So did the others in her pack.

One
of the obese twins looked up. He wiped blood off his mouth and grinned.

"Look,
Gus!" He elbowed his twin, who was still guzzling down raw meat.

"Not
now, Grant. Eating."

"You'll
like this. Look!"

Gus
wiped his lips and looked up. Both brothers stared at the pack. Both grinned.

"My,
my, what are those?" Gus said. "They look like big red
chickens."

Grant
licked his lips. "And there's a little slip of a girl on one. What's your
name, sweetheart?"

"Maybe
we should eat her too." Gus laughed, belly jiggling. "What do you
say, brother? I've never tasted human flesh."

"All
right, let's kill them and taste them." Grant aimed his rifle.

Fig
tugged Red Scar's right flank feathers. The bator leaped to the right. The gun
roared. A hailstorm of bullets hit the cobblestones, narrowly missing Red Scar.
This was not like the guns the Rangers used, which only fired one bullet at a
time. This terrible weapon was spitting out bullets faster than a velociraptor
pecking at bugs.

"Aahhhrrrra!"
Fig cried. Attack!

The
pack swarmed.

Gus
raised his rifle too. Both twins opened fire.

One
bator fell, riddled with bullets. Then another.

Zigzagging
to avoid the bullets, Red Scar raced toward the dead T-rex. The twins sat atop
the carcass, dealing death from on high. A bullet hit Red Scar's wingtip,
ripping off a claw. He yowled and wobbled. Fig tightened her thighs around his
flanks, barely clinging on. A bullet grazed her arm. She hissed, bared her
teeth, and raised her sickle claw.

They
managed to reach the dead T-rex. Growling, Red Scar scurried up the carcass, then
leaped toward the twins. Riding the bator, Fig let out a battle cry.
"Arooo!"

One
of the twins—Gus—raised his rifle. The muzzle faced them.

Fig
grimaced, seeing death ahead.

Gus's
finger twitched over the trigger.

With
a screech, Crooked Wing leaped from the side, slamming into the poacher.

His
gun boomed. Bullets hit a nearby balcony, just missing Fig and Red Scar.

With
furious screeches, Crooked Wing lashed her claws, carving open Gus's neck.
Blood spurted. An instant later, Crooked Wing was chomping down on his head,
crushing the skull.

The
second twin, Grant, screamed and tried to flee. But Long Tail snarled at him,
blocking his escape. The obese man turned the other way, only to meet Narrow
Eye's snarling jaws.

But
it was Red Scar who leaped onto the man, knocking him down. And it was his claw
that sliced the man's throat.

The
bators dragged the two dead poachers onto the roadside. Fig stood on the
bloodied cobblestones, watching, feeling hollow. Two humans dead. She had not
killed them herself, but she led this pack. Those deaths were on her.

I
killed two of my fellow humans.

She
didn't know how to feel.

Crooked
Wing looked up at her, panting. Long Tail tilted his head and licked his chops.
The entire pack was watching her. Can we eat?

Fig
snapped her teeth and grunted. Eat.

The
bators leaped onto the corpses and tucked in. They had not eaten yet today.
They were famished and they feasted. T-rex meat was tough, but fat humans were
delectable.

Fig
turned away, eyes burning. Disgust filled her belly.

Maybe
I'm not so human after all. Maybe I'm just a predator. Maybe I'm a monster.

She
stumbled into an alleyway, wrapped her arms around her belly, and vomited.

* * * * *

The
survivors of the pack continued through the city. The achillobators were well
fed and riled up. They were already raring for another fight, but Fig's stomach
was a knot. Chaos filled Dinovia. T-rexes rumbled through the city, looking for
their eggs, destroying buildings in their frenzied search. Trikes raced after
them, trying to herd them out of the city, but only infuriating the predators.
Rangers raced everywhere on their jippis, trying to tranquilize the dinosaurs.
One rex was slumbering, her scaly body bristly with tranquilizer darts. But
most of the T-rexes brushed off the darts and savaged the Rangers who fired
them. The city folk were fleeing their crumbling homes, racing everywhere,
shouting, praying.

Fig
walked through this nightmare, seeking her father.

"Yaooo!"
she cried.

Red
Scar looked at her and tilted his head. The other bators seemed just as
confused. Yaooo? What command was this?

Fig
tried again. "Yaooo!"

She
was trying to say "Joe!" but her tongue was clumsy. If Joe heard her,
he probably just mistook her for a dinosaur. This talking thing would
definitely take some practice.

"Fa-de!"
she tried calling. "Fa-de!" Father! Father!

Ah,
that was a bit easier to pronounce. But of course that was pointless. Even if
Joe could hear her, and even if he could understand her, he
wouldn't realize she was calling him. As far as he knew, his daughter had died
fifteen years ago. Devoured by King Ivan before ever being born.

Then
Fig realized how she could find him.

Because
Ivan was in this city. And Joe would go straight to the tyrant, seeking his
vengeance.

Well,
how hard could it be to find a mutant dinosaur with black scales, eyes like
fire, and teeth that made a normal T-rex seem like a herbivore? It couldn't be
too hard. Fig just needed to follow the screams.

She
moved onward through the city. Indeed, screams filled Dinovia. Human screams.
But they were coming from everywhere. People were running every which way.
Rexes were still trudging down the streets, cracking open buildings, sniffing
for eggs, and sometimes pausing for a human snack.

Fig
couldn't see very far. The buildings rose everywhere, crammed closer than trees
in a forest. Tar it, how did anyone see anything in this city? Every
street was like a canyon. Fig couldn't imagine living in a place like this.

She
climbed onto a rooftop and looked around her. Even on the domed roof, she
wasn't high enough to see very far. Only a block or so in every direction.
Better than nothing. Dinosaurs were still roaming through the city, heads
rising above the buildings. From here, Fig could see two rumbling triceratops,
a few dactyls picking at a corpse, and several green and brown T-rexes. None
with black scales. Ivan must be beyond her field of vision. A few neighborhoods
rose behind hills, and Fig couldn't see those streets from here. The city was
larger than she had imagined.

A
flash of red caught her eyes.

Not
the red feathers of an achillobator either. Red hair.

Standing
on the roof, Fig gasped. Simone! Simone was just a block away!

Fig
had spent long hours outside the cave, spying on her father and his redheaded
friend. The two were clearly close. But where was Joe? She couldn't see him.
Surely Simone would know where he was!

Fig
climbed back onto the road and ran. The pack ran behind her. A triceratops came
rumbling down the road, his gargantuan feet leaving potholes. The achillobators
hopped backward, narrowly avoiding being trampled. Then they raced onward.
People fled from the pack in terror. It hurt Fig to see them run.

Don't
fear my pack! she wanted to cry. We're here to
help!

But
then again, her bators had just eaten two humans. Maybe the city folk were
right to run.

The
pack raced around a corner, sending a family fleeing, and Fig saw that flash of
red hair again.

"S'ma!"
Fig cried. "S'ma!"

Closest
she could manage to "Simone." Hopefully close enough. Tar it, why
couldn't her mouth shape these human words? Simone didn't acknowledge her. She
was far down the block, unreachable behind a throng of people.

Fig
herded her pack into a shadowy alleyway. No need to cause a panic.

"Rrrrr,"
she purred at Red Scar and the others. Stay here.

Leaving
the achillobators in the shadows, Fig raced down the crowded road, elbowing her
way between humans.

"S'ma!"

Now
that she was afoot, Fig noticed something. She was very small for a human.
Smaller than anyone but children. She had to hop to peek over people's
shoulders. Was this because she was still a hatchling? Would she grow taller?
Or was she a runt even by human standards? Well, she had plenty of time to worry
about that later.

Simone
was closer now. Her red hair stood out in the crowd like a flame in a field of
deadwood.

"S'ma!"
Fig called out again.

It
worked! Simone turned toward her. Her blue eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd.
She didn't see Fig. Tar it! She was too short. She needed to clear this crowd.

Fig
whistled, and the pack burst out from the alleyway.

People
screamed and ran.

The
bators scrambled forward, causing a panic. People fled, screaming. A few bators
leaped onto the nearby buildings and hopped between balconies, sending flowerpots cascading down. Crooked Wing snapped her jaws at a few men, ripping the
seat of one's pants. They ran for their lives. The crowd was clearing the
street.

Simone
perhaps could not see Fig. But she definitely saw the pack of red-feathered
theropods. Her eyes widened, and she turned to flee.

Fig
groaned in frustration. Her plan was backfiring.

"S'ma!"
she cried out. No response.

Red
Scar ran up to her. Fig leaped onto him, and she pointed at the fleeing
redhead.

"Waoo,
waoo!" she cried. Follow her!

The
pack ran, whipping around and above fleeing people. Simone ran down the road,
arms pumping. Clearly she was terrified. Who could blame her?

"S'ma!
Um na har a!" Simone, I'm not going to hurt you!

Oh,
this talking thing was pointless. How did humans do it? The redhead kept
fleeing. Fig pursed her lips. She tugged on Red Scar's feathers, directing him.
The bator leaped sideways, clutched a building with his sharp claws, and raced
along the wall like a big feathered spider. He scrambled higher, vaulted off a
domed roof, and landed in a cobbled square. Just ahead of Simone.

The
redhead screamed and spun around. But Crooked Wing was behind her, teeth bared
and eyes wild. Simone tried to run in another direction, but Blue Eyes blocked
her way, his feathers bristling. The pack surrounded her. The young woman drew
a knife, ready to go down fighting.

All
around, other humans were fleeing, leaving Simone in the circle of bators. So
much for humans being the nobler species. They too, it seemed, were quick to
leave one of their own behind.

"Stand
back!" Simone said, weapon raised but voice trembling. "Or I'll cut
you!"

"S'ma!
Um na har a!"

Fig
hopped off Red Scar and stepped closer.

Simone
looked from side to side at the bators. The feathery carnivores were snarling,
keeping her trapped in a tight noose. A few were salivating. They were
predators by nature, and they saw Simone as prey. Already they were hungry
again. Crooked Wing licked her chops.

Fig
glared at them. "Hai, hai!" Back off!

They
sneered. She had led them on a hunt! Now she would deprive them of meat? Blue
Eyes growled and bared his teeth. But Fig snarled right back at him. She stared
the bators down one by one. They lowered their muzzles and stepped back.

Simone
was watching her curiously.

"Who
are you?" she said softly.

Fig
tapped her chest. "Fi-ga-ro." She pointed at Simone.
"S'ma?" She tried again. "S'maannn?"

Simone's
eyebrows rose. "Yes, I'm Simone. Do I know you?"

Suddenly
tears flowed down Fig's eyes, and she didn't even know why. She tapped her
chest again. "Fi-ga-ro … Yao's … da-ta."

I'm
Joe's daughter.

Simone
stepped closer, eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her. Then she gasped. "I see
it. You look just like her. Like the woman in the photo. Like Mina …"

And
now Fig was trembling, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Simone pulled her into
her arms, engulfing her in a warm hug. Figaro barely reached Simone's
shoulders. She felt so small, so afraid, but also so warm and protected.

She
tried talking again. "Waaaooo Fi-ga-ro fa … da?" Where's my
father? She was almost getting the hang of this talking thing. Almost.

Simone
placed her hands on Fig's cheeks and stared into her eyes. "Listen to me,
Figaro. I don't know how you're still alive. I don't know by what miracle you
came back. And I believe you are a miracle. And I believe there's a reason you
came back now, today, at our hour of need. I'll take you to see your father
soon. But first I need your help." She looked around at the pack of
bators. "All your help. We need to dig out the T-rex eggs."

