Two weeks they’d been waiting, while the herds didn’t come. There had been a flurry of excitement as the oneirosaurs passed through—fifty of them; they’d broken into smaller groups since—preceded by swift waves of tyrannosaurs. But since then, nothing.
The trees opened up onto Smoke Hollow. “Odd,” Leyster said. There was a light on in the long house. “People are still up?” They’d slipped away at sundown, explaining only that they’d be back late.
“Daljit and Jamal, remember? The evening satellite window opens late tonight. If they came up with something interesting this afternoon, this would be their first chance to share it.”
“You know, that satellite would be a lot more useful if it weren’t out of range so often. Why isn’t it in a geosynchrous orbit?”
“Well, two reasons, offhand. First, because it would take a lot more fuel to raise it to such a high orbit. Second, because a geosynchrous orbit is a lousy position for a mapping satellite.”
“There’s another thing. Why is a geosynchrous orbit so high? It would be a lot more convenient if it were lower.”
“Because it—oh, you’re teasing me!”
“It took you this long to figure that out?”
Mock-bickering, they entered the long house. Everyone squatted in a circle around Chuck, who was speaking on the phone.
Chuck looked up. His expression was uncharacteristically tense. “It’s Daljit,” he said. “Jamal’s been hurt.”
Luckily, Jamal’s injury was nothing worse than a broken leg. Unluckily, it left Daljit and him in no condition to return home without help. This at a time when their food supplies were running low and the migrating dinosaurs had flushed most of the small game from their immediate neighborhood.
After much discussion, it was decided that the largest rescue party they could manage was three people. After more discussion, it was agreed that those three should be Leyster, for his orienteering skill, Tamara, because she was the best hunter, and Chuck, because the other two wanted him.
“Why me?” Chuck asked cautiously. He’d been feeling a little insecure of late. Losing the flashlight had hit his self-esteem hard.
“Because you’ll keep our spirits up,” Tamara said. Leyster nodded gravely.
A small flush of pleasure spread over Chuck’s face.
In the morning, they packed their knapsacks, evenly dividing among them one poptent and three sleeping blankets, a coil of rope, knives, an axe, crocodile jerky and hadrosaur pemmican for food, a medicine kit, homebrew sun block and insect repellant, a Leica 8X20, a cell phone with solar recharger, map and compass, a friction lighter for starting fires, hooks and fishing line, a coil of snare wire, the butt end of a roll of duct tape in case anybody’s shoes started falling apart, sunglasses, rain gear and a change of clothing apiece, toothbrushes, a towel, two pens and a notebook, a pot for boiling water, and three water bottles. They went over the list three times to make sure they hadn’t left anything out, and then unfolded the map to plan their route.
“Originally, Daljit and Jamal traveled down to the mouth of the Styx, and then up the Eden River Valley,” Gillian said. “With the herds coming down the valley right now, that’s not advisable. You’re going to have cut cross-country.” She drew a straight line from Smoke Hollow to Water Gap with her finger. “That’s about twenty-five miles.”
“Piece of cake,” Chuck said.
“We ought to be able to do that,” Tamara said judiciously.
Leyster agreed. “How hard can it be?”
“It’s all up-and-down terrain, low hills, a few ridges. There ought to be streams, but since it’s mostly forested, the surveillance map doesn’t show them. The phone has a built-in positional system, so anytime the satellite’s above the horizon, you can locate yourself on the map.”
“Nobody here’s had a lot of experience in forested environments,” Nils said. “We’ve spent so much time in the river valley, we’ve gotten used to its ways. But the gods of the hills are not the gods of the valley. Keep that in mind, okay, guys?”
“No fear,” Leyster said. “Let’s go.”
Leyster took a compass reading from the top of Barren Ridge, and they started west-southwest. Each carried a spear in one hand and another tied to the back of their packs, all of them (except for Tamara’s Folly) with points of sharpened tyrannosaur ivory. In addition, Leyster carried the axe in a holster on his left hip. He was careful to keep the compass away from it.
The forest closed around them, and the shouted farewells of their friends faded away.
They walked.
For the first few hours they didn’t talk much, concentrating instead on making a good start. But the longer the silence lasted, the more time Leyster had to think. And the more he thought, the more he came up with speculations he wanted to know if the others shared.
Finally he said, “If tyrannosaurs and anatotitans do communicate with each other—and I’m not saying they do—what would they have to say to each other?”
“ ‘Surrender, Dorothy,’ ” Chuck said in a deep, rex-ish sort of voice. “ ‘I’ll get you and your little dog, too.’ ”
Tamara tried to choke back her laughter, and snorted instead. Then she said, “You remember last year, after the titanosaurs had eaten their way through the valley and were gone, how the Lord of the Valley stalked around the perimeter? And then, a couple of days later, the herds came pouring in?”
“Yeah?”
“Suppose he was staking out his territory, the way hawks do. He makes his claim to the valley and everything in it. Then maybe he’s actually calling the herds in. Telling them that the territory’s ready.”
“Why would they come, though?” asked Leyster, who’d been thinking along the same lines himself. “What’s in it for them?”
“A nice lush valley with plenty to eat, and a promise that if any other tyrannosaurs try to move in on them, the Lord will kick their butts. We’ve seen him drive away several bachelor rexes over the past year.”
“You’ve got to admit,” Chuck said. “It makes for an attractive package. Good food, good company, an absolute minimum of predation. If I were a hadro, I’d go for it in an instant.”
They were walking through a stretch of old-growth forest. The tree trunks were far apart from each other, and the floor was a soft and silent carpet of pine needles. They could talk quietly here, and without fear.
“As long as we’re speculating,” Tamara said, laying emphasis on that last word, “there could be any number of interspecific communication loops. Say the herds got too large for the carrying capacity of the valley, the rexes could split off smaller fragments of the herds and drive them away. We’ve seen behavior that looks very much like that.”
“How would they know to do that?” Leyster asked quickly.
“Infrasound again,” Tamara said. “If there’s too much of it around, too many trikes and titans gossiping back and forth, the rexes get irritable.”
“Only one thing can cure this headache,” Chuck said. “Scaring the crap out of a few herbivores.”
“Don’t forget,” Tamara said, “the behavior doesn’t have to be intentionally mediated. Ants engage in complex social behavior, and their brains are negligible, even by dinosaur standards.”
“Okay, but what’s in it for the tyrannosaur?”
“Easy prey. The herds are too large to keep together in tight, compact groups. They have to spread out to forage. Old Rexie can step in and bag one at his convenience.”
They were coming to the end of the old-growth forest. Ahead in the distance, the unvarying gloom brightened slightly, the diffuse effect of small shafts of light reaching through the canopy to the ground.
Leyster nodded. “I remember Dr. Salley gave a talk once in which she said that tyrannosaurs were farmers. I wonder if this is what she was talking about.”