A Gun for Dinosaur and Other Imaginative Tales
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1969
- Язык: английский
- Год: Curtis Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «A Gun for Dinosaur and Other Imaginative Tales». Краткое содержание книги:
Patrice indicated the smaller icebox and sat down. While Terry was in the kitchen, more sounds came from the incubator. Were they louder? She almost got up to look, but the pain in her battered thigh made her hesitate.
Terry strode out of the kitchen with a tray holding two sandwiches and two glasses of milk. Patrice almost told him about the egg. She hesitated for a peculiar reason. One of Terry's favorite subjects was how they ought to get married as soon as the law and their parents allowed, and at once beget a horde of offspring. Such a program did not suit Patrice's collegiate ambitions and, besides, she found his excessive interest in the reproduction of the species embarrassing. Now she feared the sight of the egg would send his mind off in that direction.
Before she could decide, he cut her off with a loud stream of talk: "C'mon, wrap yourself around this! Make you feel better. Say, I just heard the funniest thing ..."
Patrice forgot the egg. They ate, talking with full mouths: the endless, garrulous chatter of adolescents, so full of words and so empty of meaning to outsiders.
At last Terry put the tray away, wiped his mouth, and slid large hands around Patrice. "Now, my trull, if you can't dance, there's only one other thing you're good for ..." The music ground on.
The Obers' telephone rang again. This time Mr. Ober answered: "Yeah?"
"Mr. Ober? This is Andrew Dupas. Is Pat there, please?"
"No. She went over to the Yerethians' place to baby-sit."
"Hmm. Thanks."
Mr. Ober turned with a grin to his wife. "That was Andy. If one human being to watch Pat is good, two ought to be better."
"If he and Terry get there together they're liable to fight."
"Maybe, but Andy's pretty smart. Hell see that everything comes out all right."
Terence Blaine was well into his campaign. He had shed his beard and his hands were busy.
"Take it easy," he panted. "I won't hurt you."
"No, Terry darling —"
"Aw, come on! Be a sport!"
"But I don't want to."
"All the girls do it."
"No, let me up —"
"And you'll feel good afterwards —"
"Leave my clothes alone."
"But we love each other, don't we? That makes it all right —"
They were so busy with determined attack on one side and wavering defense on the other that they did not hear the commotion from the incubator, over the music of I Hate Your Guts from the entertainer. There was a rending sound. The lid rose. Out came the head of the baby Yerethian.
The neck followed, then the forelegs. The rest of the creature poured over the edge of the floor. The lid fell back with a thump. The smirpers looked up. Patrice screamed.
A new-hatched Yerethian is about ten feet long counting its tail. It does not look much like an adult, aside from the reptilian aspect of both. The baby lacks the spines, horns, and other ornaments of the adult, nor does its skull bulge with brain. It looks a little like a long-legged, long-necked alligator, with jaws big enough to bite a man's head off. It walks on all fours instead of upright like the adult.
The baby swiveled its big slit-pupiled eyes towards the petrified pair on the sofa. It hissed and trotted briskly towards them, jaws chomping and sixteen claws clicking.
Terry and Patrice bounced off the sofa and ran for the door. Terry got there first. He tried to open the door, not knowing the trick of the latch. The door refused to open.
Patrice tried to push him out of the way to open it herself. He shouldered her aside, mastered the latch combination, and started to open the door. Then the Yerethian was upon him.
It opened its jaws and swung its massive head sideways, like the business end of an excavating machine. The head struck
Terry in the side and knocked him over. The jaws clomped on a mouthful of Terry's satin whizz-jacket, which came apart with a ripping sound. In falling, Terry knocked Patrice down too.
They sat up and for half a second looked at the Yerethian, standing in front of the door and digging shredded satin out of its teeth with its foreclaws.
They got up and ran again. Both headed for the powder room. Being bigger and faster, Terry got there first. He lunged inside, slammed the door, and locked it. Patrice pulled on the knob, shrieked "Let me in!", beat on the door, and then saw the Yerethian charging down upon her.
Patrice ran along the wall of the huge room while the Yerethian crashed into the powder-room door, picked itself up, and started after her. It was less agile on sharp turns than she but faster on the straightaway. She saw it was gaining and would catch her long before she could reach the outer door again.
She ran past a bookcase — the one with the smaller shelves, for human books. As she came to the end, she whipped around into the angle between the end of the bookcase and the wall. The Yerethian shot past her and skidded to a stop thirty feet away.
Patrice darted back around the end of the bookcase and climbed up the front of the case, as if the shelves were ladder-rungs. She was halfway up before the Yerethian began its next charge and all the way up by the time it arrived. It slithered to a halt beneath her and looked up.
"Go away!" she told it. "HELP! HELP! Go away, ugly! HELP!"
The Yerethian reared up against the front of the bookcase and stretched its neck. "HELP!" shrieked Patrice.
She reached down under the top of the bookcase, pulled out a book from the top shelf, and threw it at the Yerethian. The book bounced off its nose. It shook its head and grunted. Another book followed. This time the Yerethian blinked and dodged. It felt around with its claws, took a firm grip on the front edges of the shelves, and began to climb.
"HELP!" About two shelves up, and it would be able to reach her.
The bookcase swayed outward and fell with a frightful crash. Patrice jumped clear but turned an ankle as she came down.
She sat up, gasping with pain, and looked at the ruinous heap. The Yerethian's head rose out of the pile of books and broken bookcase. It blinked, hissed, and took up the chase.
Patrice hobbled towards the door. Claws scrabbled on the floor behind her.
The door, which had been open a crack since their first attempt to flee, now opened widely. In it stood Andrew Dupas, wearing a purple false beard. The lights inside were reflected on his owlish glasses.
"Hey!" cried Andy.
He ran forward and snatched up a light chair, one of those meant for men. He danced between the Yerethian and Patrice, holding the chair with its legs extended as lion tamers do. The Yerethian paused, made a couple of lunges, then seized the chair in its jaws and sent it whirling away. Then it closed in on Andy.
Andy glanced around and ran toward the smaller sofa. He threw himself flat, dove under the sofa, and came out the other side, scrambling between the struts like mad. As he was of medium size and rather spare, he got through. The Yerethian, following him, got stuck. Its head and neck stuck out from under the rear of the sofa while its forelegs were out of sight under the piece.
Andy turned on his pursuer. "Yeah, whatcha gonna do now?" he snarled.
The Yerethian gave a hoarse cry and snapped at him. He stood just out of reach and slapped its muzzle. It heaved and lunged and pushed the sofa along the floor.
"Can't we catch it?" cried Patrice. "If it upsets the sofa it'll get loose again."
"Let me think."
Andy ran around to the front of the sofa, pulling off his belt. He climbed up on the sofa. As the Yerethian bent its neck back to try to reach him, he whirled the belt so that the buckle whipped around the neck. He caught the buckle in his other hand, slipped the free end through the buckle, and pulled the free end so that the noose tightened. Then he braced his feet and pulled with both hands.