* * * * *

The
achillobators raced through the city like wildfire, zipping down the streets,
leaping from balconies and archways, bounding across rooftops. They swerved
around, slipped under, or hopped over the rumbling triceratops. If a T-rex
snapped at them, the smaller and quicker bators fled. They ran onward.

They
knew the way. Fig was leading them. And she had a map.

Back
in the wilderness, Lifa had explained to Fig what maps were. She had shown her
a map of Mintari, displaying the locations of mountains, forests, and glens.
But this map was entirely different. Simone had given it to her, and it was
truly magical. The map was located within a floating sphere. Fig didn't even
need to hold it. No matter how fast she rode through the city, the sphere
hovered beside her.

Inside
the sphere, Fig could see the labyrinthine streets of Dinovia marked with white
lines. Red dots showed the location of T-rex eggs. A blue dot indicated Fig's
own position. As she kept riding, the blue dot kept moving through the
labyrinth.

It
was funny. Only days ago, Fig had thought human clothes were totally bizarre. A
simple mirror had boggled her mind. Now a spherical computer was floating
beside her, displaying her location on a map, and Fig simply went along with
it. Strange how fast one could get used to human miracles.

Fig
couldn't help it. As she rode through the city, and as the sphere floated
beside her, she laughed. Running beside her, Crooked Wing cocked her head and
glanced at her sideways. That only made Fig laugh louder.

This
is wonderful, she thought. This is the most
wonderful day in my life.

A
T-rex came stomping toward them. Fig tugged Red Scar's feathers. The pack
swerved onto a side road. The map kept updating their location. The pack rushed
down the cobbled alleyway but hit a roadblock. A triceratops! The burly
dinosaur came stomping their way, horns lowered, ready to plow into the pack.
Fig yelped and tugged the feathers again. The pack schooled onto another road,
dodging the charging juggernaut.

An
entire herd of triceratops awaited them ahead. The huge herbivores had no love
for any theropods, be they towering T-rexes or bantam bators. They lowered
their horns and charged.

Fig
tugged feathers with both hands, leaning backward, and let out a cry.
"Ayyeee!"

The
pack ran, hopped over merchant stalls, and scrambled onto rooftops. They raced
onward, leaping over the triceratops horns, then jumping from roof to roof. Ah
yes, much easier to navigate the city this way.

As
the pack hopped along the rooftops, a jippi roared down the road, doing its
best to keep up. Simone sat behind the wheel. They had found the jippi a few
streets back. A Mintari Ranger jippi with big wheels, a loud engine, and
dinosaur scales painted onto the sides. Hopefully, the Rangers wouldn't mind
Simone borrowing it. The redhead was driving fast, yanking the wheel from side
to side, swerving at breakneck speed down the streets. Every once in a while,
she knocked over carts, flowerpots, and road signs. The woman wasn't very good
at driving but she was tarry fast.

Fig's
job was to lead the bators to the T-rex eggs and dig them out. Simone would
carry them in her jippi.

When
Fig looked up from the jippi, her eyes widened.

A
T-rex was stomping a few streets away, shaking the nearby buildings, moving
toward the road Simone was driving down. A big gray male, his eyes narrowed and
nostrils flared. Fig, who always gave dinosaurs names, decided to name this one
Lumpy, due to the warts across his body.

She
was still riding Red Scar, hopping from roof to roof. From up here, she had a
good view ahead. She looked back down at the jippi. Simone was still driving
straight ahead, oblivious. The redhead could not see Lumpy from down there.

"S'ma!"
Fig shouted. "S'ma, laa aooo!" Look out! "S'ma, a
da-ra!" A T-rex!

Simone
looked up from her jippi. She gave Fig the thumbs-up. "All good down
here!"

Fig
groaned in frustration. "S'ma, laa aoo—"

Just
then Lumpy burst around a four-story hotel. Simone finally saw the dinosaur. She
yelped and tugged the wheel hard. The jippi swerved around the T-rex, rose on
its side wheels, slammed down hard, and kept racing down the road. The dinosaur
grunted and gave chase. Angry at the loss of his eggs, Lumpy was ready to take
out his rage on this malodorous machine. His muzzle thrust down, reaching
toward the back bumper.

With
a battle cry, Fig tugged Red Scar's feathers. The bator leaped off the roof,
landed on Lumpy, and slashed his warty back. The T-rex rumbled and bucked,
trying to shake off this small, impudent dinosaur. Red Scar hopped off Lumpy,
landed on a barbershop's roof, and yipped, taunting the much-larger predator.

Lumpy
forgot all about Simone in her jippi. The T-rex made a lunge at Red Scar, but
he only managed to shatter the barbershop. Clay bricks clattered down. Clouds
of dust filled the air. A striped barber's pole rolled down the road. Red Scar
leaped from the crumbling roof onto another house.

The
other bators evidently thought this was some delightful game. They too began
jumping onto Lumpy, slashing his back, then hopping away. The poor tyrannosaur
could not swat them off. Not with his puny arms. Out in the countryside, he
could chase bators down and crush them between his jaws. But here inside
Dinovia, Lumpy was trapped in a canyon, and the infernal feathered menaces kept
dive-bombing him.

Finally
poor old Lumpy had enough. He would find some other jippi to terrorize. One
that wasn't guarded by feathered little devils. Grunting and bleeding, the
T-rex stomped away in disgust.

* * * * *

They
were nearing the first egg now. According to the map, it was right ahead inside
a bakery. Fig wasn't sure what a bakery was. Simone had told her it had
something to do with food. Very well then. Toward the bakery they jumped.

Dinosaurs
had an excellent sense of smell. They could smell eggs from a mile away. But to
confound them, the poachers had sprayed egg-scent across the city. Right now
the entire city smelled like eggs. The T-rexes couldn't pinpoint the real eggs.
With her map, Fig could.

They
reached the bakery. Fig rode through the front door on Red Scar's back. A few
more achillobators burst through the windows. The bakers inside screamed and
fled through the back door. At once, the pack began rummaging around, sniffing,
seeking the egg. They ripped through sacks, and powder flew everywhere,
painting them white. Fig coughed. A few bators sneezed. What was this powder?
Probably more human nonsense. Fig would ask Simone about it later. Right now—the
egg.

Fig
helped the bators look. A shelf held strange, aromatic lumps. Fig sniffed.
Food? It smelled good. But it was not meat, not berries, not fruit. What could
it be? She lifted one of the warm loaves, sniffed more closely, and took a
bite. Her eyes rolled back. Yum! Good food. Whatever this was—good!

Then
she saw it. There behind a few loaves.

A
T-rex egg.

She
grabbed it and left the bakery. Simone was waiting outside in her jippi.

"Ga
eh!" Fig cried. Got it!

She
tossed the egg to Simone. The redhead caught it, fumbled, and nearly dropped
it. But she managed to steady her grip, then place the egg into the jippi. Were
all humans this clumsy?

"Good
job, Figaro. Now let's keep going. We've got lots more to find!"

They
kept racing through the city, chasing the second egg. They found this one
inside a saloon called the Fossil and Firkin. The egg was hidden among bottles
above the bar. A third egg they found in an old man's garden. It was nestled
among his rock collection. More eggs hid among the laundry at the Tar Pit, a
cheap hotel popular with price-conscious tourists. Other eggs hid inside a
kindergarten among the dolls.

As
they kept retrieving eggs, anger grew in Fig. This poacher, this Amissa, had
hidden eggs among human cubs! The cubs could have died! And Fig realized how
truly different humans were from dinosaurs. All dinosaurs, from the smallest
raptors to the biggest sauropods, simply struggled to survive. If they killed,
it was to eat or defend themselves. If they left a member behind, it was so the
pack could survive. They were not evil. Nor were they good. They were simply
interested in living another day.

But
humans were different, Fig realized. Some were noble like Simone, endangering
themselves to save others. Some humans were wicked like Amissa. If Fig
integrated in human society, she wondered what kind of human she would become.

Well,
first she must save the city. She could contemplate good and evil to her
heart's content once the rexes were out. They kept hunting, following the map,
finding the eggs one by one. It was Red Scar who found the last egg. It was in
a flower shop, hidden inside a clay jug. Fig placed it into Simone's jippi. The
search was complete.

By
now, the sun was setting, the wind was blowing, and the artificial egg-scented
spray was dispersing. Meanwhile, Simone's jippi was exuding a strong,
concentrated smell. Eggs! T-rex eggs! A whole pile of them, wafting their aroma
for all to smell. They nested in the jippi's cargo hold, secured with bungee cords.

Snorts
and sniffs sounded across the city. Then footfalls and grunts.

The
T-rexes were no longer confused. With the eggs in one place, they knew where to
go. They came charging down the streets. Heading right toward the jippi.

"We
need to get out of here—now!" Simone said.

Fig
reached into the jippi and grabbed her. "S'ma! Cam, cam!" Get away
from that jippi!

Simone
shook her head. "No, I can't just leave the eggs here. We need to lure the
dinosaurs out of the city. Hop into the jippi!"

Fig
heard the T-rexes stomping closer. She could see a few of their scaly heads
above the rooftops.

Jippi?
No, thanks. Fig hopped onto Red Scar. She'd ride the bator instead.

Simone
floored the gas pedal, and the jippi roared down the road. The clutch of eggs
rattled in the cargo hold. The bungee cords kept them in place.

One
T-rex began to chase her. Then another. And a third. Soon an entire pack of the
huge predators was stomping down the road, chasing the jippi with the precious
eggs inside. Their feet shattered cobblestones. Their tails whipped buildings
down. Clouds of dust rose behind them.

Simone
drove faster. The rexes stampeded in pursuit, crashing through houses, knocking
over parked jippis, destroying merchant stalls. Barely any humans remained on
the streets now; they must have fled the city. As Simone drove, Fig and her pack
hopped from roof to roof, following the procession.

Finally
they saw it ahead. The towering wall that divided city from wilderness. Simone
roared in her jippi toward the archway where the great wooden doors had stood.
Those doors still lay shattered across the road. Simone just had to drive out,
and the rexes would follow.

But
Simone didn't see what Fig did.

She
was riding Red Scar, vaulting from roof to roof. From up here, she saw it.

There
was no way out.

Somebody
had destroyed the drawbridge. Most likely, it was Amissa or another poacher,
trying to keep the dinosaurs inside the city. The bridge had been torn apart.
Chunks of wood floated in the moat.

If
Simone kept driving out the gateway, she would plunge into the moat and perish.

"S'ma!"
Fig shouted from the rooftops.

But
Simone couldn't hear her. The jippi's engine was roaring. Hot in pursuit, the
T-rexes were rumbling just as loudly.

"S'ma,
S'ma!"

The
woman couldn't hear. And in the shadows of sunset, she couldn't see the
destruction ahead. Simone was driving faster, faster, almost out the gates now.

Fig
tightened her lip.

"Yip
yip!" she cried, tugging Red Scar's feathers.

The
bator obeyed. He leaped from the rooftops and landed on the jippi. Fig jumped
off Red Scar, swung into the passenger seat, and grabbed Simone.

"Stap
stap! Bri din!" Bridge down!

Simone's
eyes widened. She understood. Seconds before racing out the gateway, she tugged
the steering wheel. The jippi swerved down a side road, burned rubber, hit a
wall, and jolted to a stop. The engine coughed and died.

For
a moment, Simone and Fig sat in the dead jippi together, taking deep breaths.
Amazingly, not a single egg had cracked. The entire clutch still sat in the
cargo hold.

In
the rearview mirror, Fig saw the T-rexes approach. Stars above, they were
enormous. There were seven, maybe eight or nine. They barely squeezed onto the
road. Their flanks grazed the nearby buildings, cracking walls. The entire pack
stomped toward the jippi, raising dust with every footfall.

Simone
and Fig leaped from the jippi and ran.

The
dinosaurs did not follow. They didn't care about two measly little morsels of
meat. Only the eggs mattered now. One rex ripped the tailgate off, revealing
the precious cargo.

The
T-rexes lost all their anger. They no longer bared their teeth. They did not
grumble, snort, or bellow. They made soft cooing sounds. One rex stuck her
snout into the jippi and nuzzled the eggs. The other dinosaurs whimpered, and
it sounded almost like they were crying with joy.

Simone
and Fig stood in the shadows, holding hands, watching. The pack of bators
gathered behind them, silent and watchful.

One
by one, the rexes gathered eggs into their mouths. They had the most powerful
teeth in nature. They had ripped the tailgate off the jippi like it was made of
straw. They could bite through brick walls. Yet they lifted the eggs so gently
that not a single one cracked.

Simone
sniffed, and when Fig looked up, the redhead had tears in her eyes.

"They're
not monsters," she whispered. "They're beautiful."

The
dinosaurs couldn't leave the city with their eggs. Not with the drawbridge at
the bottom of the moat. But T-rexes were intelligent animals. Several T-rexes,
all bulky males, began shoving the thick wall that surrounded Dinovia. With
their huge mass, they cracked the wall, then toppled a chunk of it. Bricks
rained into the moat, and dust rose in a cloud. And the dinosaurs had their way
out.

Carrying
their eggs, they stepped over the pile of rubble, crossed the moat, and
vanished into the wilderness.

Fig
was surprised to find tears in her own eyes. She knuckled them away.

Then
she realized something, and a chill ran through her.

She
had not seen a spiky black T-rex leave the city with the pack.

And
then she heard it. A terrible rumble like thunder. It came from deep inside the
city. A sound like an erupting volcano. Like a crashing wave. A sound that
reverberated through Fig's very bones.

He
was still in the city. The king.

"Ivan,"
she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The Battle of Buckland Hill

All day, Joe had
been hunting him.

All
day, as the battle raged across Dinovia City, Joe focused on his quarry.
Throughout a day of crumbling buildings, of dying Rangers, of rampaging rexes
and trampling trikes, Joe had stalked the beast.

Now
Nyx had set. Now the twin moons shone their eerie light—just like on that night
long ago. And now Joe saw his nemesis.

There
ahead he rose, towering over rooftops, a shadow in the night.

King
Ivan.

Joe's
upper lip twitched. His fists clenched. There he was! There was the bastard! There
was the beast! There was the tyrant who had murdered his wife. The monster who
had swallowed his unborn child. There he was, this freak of nature, this thing
that should not be, this creature that stained the world.

Staring
from a distance, Joe was suddenly back there. Fifteen years ago. A rookie
Ranger in the wilderness, afraid, hurt, watching the great black T-rex devour
the love of his life. He was shaking. His eyes burned.

Sitting
atop Dozer, Joe leaned forward and gripped the trike's frill.

"Are
you ready, Dozer?" he said through stiff lips. His voice shook with anger
and fear. "Are you ready to face him?"

Dozer
grunted, stamped his feet, and tossed his head. Let's roll.

Behind
Dozer, several more trikes grunted and reared and swiveled their heads from
side to side, brandishing their horns. Several trikes had died in the battle so
far. Several more were elsewhere in the city, searching for any remaining
tyrannosaurs. But Joe had seven of the hardy herbivores here with him. Seven
tanks. Seven of the most powerful weapons nature had ever created, rivaling any
carnivore. And tonight he would lead them to victory.

"Charge!"
Joe cried, raising his sleep-or-die overhead like a banner.

Dozer
burst into a gallop, and the others followed. The triceratops army rumbled
along the street, pulverizing the cobblestones beneath their feet.

"There
he is!" Joe cried, pointing the way. "There on the hilltop! Charge!"

The
triceratops rumbled up the coiling road, heading to the top of Buckland Hill,
the highest place in Dinovia City.

Five
hundred years ago, the first pilgrims from Earth landed on this hill. The first
humans to set foot on Mintari. Here on this good world, they decided, they
would create a safe haven for dinosaurs. A place to restore these majestic
animals from Earth's past and let them roam free. Their starship, Darwin's
Ark, still stood on the hilltop all these centuries later. The ship was
rusty and bent now. But she was still a grand monument to Mintari's history and
purpose.

The
small research camp the pilgrims had built around their starship had grown into
a city. To this day, the founders' vision lived on. To ensure Mintari belonged
to dinosaurs. To remember that humans were only here as caretakers, not
masters. Some Mintarians forgot this purpose. They raced dinosaurs for sport in
the derby. They drove tourists around in rattling jippis, disturbing dinosaurs
in their natural habitats. But Joe remembered. He still honored the vision of
the first pilgrims. It was a vision Joe dedicated his life to.

Now
Ivan was slowly, methodically dismantling the starship on the hilltop. With
jaws the size of a car, he kept crunching through the rusty hull, ripping off
chunks of metal, and scattering them across the hilltop. It was as if Ivan knew
what this old monument represented—and he was destroying it.

Like
he destroyed my life, Joe thought.

Because
Ivan was not natural to this world. He was a mutant. A freak. A monster. And
Joe would end him now.

The
triceratops battalion charged uphill toward the beast. Ivan spun away from the
mangled starship, placed his foot atop a chunk of rusty metal, opened his jaws
wide, and let out a deafening rumble. Strings of saliva quivered between his
teeth. His tongue vibrated. His cry echoed across the city and the wilderness
beyond, rattling pebbles and dust with waves of bass.

The
trikes hesitated. Even Dozer slowed down. They had slain T-rexes before. But
this was different.

"Charge!"
Joe cried. "Charge at him, Dozer!"

The
trike gained heart and galloped with a new burst of speed, his horns pointing
the way. The other triceratops hesitated only a moment longer, then kept
running uphill, following their leader. Dozer was the largest among them, a
scarred old bull, the victor of many battles. The others herded behind him,
ready to fight with their master.

They
were very close to the hilltop now. Ivan awaited there like an ancient god upon
Olympus. The triceratops battalion rumbled higher and higher up the hill. The
road coiled between tall, narrow houses like a snaking canyon. It was, Joe
realized as the trikes herded along, the perfect place for—

Gunshots
rang.

Smoke
filled the night.

Bullets
pounded the herd.

An
ambush.

Triceratops
yowled with pain—horrible sounds, sounds that broke Joe's heart. The headstrong
herbivores reared. All their armor was on their heads. In nature, they always
turned those heads toward an enemy. Evolution had denied them armor on their
bodies, but it had given them incredibly agile necks. They could swivel their
skull on ball joints, using their frills as a shield. The strongest predators
struggled to penetrate a triceratops frill. But now hidden snipers were firing
on their unprotected bodies. Their skin was thick and scaly but no match for
guns. Bullets plowed into their flesh. The trikes cried out in agony.

Two
bullets hit Dozer—one on the tail, one on his bony frill. He let out a raspy
cry.

Joe
opened fire. In the night, he couldn't see who he was firing on. He shot toward
the rooftops, simply laying down suppressive fire, trying to scatter the
attackers. Somewhere in the night, he heard a familiar laugh. Feminine.
Deranged. Amissa was here. Probably with a bunch of her fellow poachers.

"Dozer,
keep going!" Joe cried.

He
must reach the hilltop. There, in the open moonlight, the poachers would have
no place to hide.

Dozer
understood. He kept charging. One trike fell behind him. But the others trudged
onward through a storm of bullets.

A
motor roared.

A
heavy armored jippi burst out from an alleyway. It was twice the size of a
normal jippi, so big it dominated both lanes. A spiky metal cowcatcher thrust
out from the front. A cadaverous man was driving. He wore a black coat, a wide-brimmed
hat, and crisscrossing bandoleers. His cheeks were gaunt, his mouth like a slit
in leather. His sunken eyes were pure black, no white to them at all. The eyes
of a shabu addict. A drug that made you strong but drove you to madness.

Joe
recognized that weathered face. He had seen it on wanted ads before.
Rattlesnake. One of the most notorious poachers in the galaxy.

Clutching
the steering wheel, Rattlesnake grinned, showing brown teeth. He raced his
jippi toward a big female triceratops with bluish scales. The cow saw him
coming, but the road was too narrow for her to turn around. The jippi was
roaring up from behind her.

Rattlesnake
plowed his cowcatcher into the dinosaur.

The
triceratops bellowed. She was a huge beast. As large as this gargantuan jippi.
But Rattlesnake had hit her with tremendous force, possibly even breaking her
legs. And those legs were as thick as tree trunks. The blue dinosaur stumbled
aside, wobbled, and fell down hard, shaking the hill.

Rattlesnake
leaned out the jippi window, aimed a machine gun, and opened fire.

Another
jippi burst out from an alleyway, peeling off the walls of nearby shops. And a
third one. And a fourth. A poacher rode in each vehicle, firing out the window.
Another triceratops fell, riddled with bullets.

The
herd crumbled.

A
few triceratops were dead. A few others tried to flee, trampling the others.
Some brave trike charged at the jippis. One big cow slipped her horns under one
jippi, then hurled it through the air. The vehicle spun several times before
crashing into a house. More poachers on the roof opened fire, riddling the cow
with bullets. One jippi tried to flee only for a triceratops to charge in
pursuit, ramming the back bumper. The jippi skidded and crashed into a café.
The windows shattered. Strudels and coffee spilled across the road.

As
the herd fell apart behind him, Dozer kept charging uphill. He knew his
mission. He would not be distracted. Even if he must leave some dinosaurs
behind. With Joe on his back, Dozer raced up the last length of road and burst
onto the hilltop.

He
awaited there.

Ivan.
The King of Mintari.

* * * * *

Dozer
was an unusually big triceratops, heavier than most other trikes, even heavier
than most T-rexes. He could easily flip over jippis. Were he on the ice planet
Borealis, Dozer would make mammoths look puny. And even Dozer, this colossal
beast, seemed small before the black Tyrannosaurus rex on the hilltop. Looming
over the city, Ivan was like a dark god overseeing his shadowy domain. The
bones of his enemies lay around his feet, and the fury of hellfire burned in
his eyes.

Yet
still Dozer charged.

Riding
his back, Joe aimed his sleep-or-die and fired from both barrels at once.

A
bullet and a tranquilizer dart slammed into Ivan. Both shattered against his
scales. Hundreds of dents and scars already covered the towering tyrannosaur. A
few bullets were embedded into his chest. The Rangers who had fired them lay
dead at Ivan's feet, bodies crushed, some half-devoured. It would take more
than a few guns to kill a god.

It
would take the most powerful weapon on Mintari. A triceratops.

Grunting
in fury, eyes narrowed and blazing, Dozer charged uphill and lunged toward the
tyrannosaurus.

Dozer's
horns were weapons of legend. They were a foot wide at the base. They grew
outward like stalagmites, narrowing to sharp points. When Dozer thrust those
horns, he put all his twelve tons of weight behind them. Even a titan like Ivan
could not hope to survive such a blow.

And
Ivan knew it. He stepped aside with surprising speed for a dinosaur so large.
Dozer's horns just missed him.

But
a triceratops was more than just his horns. A triceratops was also a bony frill
larger and thicker than Rattlesnake's cowcatcher. A triceratops was a bulky
body of muscle, fat, and scales that would not shame any tank.

And
while the horns narrowly missed the T-rex, the rest of Dozer did not. The bony
frill and Dozer's right shoulder plowed into Ivan with a terrible crack.

It
was a sound like thunder. Like a booming cannon. Like the ground ripping open
in an earthquake. Like an asteroid plowing into the earth. Across the city,
they could hear it. Outside in the wilderness, dinosaurs would look up,
startled, and all would know that atop Buckland Hill, titans were clashing.
Here on this hilltop, where the first pilgrims had landed, the fate of Mintari
would be sealed.

Ivan
tossed back his head and bellowed in fury and agony.

Riding
the trike, Joe held on tight, teeth bared. Next to Ivan, Joe was no larger than
a mouse by a cat. But he would not abandon his triceratops. Nor would he
abandon the memory of Mina. This was a battle for Mintari. But it was also
Joe's personal battle. He would defeat his nemesis or die in his jaws like his
wife.

Ivan's
colossal head loomed above. Joe could see the old scar along the snout. Over
the years, the injury had faded to a crimson gorge among the black scales. Joe
had given the titan that scar. Fifteen years ago, he had lifted Ivan's fallen
tooth, then thrust it like a sword, slashing the dinosaur's snout.

Joe
still had that fallen tooth. It hung from his belt. An old memento. A sword.

Ivan's
red eyes stared at the tooth. Then the T-rex made eye contact with Joe.

The
dinosaur remembered. He recognized Joe.

Joe
stared, eyes narrowed. He gripped the tooth, hand shaking, but did not draw it
yet. More than anything, Joe desired to thrust this blade into the heart of his
foe. To finish what he had started fifteen years ago. But he was still out of
range.

With
a furious rumble, Dozer charged again. The trike headbutted the tyrannosaur.
Once more, Ivan had to step sideways to dodge the horns.

Then
Ivan struck back.

He
had the most powerful jaws on Mintari. Most likely the most powerful jaws in
history. He tried to reach Dozer's back, to crunch through his scaly hide,
muscles, and bones. But like all triceratops, Dozer had a unique design to his
head. His entire one-ton skull was mounted onto a ball joint, able to swivel in
any direction at incredible speed. No other animal could move its head like a
trike. And as the gargantuan jaws of the tyrant came thrusting down toward his
flank, Dozer wheeled his head around, bringing his horns to bear on Ivan.

The
T-rex nearly impaled himself on those horns, but he had fought triceratops
before. He knew how deadly they were. He had seen lesser tyrannosaurs fall to
their horns. He quickly adjusted his attack. The horns thrust past his neck,
slicing only air. Ivan was unable to reach Dozer's scaly body, his most
vulnerable part. But he managed to close his jaws round Dozer's bony frill.

A
trike's frill was the most perfect armor nature had ever crafted. It was formed
of solid bone as thick as a wall. Hornlets lined its fringe. A triceratops
frill was bulletproof, fireproof, and could withstand almost any predator's
bite.

Almost
any. Ivan was not just any predator. When he chomped down, he exerted
staggering force, equivalent to the weight of a jippi shoving down on each
tooth. He had jaws that could shatter tree trunks, crush boulders, bite through
solid walls. Against Dozer's frill, two of his mighty teeth shattered. But
three teeth crunched into the frill, sinking into the bone.

Dozer's
beak opened in a terrible howl.

Ivan
tugged on the frill, his neck muscles bulging. Joe had seen rexes decapitate
trikes this way, yanking their heads off the ball joints to reach the soft neck
meat. Dozer cried in agony, shaking his head, unable to free himself. Ivan kept
tugging the frill as if trying to open a tin can.

Joe
stood up on Dozer's back, holding on to one horn for support. He aimed his
sleep-or-die right at Ivan's eye.

He
fired.

He
fired a live bullet.

Ivan
turned his head away. The bullet pounded his muzzle, chipping a scale. The
T-rex grunted, a sound more annoyed than pained.

Dozer
seized the opportunity to shake his head free. Holes punctured his frill. That
frill was wider than Joe's arm, and Ivan had bitten holes clean through it. The
trike must be in agony, but Dozer still bellowed and charged back to battle.

The
two great dinosaurs slammed together again.

Ivan—the
greatest predator on Mintari.

Dozer—the
mightiest of herbivores.

Two
titans. Two kings. Two ancient enemies who had once fought for dominance of
Earth. The asteroid that ended the Cretaceous period had left their war
unresolved. Now, millions of years later and a thousand light-years away, T-rex
and triceratops would settle the final score.

Dozer's
horns grazed Ivan's side, peeling off scales.

Ivan's
claws slashed Dozer's flank, ripping lumpy gray skin.

The
two dinosaurs pulled apart, bleeding and enraged. With battle cries, they
lunged at each other again. The crack of their slamming bodies rippled
across the city.

Claws
lashed.

Horns
thrust.

Teeth
crunched through bone.

The
combatants pulled apart, attacked again. All Joe could do was ride the
triceratops and fire his rifle. He felt useless in this battle between
gods.

Again
the two dinosaurs pulled back. Dozer bled from several gashes. He was panting,
slowing down. Three long scars bled on Ivan's side. A hole pierced his thigh.
But the predator rumbled in rage, and his swordlike teeth gleamed in the night.
Again the T-rex lunged to battle. He closed his great jaws around Dozer's left
horn, trying to rip it off, only for the triceratops to plow into him, to shove
him against the Darwin's Ark. Chunks of the rusty old starship
shattered. The dueling dinosaurs pulled apart, then charged again. Their
bellows filled the night.

Buckland
Hill was the highest point in Dinovia. The city planners had wanted everyone to
see the starship on the hilltop, to remember their history. Now all in Dinovia
watched this epic battle.

Horns
hit scales.

Claws
crushed bone.

Teeth
tore flesh.

The
hill shook. The city rumbled. The night sky trembled. The stars themselves
seemed to quiver and shake as rex and trike slammed together again and again,
biting, clawing, goring, bloodying each other upon the hill.

Again
and again they charged.

Dozer
plowed his horns into Ivan's leg.

The
T-rex grabbed Dozer by the frill, shoved the enormous horned head down, and
clawed the trike's shoulder.

The
triceratops shoved his back legs against the hilltop, bulldozing forward,
slamming his foe to the ground.

He
was down! King Ivan was down! And the world shook. And the sky cracked in two.
All of Mintari trembled.

The
fallen tyrant kicked. A great clawed foot slammed into Dozer, knocking his
armored head back. Dozer stumbled. Ivan pushed himself back up, then lunged. His
huge muzzle thrust forward.

Joe
fired his rifle again. Again and again. Ivan recoiled from the bullets, but
they didn't cause any real damage. Nothing could stop those jaws.

Joe
fired his last bullet. It did little more than chip a few scales.

Out
of ammo, Joe stood up on Dozer's back and raised his T-rex tooth. The same
tooth he had been carrying all these years. With a hoarse cry, Joe thrust the
tooth like a sword.

He
aimed at the old scar. Ivan had never regrown his scales there. If Joe could
just hit him in the same spot …

But
Ivan knew his Achilles' heel. He leaned back, protecting the scar.

Instead
of hitting flesh, Joe hit one of Ivan's front teeth.

It
was as if Ivan were actually parrying. The two teeth—one in Joe's hand, one
growing from Ivan's gums—clanged together.

For
a second, they remained deadlocked like two medieval fencers crossing swords.

Then
Ivan thrust his hungry maw toward Joe.

Joe
had to leap off Dozer.

One
of Ivan's teeth grazed his leg.

Joe
hit the ground. Pain exploded through him. His leg was slashed open. He tried
to rise but could only roll away. His blood spilled, and Joe grimaced. He tried
to stand up, but his leg buckled. He fell again.

He
had failed. He was out of the fight. It was up to Dozer.

The
two titans kept battling. All Joe could do was lie and watch.

* * * * *

T-rex
vs. triceratops. A battle as old as time. Here on Buckland Hill, this ancient
rivalry flared.

The
enormous teeth of the T-rex snapped shut like a bear trap. At the last second,
Dozer managed to raise his frill, to protect his neck. Ivan's jaws clamped down
on the frill with tremendous force. Cracks ran through the bone. Ivan dug
deeper, punched holes into the frill, then yanked off a chunk the size of a
knight's shield.

The
sound was horrible.

The
sound of cracking bone.

The
sound of Dozer's cry of agony.

The
sound that came from Joe's own lips—a cry of pure terror.

Ivan
spat out the chunk of bone. It thumped onto the dirt beside Joe. A piece of
bone so large Joe would struggle to lift it.

Joe
stared at Dozer, terrified that the trike would collapse. Dozer wobbled on his
feet. His frill was missing a chunk shaped like T-rex jaws. For a terrible
second, Joe imagined a giant cookie somebody had taken a bite out of. It was a
horrific wound. But it was not life-threatening.

Dozer
growled deep in his throat and charged back to battle.

Ivan
seemed almost taken aback. Clearly he had not expected Dozer to still fight.
Ivan must have slain thousands of dinosaurs in his long life. He probably never
saw one who would still fight after such an injury.

Yes,
King Ivan hesitated for a second. And a second was all Dozer needed.

The
enormous triceratops drove his horns into Ivan's thigh, ripping scaly skin,
muscle, fat, maybe even bone.

Ivan
tossed back his head and gave a terrible bellow of pure agony.

Even
as the horns were embedded into his thigh, Ivan thrust down his jaws and closed
them around Dozer's back.

His
back. His unprotected back. A place with thick, scaly skin—but no armor.

The
T-rex's teeth punched through that thick skin like it was paper.

Dozer
bellowed.

Ivan
pulled his head back, ripping out skin. Blood ran down Dozer's flanks.

"Dozer!"
Joe cried, wanting to help, knowing he could not.

The
tyrannosaur swung his great tail. It was thick, powerful, rippling with
muscles, covered with hard scales. The tail slammed into Dozer like a whip of
pure agony. A terrible crunch hinted at cracked ribs.

Dozer
howled. He stumbled aside, legs wobbling.

Ivan
lashed his tail again. And again. And again. The blows hit Dozer. With each
blow—that terrible crack.

The
triceratops moaned. His legs shook. He sidestepped, swaying.

Ivan
plowed his head into him, and Dozer fell.

The
triceratops slammed down with enough power to shatter stones, shake the hill,
and break Joe's heart.

Ivan
placed an enormous foot on Dozer's battered flank, pinning him down. The three
terrible claws dug fresh wounds. The triceratops was still alive—but barely. He
was moaning, his tongue hanging loose. He was taking deep, ragged breaths,
struggling for each one. His eyes narrowed in pain. His blood flowed.

One
foot upon his fallen foe, Ivan tossed back his head, thrust out his little
arms, and howled in victory.

Then
he lowered his jaws, prepared to snap Dozer's neck and seal the deal.

Joe
could only stare in horror, out of bullets, out of hope.

Yips
and howls sounded in the night.

Shapes
leaped through the shadows. Red feathers fluttered.

Joe
looked up, gasping.

Ivan
raised his head, staring around in confusion, giving Dozer a brief stay of
execution.

Teeth
and claws flashing in the moonlight, a pack of achillobators leaped through the
darkness toward the T-rex.

* * * * *

Riding
Red Scar, Fig let out a battle cry.

The
pack leaped from all sides, hurling themselves at the gargantuan tyrannosaur.

Achillobators
were not small predators. They were not puny like velociraptors or eoraptors,
the lightweights of the food chain. They were heavier and bulkier than the
dreaded deinonychus. Lifa had told her about a carnivore on Earth called a lion—at
one point an apex predator. Bators, the old woman had explained, were larger
than lions. Yet lunging toward King Ivan, the bators seemed barely more than
insects.

"Ayiiiiii!"
Fig cried.

Red
Scar vaulted through the night, his wings spread wide, his red feathers
ruffling. It almost seemed like he could fly. The bator landed on Ivan's back
and chomped down on the tyrant's black scales.

Several
of Red Scar's teeth shattered. It was like biting a boulder. The old bator
yowled, slipped off the T-rex, and thudded onto the ground. Fig fell off his
back and rolled through the dirt. Ivan's foot slammed down, and Fig scurried
aside, just barely dodging the terrible talons.

With
war cries, the other bators landed on Ivan too. Crooked Wing began biting and
clawing the king's tail. More bators attacked his legs. A few gripped his
flanks, digging their sickle claws between his scales, and climbing higher.

The
T-rex moaned, whipped his tail around, and flailed his tiny arms, shaking off
several bators. Ivan swung his massive head from side to side, clubbing the
bators that clung to his flanks.

One
bator thumped down, bones cracked.

Ivan
managed to grab another in his huge jaws. He chomped down, pulverizing the poor
dinosaur. Red feathers flew through the air. Blood splashed the hilltop.

But
that did not deter the pack. It only infuriated the survivors.

"Ayiiiiii!"
Fig cried.

She
hopped onto Red Scar, and they vaulted back into the fray. The surviving bators
rose to their feet, shook off the pain, and rejoined the assault. They attacked
relentlessly. Mercilessly. They scaled the tyrant. They climbed his neck. They
bit his head. They learned fast to avoid the lashing tail, the swinging head,
the mean little arms.

Ivan
craned his neck around and managed to grab Fierce Mother, a bator who had
raised many hatchlings. He crunched the poor theropod between his teeth, then
spat out the mangled body. But the others kept striking. Long Tail managed to
peel off a black scale. Crooked Wing was still savaging Ivan's swinging tail, her
eyes burning with bloodlust. The big, barren female seemed rabid, her claws
flashing so quickly they blurred. With startling audacity (or perhaps
foolhardiness), Blue Eyes attacked Ivan's snout head-on. The brave bator
managed to hook his sickle claw into Ivan's nostril, yank back hard, and rip
the flesh. Bellowing in pain, Ivan crushed the impudent little dinosaur between
his jaws.

As
the pack kept fighting, Red Scar clung to Ivan's back. He was clawing and
biting, but the black scales were thick here. Even worse, spikes rose across
Ivan's back, stabbing Red Scar, slicing feathers, drawing blood. The bator
could not break through.

"Haooo
haoo!" Fig cried, tugging Red Scar's feathers.

Move
up! Higher up! Toward Ivan's head!

Red
Scar understood. He scampered along Ivan's back, heading toward the muscular
neck. Ivan shook and bucked, but he couldn't shake off the bator. Changing
tactics, Ivan craned his neck around, thrust his snout over his right shoulder,
and snapped his teeth. Red Scar scurried onto the left shoulder, fleeing the
bone-crushing teeth.

But
the old bator was too slow. Ivan managed to bite off half his tail.

Blood
spurted and feathers flew. The bator yowled. He had already lost the tip of his
tail earlier in the day. But back then, Red Scar had only lost a few feathers.
This injury was far more severe. Maybe life-threatening. Ivan had crunched
through bone and flesh.

Red
Scar's claws loosened. He slipped off Ivan's back.

But
Fig did not fall.

As
Red Scar tumbled to the ground, leaving half his tail behind, Fig hopped off
the mutilated achillobator.

She
landed on Ivan's back. Alone.

She
ran.

Her
bare feet padded across Ivan's scales.

With
a wordless cry, she leaped and landed on the king's head.

She
stood there for a moment, shocked at herself.

I'm
standing on the head of Mintari's largest T-rex.

This
was not how Fig had imagined her night going.

From
up here, she could see the entire battle. Below, her bators were attacking
Ivan's feet. Red Scar curled up. Joe lay on his back, clutching his wounded leg
and gazing up in shock. Farther down the hill, trikes were overturning jippis
full of poachers. Below the hill, buildings lay toppled across the city.

Fig
took this all in within a second. Then she bared her teeth, raised her sickle
claw, and plunged it down with all the strength in her skinny arms.

She
drove the claw into one of Ivan's eyes.

It
was a massive eye. The eyeball appeared small from a distance. And it was
small compared to the size of Ivan's head. But up here, Fig realized the
eyeball was the size of a coconut.

The
eye was not soft. A thick nictitating membrane protected it. Achillobators had
such membranes too—transparent layers to protect the eyeball. But Fig held the
sickle claw of an achillobator, a weapon crafted and honed over a hundred
million years of evolution. It was one of the sharpest, deadliest weapons on
Mintari. And with her rage, she shattered that membrane and clawed the mushy
eyeball.

That
claw was long. Fig drove the whole thing in, then sank her entire hand into the
goo.

Ivan
let out a cry.

But
it was not the deep rumble a T-rex was famous for. This was a different sound.
High-pitched. Almost a whine. The sound a bator hatchling made if you stepped
on its tail.

Ivan's
head shook madly, and Fig flew through the air. She landed on a patch of grass
and fallen red feathers. The fall knocked the air out of her, but she was
unhurt. Sitting down, legs splayed out, she stared up at the beast.

Ivan
took a few steps, whimpering, tossing his head around. His little arms flailed.
The sickle claw was still embedded into his eyeball. He yowled. A torn sound. A
sound like ripping skin.

The
pack knew this was their best chance.

The
achillobators lunged, savage and wild, attacking with berserker fury. For many
years, the tyrannosaurs had bullied the smaller bators. This was their revenge.
They lunged at the wounded titan, clawing, biting. Crooked Wing lashed her
claws, hamstringing the prodigious predator. Even with one eye gone, bleeding
from many cuts, Ivan still tried to fight, whipping his tail, snapping his
teeth.

And
then something amazing happened. Something Fig was not expecting.

Dozer
rose to his feet.

Fig
had thought the trike was dead. A chunk of his frill was missing, and gashes
bled across him, but the triceratops let out a horse cry and charged.

His
horns drove into Ivan's leg, ripping muscle, cracking a bone.

And
the king fell.

He
hit the ground with a thud they could hear across the city.

Fig
stared with wide eyes. Joe gasped. Dozer and the bators stepped back, barely
believing what they had done. Ivan lay on the ground, breathing raggedly, a
claw in his eye, his leg mangled. He was still alive. But he was staying down.

The
king was defeated.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Leave-taking

Joe struggled to
his feet. His injured leg blazed with pain, but if he favored it, he could walk
a few steps. His head spun. He had lost a lot of blood. But this wasn't over
yet. He limped closer to the fallen Tyrannosaurus rex.

His
nemesis lay there on the bloody grass, breathing raggedly. Joe had seen injured
dinosaurs before. He knew that Ivan was not getting up anytime soon. His leg
was broken. His eyeball was cut and blind. He was down for the count.

Dozer
stood above his vanquished foe. The triceratops was injured just as badly. He
struggled with every breath, wounds gaped on his sides, and a chunk of his
frill was gone. But the big herbivore remained standing, victorious. With a
grunt, he placed one foot on Ivan's neck. All Dozer had to do was lean forward,
press his weight down on his foot, and rid Mintari of Ivan. Forever.

The
triceratops swiveled his head around on its ball joint, looking at Joe. He gave
a low moan, rising in pitch at the end. Can I kill him?

Every
cell in Joe's body screamed: Yes! Yes, end him! End this now!

Joe
thought of Mina's face, innocent and beautiful. He remembered her disappearing
into the jaws of this beast. He thought of the life he had been denied. A life
with Mina. With their child. A life of joy. He thought of fifteen years of
grief and despair.

Yes!
he wanted to cry. Yes, crush his neck! Kill him!

And
then Joe thought of his father.

Tobias
Triplehorn had been born on Mintari. He grew up here. He lost his parents here
to a dinosaur attack. And he chose a path of vengeance. Chose to sell weapons
to poachers, to mastermind the mass killing of dinosaurs. To Tobias, dinosaurs
were monsters.

But
they were not monsters. They were magnificent animals. They were majestic
creations of evolution. They were wonders brought back to life, rising again,
proud and free.

Even
Ivan.

Joe
had sworn to protect dinosaurs. Because he knew that despite their size, their
sharp teeth, and their long claws, they were vulnerable. Humans could drive
them to extinction as easily as any other animal. Little humans, with their
weak, soft bodies, had driven the great cats, the elephants, even the whales to
extinction. Against the devastating industry of mankind, dinosaurs would fare
no better.

But
at least one man still stood for them.

Joe
still wore the hat of a Ranger. He still wore the badge on his chest. And in
his heart, he still loved dinosaurs.

"Let
him live," he said in a low voice. "Show him mercy, Dozer. Let him
live."

Dozer
grunted. He seemed disappointed. But he removed his foot from Ivan's neck.

Joe
stepped closer to the fallen king, opened his pack, and pulled out medical
supplies. He began treating Ivan's wounds.

* * * * *

As
he worked, bandaging the injured T-rex, Joe was aware of the strange girl
watching him. The girl who had ridden here atop an achillobator. She stood with
the feathered theropods, daring not approach but clearly curious.

Joe
too was curious. Riding dinosaurs was nothing new on Mintari. After all, just
outside this city, jockeys rode in the Dino Derby every weekend. But Joe had
never seen a girl so connected to a pack of predators. She seemed almost like
one of the pack, making sounds in their language, fighting with them, wielding
one of their claws. And there was something else about her. Something haunting
and familiar.

After
Joe had stopped Ivan's bleeding, he turned away from the wounded rex. Ivan lay
on the hilltop, breathing deeply, sliding into an uneasy sleep. It would
probably be days before he walked again. There were only three paleonarians in
the city, and tonight the dino docs had their hands full. They would treat Ivan
when they could. For now, Joe had done all he could.

He
looked at the slumbering dinosaur.

Yes,
you killed my pregnant wife, he thought. And no, I
will not take revenge. I am not my father. Sleep well, King of Mintari. And
when you can, leave this city and never return.

He
felt that Mina was watching. He hoped she understood. Maybe she would not
approve, not agree. But he hoped she understood.

He
turned away from the sleeping T-rex and looked at the strange girl.

She
stood in the shadows among her pack of bators, watching him. In the chaos of
battle, he had only caught glimpses of her face. Now Joe got his first good
look at her. He blinked. A shock bolted through him.

Mina!
It was Mina!

For
a second, Joe thought he was looking at a ghost. But no. This girl was younger.
Only a teenager. She had tanned skin, almond-shaped eyes, and bowl-shaped black
hair. She wore a dress adorned with red feathers.

"Thank
you," Joe said to her. "For helping. You saved my life."

The
girl took a step closer, hesitated, took another few steps. Her pack remained
behind, muscles tense, ever watchful. Each achillobator was the size of a polar
bear and twice as ruthless. Any one of them would tear Joe apart. They knew it.
He knew it. But the feathered dinosaurs stayed put, simply watching.

Joe
took a step closer. The bators bristled. Their scaly lips peeled back, baring
their teeth. Joe froze.

The
girl glanced at the bators, made cooing sounds, and they calmed. She then
walked closer to Joe, stepping into the moonlight.

Darwin's
beard! Joe thought. She really did look like
Mina. In the moonlight, she seemed like his wife reborn.

"Who
are you?" he whispered.

The
girl tapped her chest. "Fi-ga-ro." A tear fled her eye and rolled
down her cheek, gleaming in the moonlight. "I … em … Fi-ga-ro. I … em …
yow … da-te."

Joe
blinked. The girl was struggling with every syllable.

"Did
you just say you're my daughter?"

More
tears flowed down her cheeks. She nodded. "Yes. I … Mi-na … da-te. An . .
yow … da-te."

Rage
exploded through Joe. What was this? Some kind of sick joke? Amissa must be
behind this! She must have found a girl who looked like Mina, put her here, and
…

Then
Joe noticed it.

A
figure was limping up the hill, leaning on a cane.

It
was Lifa. His mother.

The
shaman stopped a few steps away. The moonlight lit her necklaces of beads and
bones. It had been years since Lifa had left the wilderness. Shamans chose a
life of solitude. If Lifa was here in the city, this was truly a momentous
night. Her tears shone in the moonlight. She looked at Joe and gave a slight
bow. She did not need to speak. Her eyes said it all.

It's
true, Joe. She's your daughter.

"How?"
Joe whispered to the girl. "How is this possible?" His own tears were
falling now. "I saw you die. I saw Ivan, I saw …"

And
he remembered.

Mina
going into labor.

Mina
crumbling in the dark grass, crying out.

She
gave birth that night, Joe thought. While I
was battling the beast. And I never knew it. I never knew …

A
great sob fled his lips, and he pulled Figaro into his arms.

"I'm
sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, my daughter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
This is a miracle. A miracle …"

He
could say no more. The years of grief flowed from him, wetting Figaro's dress
of feathers with a thousand tears.

* * * * *

For
a long time, Fig stood in her father's embrace. He was crying, and she felt how
broken he was. How sorry he was. He was like a great wounded animal, old and battle
worn, only now beginning to heal.

Vaguely,
Fig was aware of Simone parking her jippi on the hilltop, stepping out, and
gazing at the scene with soft eyes. But the redhead gave them space. Simone
joined Lifa in the shadows. Both women knew this moment belonged to father and
daughter.

"Figaro,"
Joe said, looking into her eyes. "That's a beautiful name."

She
smiled shakily. "Fi-ga-ro."

"I
have so much I want to ask you," Joe said. "So much I don't yet
understand. I don't know where you were all these years. I don't know how you
survived. I'm sure you have many questions too. But one thing I want you to
know right now. I didn't abandon you. I thought about you every day. I thought
you were gone. And I'm so glad you're here. I've only just met you, Figaro, but
I love you. I'm your father. And I'm here for you."

Her
smile grew, and she trembled and shed tears. She laid her head against his
chest. She had spent so many years thinking she was an achillobator, some
orphaned chick the pack had adopted. That had never felt right to her. Not
throughout all those years in the wild. This was true. Joe was true.
This felt right.

This
is who I am, she thought. Fi-ga-ro. A human. A
daughter.

A
soft nickering came from behind her.

Still
held in Joe's arms, Fig looked over her shoulder. Red Scar had taken a few
steps forward, leaving the pack behind. Lifa had bandaged the stump of his
tail, and despite the brutal injury, dear old Red Scar was already on his feet.
Even the bite of a T-rex couldn't keep him down. The bator nickered again, then
purred and bobbed his head.

Little
one? Come back. Rejoin the pack.

Now
fresh tears fell. Gently Fig disentangled herself from Joe's embrace. She
stepped hesitantly toward Red Scar. The bator lowered his snout and nuzzled her
palm. He purred, a sound of soft pleading tinged with grief.

You're
not coming back, are you?

Fig
sobbed and pulled his snout into a hug. His head was larger than her entire
torso, his jaws full of terrible teeth, but to Fig, there was nobody kinder,
softer, or braver in the world. She hugged that huge scarred beast, and her
tears wet his feathers. She cooed into his ear, shaking, holding him so
tightly.

I
love you, Red Scar. I love you. I'll miss you so much.

He
was an old bator. He had taken her in years ago, a young orphan girl in the
wild. He had raised her. Seen her as one of his pack. For all those long years
in the wilderness, he had been there for her. Mentor. Protector. Friend.

How
could she go on without him? How could she find a life away from her companion?

But
she knew that she must. She had grown up. By the reckoning of human years, she
was no longer a hatchling. In the wilderness of Mintari, few hatchlings reached
adulthood. Starvation, disease, or predation took out most of them. Red Scar
had seen her through the dangers of childhood. He had scared off predators,
brought her meat, groomed her for ticks, raised her to be quick and strong. But
now she must leave the nest. Now she must forge her own path. Now she must
return to her people.

In
her soft cooing, she explained all this to him without words. Just with her hug
and tears and loving noises. And when he looked into her eyes, Fig knew that he
understood. Perhaps he had always understood. Perhaps he had always known this
day would come—long before Fig herself had known.

She
held his snout in both hands, and she looked into his eyes. For the first time,
she tried to speak to him like a human. "Re-Sar … Fi-ga-ro … ruv
you."

He
licked her face, and she giggled. She would stay with the humans. But she would
visit him, and part of her would always run wild with the pack.

Suddenly
Red Scar stiffened.

His
nostrils flared, and his lips peeled back with snarl.

In
his eyes, Fig saw a reflection. A figure in the night, aiming a rifle.

She
spun around to see Amissa. The poacher came slinking through the night. She
must have been hiding behind the ruins of Darwin's Ark.

She
aimed her rifle right at Fig.

Red
Scar howled, knocked Fig to the ground, and lunged toward Amissa.

The
poacher's gun boomed.

Red
Scar made a terrible, high-pitched squeal. Blood flew from his neck. He took
three more steps, then crumpled.

Fig
screamed.

At
once, Joe was running at Amissa, limping and bleeding but still propelling
himself forward. He was out of bullets, but he raised his T-rex tooth sword.
Simone ran toward her jippi, perhaps looking for a weapon. The other bators
raced to battle. Lifa was shouting, "Amissa! Amissa, my daughter!"
But the old shaman was barely audible over the shrieking bators.

Amissa
fired again.

Joe
cried out.

A
bullet hit his leg. The same leg Ivan had already savaged.

Joe
fell. He was not getting up anytime soon.

The
bators pounced toward Amissa. She leaped back. The poacher raced behind the
mangled remains of Darwin's Ark.

"Amissa!"
Joe howled. He tried to rise, fell again, bleeding. "Get back here,
coward!"

The
bators whipped around Darwin's Ark, chasing Amissa. But then engines
roared. An astrolite soared skyward on a pillar of fire. Fig watched, eyes
wide. She had never seen a flying machine before. The astrolite rose higher and
higher, then vanished into the night, leaving nothing but a streak of light.

Amissa
was gone.

Lifa
hurried toward Joe, moving as fast as she could with her cane. She knelt and
began treating his wounds.

Fig,
meanwhile, raced toward Red Scar.

The
old bator lay on the ground, his blood wetting the grass. The bullet had
pierced his neck. He gurgled, struggling for breath. A lot of blood was flowing
from him.

Fig's
hands shook. She wanted to cry out for help, but Lifa was busy tending to her
son. The other bators crowded around, watching, cooing, and Fig trembled. She
knelt and nuzzled Red Scar, cooing too, but her voice shook. She placed her
hands on his wound. Such small hands. They could not stanch the blood.

Don't
die, Red Scar. Don't die. Don't die. Please …

Her
tears splashed him.

Red
Scar looked into her eyes. There was intelligence in his gaze. Awareness. Love.
He purred, laid his huge head on her lap, and closed his eyes. She held him as
he took his last breath.

Fig
lowered her head, overwhelmed with grief. Her best friend was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Homecoming

They never found
Amissa.

Many
Rangers had died in the terrible battle of Dinovia City. Those who survived
searched for Amissa throughout the night. And the next day. And the day after
that.

They
flew tricopters over the wilderness. They gazed toward the stars with their
telescopes. They looked in every cave, under every rock. They questioned the
poachers they captured.

Nothing.

Amissa
Triplehorn was gone. Perhaps she had left the planet. Perhaps she was hiding in
some hole in the wilderness. Perhaps someday she would strike again.

For
now she was gone. And Mintari had to heal.

They
wanted Joe to stay in the city. They wanted to give him some medal. They wanted
a big ceremony with a crowd, cameras, the whole shebang.

Joe
had refused. He was no hero. He had failed in this battle. Failed to stop his
sister. Failed to save the hundreds who died. He wanted to go back to his cave,
to nurse his wounded leg, to remain in isolation. He had almost lost that leg.
Ivan's tooth and Amissa's gun had both savaged it. The doctors said he would
keep the limb. In time, with proper care, he wouldn't even limp, they said. But
the road to recovery was long, and Joe wanted to recover at home.

Lifa
had already left the city, returning to her burrow. The shaman did not like
crowds. Joe could sympathize. He had definitely inherited his introversion from
his mother.

It
was Simone who convinced him to stay in Dinovia a while longer.

"You
and Dozer are no shape to take the journey to Mudge Mountain," she told
him. "We're staying in the city until you boys can walk. There are rooms
in the Fossil and Firkin. I already rented one."

Joe
sat beside her in the jippi, his leg wrapped in bandages. She was driving
through the narrow streets of Dinovia City. Figaro sat in the back seat.

Poor
Dozer was limping behind them. There was no jippi on Mintari large enough to
carry him. The trike took careful steps, favoring one leg. Bandages covered his
body. Metal bolts held his frill together. The paleonarians had reattached the
chunk Ivan had bitten off.

"Look,
he can walk!" Joe said. "So can I. Let's head back to the cave."

Simone
groaned. She was driving in first gear, slow enough for Dozer to follow. She
pointed at his bandaged leg.

"You
cannot walk, mister. Amissa almost shot your leg off."

"Almost!"
he said. "That means I can still walk home." Riding Dozer was out of
the question until the big dinosaur healed.

"If
you behave, I'll let you walk from your room to the bar," Simone said.

Joe
thought for a moment. Then he grunted and nodded. "Your terms are
acceptable."

They
finally reached the Fossil and Firkin. One of the walls had been knocked down
during the rex rampage, revealing the common room. Dust and rubble lay
everywhere. But the regulars were undaunted. They still sat inside, nursing
their mugs of ale. It took a lot to rattle a Mintarian. Widespread dino
destruction was no reason to stop drinking.

Simone
parked the jippi outside the saloon. Dozer grunted and wheezed, winded after
the long walk. The triceratops could have stayed on Buckland Hill. The
paleonarians had been treating him there—along with Ivan and a handful of other
triceratops. The historic hill had become a field hospital for wounded
dinosaurs. But Dozer insisted on trudging along, and besides, Joe would never
leave him behind. The weary trike plopped himself down outside the Fossil and
Firkin, taking up three parking spots and cracking the asphalt. He laid his
head in the garden, which he began to devour plant by plant. He especially
loved petunias.

Joe
patted the dinosaur, then limped toward the saloon's batwing doors. When he
swung them open, one door clattered to the ground. Joe winced. Oops.

The
patrons looked up at the sound. Barnum, the rotund barkeep, paused from
cleaning a mug. Everyone stared at Joe in stunned silence.

"Jurassic
Joe himself!" whispered a man with a huge handlebar mustache covered with
beer foam.

"Back
from the dead!" whispered another barfly, a woman with two blond braids,
freckled cheeks, and a big ceratop hat.

Joe
froze. He used to be a regular here. Back before Mina had died. He would visit
daily for Barnum's famous shepherd's pie. For the cold ale. For the warm
company. Now, standing here with everyone watching, Joe's cheeks flushed
beneath his beard.

He
should not have come back. He should have ignored Simone and taken Dozer to the
cave. It was not too late.

He
took one step back when Barnum hurried around the bar. The portly man rushed
toward him, his belly swinging from side to side.

"Joe,
my boy!" he cried. "It's good to have you back." He gripped
Joe's hand, shook it, then changed his mind and hugged Joe instead. "Come
on, come inside! I have fresh shepherd's pie cooling on the counter. And the
beer is cold, or there's coffee if you prefer. Come, my friend, sit down. Ah!
Look at that!"

Simone
entered the saloon next. She waved shyly. "Hi, Barnum."

The
old barkeep's eyes twinkled. "Why, if it isn't the lovely Ms. LaRue. I see
you found Jurassic Joe."

She
smiled. "We've met, yes. It's been … interesting."

Barnum
burst out laughing and slapped his ample belly. "I can imagine. Come
inside, come inside. I'll fix you a plate. And—oh." The old man peered at
the doorway. "And who might you be, young lady?"

Figaro
tiptoed into the room. She sniffed, noticed everyone staring, then bared her
teeth and growled.

"It's
all right, Figaro," Simone said. "We're among friends."

Barnum
took a step closer. "We're all friends here, we—"

Fig
growled, lunged forward, and snapped her teeth. Barnum stumbled back.

Simone
looked at Joe, concern in her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong," she
whispered.

But
Joe understood. He turned toward his daughter and stared into her fierce,
almond-shaped eyes. "Figaro. Look at me. You're a predator. I know. You
feel cornered in strange territory. I understand." He smiled thinly.
"I feel the same way. Come, let's sit by that broken wall. Easy escape. If
we need to run, we can hop out the hole in the wall. Is that all right?"

Fig
stopped snarling. She looked around the room. Lots of people. Lots of places to
be trapped. But one wall had crumbled, and Dozer could be seen lounging
outside, munching on petunias. He would keep them safe.

Fig
nodded. "Ow wite."

They
sat down at a wooden table. All the tables, the chairs, even the bar were
carved from live-edge wood. The legs were made from branches stripped of bark, still
coiling and full of knots and knobs. It wasn't quite like being in the
wilderness, but it put Joe at ease. Fig seemed to calm down too. She began
grooming Joe's hair, searching for bugs. He knew it was a show of affection.

Joe
kept expecting odd looks, mutters, somebody to point at his Triplehorn pin and
grumble. He expected people to toss bottles. To insult him. To curse his clan.

But
instead, one lady approached and shook his hand. "Thank you, Joe,"
she said, voice choked with emotion.

An
octogenarian with a walrus mustache stepped over and saluted, tears in his
eyes. "I was a Ranger for sixty years. You, sir, are the finest Ranger
I've met. I would love to buy you a drink."

Others
approached too. They patted Joe on the back, shook his hand, bought him more
drinks than he could manage. Simone not-so-furtively sneaked a few drinks back
to the bar. Fig delivered a beer to Dozer, spilling it into his beak. Joe would
have to talk to her about that.

As
Joe sat there in the crowded saloon, he felt trapped. He wanted the ground to
swallow him. He had not been among so many people for fifteen years now. But he
found that tears of gratitude filled his eyes.

He
looked at his lapel. At the small silver triceratops pin he wore there, so
tarnished it had turned black. His clan crest. Not long ago, people would have
ripped it off, would have cursed his name. There were still cruel Triplehorns
out there. And many poachers still carried guns with the same symbol on the
barrel.

But
Joe had done something here. He had shown this city another type of Triplehorn.
Maybe someday his daughter would not be ashamed of her family name.

"I
wish Mina could have been here," Joe said softly. He looked at Fig and
smiled through the tears. "But you're here, Figaro. And I know your mother
is proud of you."

Barnum
approached, carrying a tray with three servings of shepherd's pie. Joe, Simone,
and Fig all tucked in. The meal was delicious. Fig inhaled her serving, then
quickly ordered seconds. And thirds. Joe laughed. The girl was scrawny, but
soon enough, she'd put some meat on her bones. She would improve her speech.
She would integrate in human society. Maybe even better than he did.

We
both have a long way home, he thought. But we'll
get there.

He
put his arm around his daughter. She leaned against him, closed her eyes, and
smiled softly.

Joe
looked at Simone. She looked back, eyes solemn.

He
wanted to ask Simone so many things. Would she return to Cloventia? Would she
stay here on Mintari? Would she live in the city, or would she live with Joe in
his cave? The Cloventia Gazette had betrayed her. She would no longer be
a journalist. But would she still be in his life? A friend? Something more?

So
many questions, but when Joe looked into her eyes, he realized that Simone
herself did not know. They would need time. To recover. To heal. To see what
happened next. Him. Simone. Figaro. Yes, it would be a long road, but they
would walk it together.

"Joe."
Simone lowered her eyes, suddenly blushing. "I … wanted to ask you
something."

His
heart lurched. He tried to hide his nervousness. "Go ahead."

She
looked up at him from under her lashes. "Barnum told me that … you used to
play the piano here. Will you play for us?"

"Absolutely
not!" Joe said.

"Oh
please!" Simone held his hand. "I want to hear."

"No!"

Fig,
who had been dozing off, opened her eyes. She tilted her head. "Wae
pano?"

Simone
pointed. "There. That thing. It's a musical instrument."

Fig
tilted her head the other way. "Mu … huh?"

Simone
grinned. "Show her, Joe. Come on. Play us a song."

He
rose to his feet. "I'm going home. To my cave. Alone. You're not
invited."

Laughing,
Simone grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the piano. Fig scampered after
them, curious. Joe noticed that she walked funny. Not like a regular girl. She
hopped forward like a bator. Maybe in time, her walking would become more
humanlike. Maybe it wouldn't. He would accept her either way.

Simone
practically forced him onto the piano bench. "Play, mister. That's an
order."

He
glowered. "It's been fifteen years. I forgot how."

"Just
try!"

He
played a C chord. "There, happy?"

She
grinned. "No. I want more. Here, I'll remind you how to play." She
sat beside him on the bench. "Scooch over." She stretched her
fingers. "Seven years of lessons at Clover Heights, here we go."

She
played a tune. She played well. Joe played a few more chords. It was slowly
coming back to him. He felt as clumsy with the piano as Fig did with speaking.
But soon they were playing a simple song together. She played the melody on
treble, he played the bass chords. "Dinosaur Road." A classic
Mintarian folk song. And everyone in the saloon sang.

When
they returned to their table, Joe glowered at Simone. "Are you always like
this? Thriving on attention?"

She
nodded. "Yep. I'm a journalist, after all. Well … was. But maybe you need
somebody like me, Joe Triplehorn. Somebody very different from you."

"Well,
maybe you should stick around!" he grumbled.

She
placed her hands on her hips. "Maybe I will, Mr. Triplehorn."

"Well,
good then!"

"Good!"

Figaro
looked at them. "Hoo-mans weir-da."

Simone
laughed. And Joe couldn't help it. He laughed too. Uproariously. He had not
laughed like this in years.

When
their laughter faded, Joe spoke softly.

"We
spent too long in the darkness. All three of us. We suffered loss and pain. We
wandered the shadows alone. But now the three of us are here. Together. Now we
can heal."

Simone
hugged him. Figaro cooed and groomed his hair.

Joe
closed his eyes, and he thought of Mina.

I
will never forget you, Mina. I will always love you. You were here for me
during all those years of shadow. Our daughter is back. And I promise she will
know you.

He
felt something then. Something odd, alien. Something he had not felt in fifteen
years.

He
was happy.

* * * * *

Amissa
knew they were searching for her. And she knew that nobody would find her. Not
here.

This
was the safest place on Mintari. All she had to do was lie low.

Standing
outside, one could barely see the shaman's hut. It looked like a mound of earth
covered in grass and leaves. Ferns, flowering bushes, ivy, and a hundred herbs
grew around the burrow, an explosion of flora. Jars of scented leaves kept
dinosaurs at bay. Concealed wind chimes, cleverly attached to vines strung
along the ground, would warn of anyone approaching. A stream provided fresh
water and fish. Fruit trees offered plenty of sweet nourishment. For thirty
years now, Lifa had lived here, hidden away from the world, surviving on the
most dangerous planet in the galaxy.

As
the Rangers searched for Amissa, she could think of no better hideout.

And
Lifa would never turn her in. What kind of mother would turn in her only
daughter?

Amissa
walked through the herb garden, careful to avoid the tripwires. She pulled back
a curtain of vines and entered the hut.

On
the inside, the hut was far more than a mere mound of soil and leaves. It was a
home. A cozy hideaway full of rugs, dream catchers, and glistening crystals.
Lifa moved about the hut, tending to a pot of tea, dusting the crystals, and
watering the plants. When she noticed Amissa, she paused and turned toward her.

"Daughter."
Her smile was kind. "I thought you might come. I've made mint-and-jasmine
tea. I want us to talk."

The
shaman sat down on a tasseled cushion. Amissa remained standing.

"Won't
you sit?" Lifa said.

Amissa
stared down at the old woman. She looked nothing like a Cloventian. She looked …
old. Back on Cloventia, women of a certain age got face-lifts. They dyed their
hair. They surgically altered their bodies. But Lifa—wonder of wonders—looked
her age. Her hair was long and white, her skin was wrinkled, her body sagged.
She did not even remove the warts on her chin. To Amissa, she looked like a
witch. She was just missing the hunchback.

Did
this wrinkly old creature truly give birth to me?
Amissa thought. Disgust filled her. If I ever look like that, I'll kill
myself.

Lifa
seemed to read her mind. Her smile softened. "I know you're not used to
this life. I know I don't look like a fine Cloventian lady. I know my home is
nothing like the fancy penthouses that float over the neon sea. But I hope you
can understand why I chose this life."

Amissa
clenched her fists at her sides. "I understand that you abandoned me. I
was only a baby. And you left." Tears burned her eyes.

Lifa
stood up. Her eyes dampened. "I tried to keep you. I fought for you. I
begged the courts to keep you. But they divided you and Joe. Divided two
siblings between two parents. So—"

"So
you left!" Amissa shouted. "You left Cloventia! You left me!"
Tears ran down her cheeks. "You could have stayed. Even if you divorced my
father, you could have stayed on Cloventia. You could have visited me."

The
tears ran down Lifa's wrinkles like rivers through canyons. "I was wilting
on Cloventia. I was dying."

"So
you ran into the wilderness!" Amissa cried. "Like a coward. You fled!
You escaped me!" She fell to her knees, and suddenly she was sobbing.
"I grew up without a mother. Because you abandoned me."

Lifa
lowered her head. "You're right. No more excuses. I'm sorry, Amissa. I
love you, and I'm so sorry."

The
shaman stepped forward, reaching out to hug Amissa.

But
Amissa took a step back. "Your sorries are useless, old woman. Why did I
even bother coming here? You mean nothing to me." She spat on the rug.
"Nothing. While you were cowering here, worshipping your crystals, my
father raised me. He raised me to be strong! A huntress!"

Lifa
met her gaze. "And now you, the proud huntress, hide in the den of a
shaman. There is no strength in a gun, Amissa, only loud noise and violence.
There is strength in stone and leaf and starlight. It's not too late for you. I
abandoned you. And your father broke you. Let me heal you."

Amissa
slapped her.

She
slapped the old woman so hard Lifa reeled back.

The
shaman clutched her cheek. She stared at Amissa, and fear filled her eyes.

"What
are you?" Lifa whispered. "What did Tobias do to you?"

"Raised
me to be strong. I'm glad you left us."

"Get
out," Lifa whispered. "Get out of my home."

Amissa
barked a laugh. "Home? This is nothing but a rat's nest." She stepped
toward the fireplace, grabbed a poker, and fished out a smoldering log. "I
should burn it to the ground!"

She
flung the burning log onto a hanging tapestry.

The
fabric caught fire at once. With remarkable speed, the flames spread to the
rug, then raced toward the thatched roof.

Chin
raised, Amissa walked out of the hut. The fire was spreading behind her. The Huntress
was hiding under a pile of leaves, branches, and vines. As the hut burned
behind her, Amissa pulled the greenery off the astrolite. She popped the hatch,
entered the cockpit, and fired up the engines.

As
the Huntress rose through the sky, Amissa looked down. The hut was
ablaze. Lifa stood outside the inferno on a scrimshawed boulder, gazing up at
the astrolite. Then smoke rolled over the old woman, and Amissa looked away.

I've
lain low long enough, Amissa thought. It was
time to emerge from hiding. To be the huntress Tobias Triplehorn had raised.
She had lost a battle. But she vowed to win the war.

She
flew higher, scattering a flock of pterosaurs, and kept rising. When she looked
down again, only a few minutes later, the fire was spreading across the forest.
Dinosaurs were fleeing the inferno, racing toward the open plains. Too slow.
The fire washed over a herd of iguanodons. A family of sauropods stampeded toward
a river, but the flames grabbed them and pulled the mighty titans down.

Amissa
took no pleasure in killing with fire. A huntress should kill with her arrow,
knife, or gun, then mount her trophies. There was no honor in flame. She had
acted impetuously, perhaps. This fire was like her rage, exploding and
expanding, consuming all in its path. This was no longer a hunt. This was war,
and there could be no honor in war. She would keep this rage burning until this
entire planet was nothing but ashes.

She
flew higher until she breached the atmosphere. The Rangers mostly operated
jippis, boats, and tricopters, navigating land, sea, and air. But they did own
a few ships capable of reaching space. Nothing that could fly to another
planet, of course. Interplanetary starships were expensive. The Rangers owned
none of those. Even Amissa's astrolite could not cross the vast distances of
space. But the Rangers could still reach Mintari's orbit. They could still hunt
her here.

She
was careful. Amissa had cleverly disguised her vehicle as a simple tourist
astrolite. Even if the Rangers did penetrate her stealth cloak, they would see
a bumbling tourist enjoying the view, maybe a discreet businessman who wanted
to keep his visit quiet. No more. And if any Ranger did fly in for a closer
look, well … her astrolite boasted the best guns money could buy.

Amissa
picked up her transmitter and sent a message to Cloventia. From here, the neon
planet was a bluish dot, nearly lost among the stars. But in half an hour,
traveling at the speed of light, her message would reach her father.

"Dad?
It's me. I'm going to need some backup."

* * * * *

It
was a month before Dozer was well enough to travel. Finally the big old
triceratops lumbered out of the city. Scars ran down his flank, and bolts still
held his frill together, but he was healing nicely, and he still had many years
of munching leaves and battling carnivores in him.

Joe,
Simone, and Fig rode the trike out of the city. All three of them easily fit on
his back. Dozer grunted as he lumbered into the wilderness.

"Are
you sure he can carry us?" Simone asked.

Joe
nodded. "He's a big boy. He barely even feels our weight."

Joe
himself was healing. His leg still hurt, and he still limped, but his doctors
expected him to make a full recovery. Even now, it was hard to accept that
Amissa—his own sister—had shot him. That she had murdered so many people. If
the stories were true, it was Amissa who was behind the wildfires in the east.
She was still out there. Here on Mintari or near the planet. Joe knew he must
face her again someday.

But
not today.

Today
was a day for family. For homecoming.

They
rode through Marshwood Forest where the stegosaurs roamed, feeding on ferns,
and the ceratosaurs prowled, feeding on stegosaurs. Under a blue sky, they
crossed the sprawling Hell Valley, a flowering land they all found heavenly.
Iguanodons and parasaurs swept across the grasslands, sauropods vacuumed up
industrial amounts of greenery, and the year's first young allosaurus
hatchlings were learning to hunt. Gould River flowed by, lined with cycads,
coiling toward the swamps where the spinosaurs guzzled down fish—and any
dinosaur who ventured too close.

Finally,
three days after checking out from the Fossil and Firkin, they saw it ahead.
Mudge Mountain. Joe's home.

With
his thick, stumpy legs and bulky frame, Dozer could not climb the mountainside
even at full health. But the triceratops was happy to remain on the foothills,
where he could munch on cycads, rebuild his herd, and perhaps even make some baby
trikes. The megaraptors who prowled the foothills would not dare approach a
trike who showed the scars of T-rex teeth. Anyone who had faced a T-rex and
lived was not to be trifled with.

Joe
climbed the mountainside, leaning on a walking stick. His leg hurt. But it was
getting stronger every day. He wore his Ranger uniform, and his sleep-or-die
hung across his back. He was ready for anything.

Simone
walked at his side, wearing a safari uniform. Her braided hair spilled out from
under her ceratop hat. She no longer looked like a Cloventian tourist lost in
the wild. She looked like a Mintarian. Figaro bounded up the slope with them,
her dress of feathers fluttering. Sometimes she lowered her nose to the ground
and sniffed. Sometimes she paused, cocked her head, and listened to distant
birds. Sometimes she growled and chased lizards and mice, vanishing into the
brush. But whenever Joe got too far ahead, Fig was sure to hop after him.

A
familiar face greeted them outside the cave.

Vinnie
loped toward them, yipping with excitement, his feathers fluttering. The little
velociraptor leaped into Joe's arms and nuzzled him. Joe laughed and mussed his
old friend's feathers.

"Vinnie!
I missed you, boy. I bet you thought I was never coming back, huh?" He
kissed the feathery theropod. "You held down the fort for me, did
you?"

Then
Vinnie did something completely unexpected. He began to cry. But it was from
joy and relief. He refused to walk, and Joe had to keep carrying him.

They
reached the cave. His home awaited. The Last Home Hollow. A comfortable burrow
with fresh water, a warm hearth, stores of food … and years of pain. For a long
time, Joe had hidden away there, withdrawing from the world. It had been a
hiding place. But now, with the people he loved, he could make it a true home.

Simone
gazed at him softly, caressed his cheek, and smiled. With her fiery hair, blue
eyes, and dazzling freckles, she was a beautiful woman, and Joe knew that her
beauty was more than skin-deep. She was an intelligent woman. A brave woman.
Most importantly—a kind woman. And Joe realized that there was room in his
heart for more than one woman. That he could love Mina but still feel new love.

Fig
hopped toward them and nuzzled Joe. He mussed her dark hair, and she grinned up
at him. Joe would always regret missing Fig's childhood, but he knew that her
return was a miracle. Over the past month, his love for her had grown and
grown. It filled his heart to the brim.

My
cup runneth over, he thought. I am
blessed.

Before
entering his cave, he turned and gazed down from the mountain. Hadrosaurs
herded across the misty valley while sauropods trudged through the shallow
lake. Pterodactyls flocked above, and their shadows raced over the flowering
meadows. There it was. Mintari, a world of dinosaurs. A world beyond time. A
world Joe loved. He vowed to forever defend this world, to forever fight for
the majestic animals that lived here. This was their world. He was only a
guest. A caretaker. It was the greatest honor of his life.

He
put his arms around Simone and Figaro, and he sighed contentedly. He was home.

The story continues in

Mintari II: Where Dinosaurs Roam

DanielArenson.com/MintariII

Want to learn more about the dinosaurs featured in this novel?

Download your free Mintari Field Guide at:

DanielArenson.com/Dinosaurs

AFTERWORD

Thank you for reading A World of Dinosaurs, the first book in the Mintari series.

The second Mintari novel, Where Dinosaurs Roam, continues the tale.

Want to know when I release new novels? Here are some ways to stay updated:

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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.

Daniel

NOVELS BY DANIEL ARENSON

MINTARI

- A World of Dinosaurs

- Where Dinosaurs Roam

STARSHIP FREEDOM

- Starship Freedom

- Starship Freedom II: The Cost of Freedom

- Starship Freedom III: We Fight for Freedom

- Starship Freedom IV: For Death or Freedom

- Starship Freedom V: Let Freedom Ring

- Starship Freedom VI: In Pursuit of Freedom

- Starship Freedom VII: The Guns of Freedom

- Starship Freedom VIII: A Time for Freedom

EARTHRISE

- Earth Alone

- Earth Lost

- Earth Rising

- Earth Fire

- Earth Shadows

- Earth Valor

- Earth Reborn

- Earth Honor

- Earth Eternal

- Earth Machines

- Earth Aflame

- Earth Unleashed

- Earth Remembers

- Earth in Darkness

- Earth, Our Home

SOLDIERS OF EARTHRISE

- The Earthling

- Earthlings

- Earthling's War

- I, Earthling

- The Earthling's Daughter

- We Are Earthlings

CHILDREN OF EARTHRISE

- The Heirs of Earth

- A Memory of Earth

- An Echo of Earth

- The War for Earth

- The Song of Earth

- The Legacy of Earth

KINGDOMS OF SAND

- Kings of Ruin

- Crowns of Rust

- Thrones of Ash

- Temples of Dust

- Halls of Shadows

- Echoes of Light

THE MOTH SAGA

- Moth

- Empires of Moth

- Secrets of Moth

- Daughter of Moth

- Shadows of Moth

- Legacy of Moth

REQUIEM

- Dawn of Dragons

- Requiem's Song

- Requiem's Hope

- Requiem's Prayer

- The Complete Trilogy

- Song of Dragons

- Blood of Requiem

- Tears of Requiem

- Light of Requiem

- The Complete Trilogy

- Dragonlore

- A Dawn of Dragonfire

- A Day of Dragon Blood

- A Night of Dragon Wings

- The Complete Trilogy

- The Dragon War

- A Legacy of Light

- A Birthright of Blood

- A Memory of Fire

- The Complete Trilogy

- Requiem for Dragons

- Dragons Lost

- Dragons Reborn

- Dragons Rising

- The Complete Trilogy

- Flame of Requiem

- Forged in Dragonfire

- Crown of Dragonfire

- Pillars of Dragonfire

- The Complete Trilogy

ALIEN HUNTERS

- Alien Hunters

- Alien Sky

- Alien Shadows

OTHER WORLDS

- Utopia 58

- Eye of the Wizard

- Wand of the Witch

- Firefly Island

- The Gods of Dream

- Flaming Dove

KEEP IN TOUCH

www.DanielArenson.com

Daniel@DanielArenson.com

Facebook.com/DanielArenson

Twitter.com/DanielArenson