Something enormous crashed through.
"LOOK OUT!"
Whatever it was, it let out a scream like a frightened schoolgirl then plunged five stories toward the floor. Kit threw himself backward as it dropped straight toward them. A long, sinuous body impacted messily less than three feet away.
A gout of blood and entrails spattered Malcolm. "Aw, bloody damn!"
Another drenching gust of rain blasted through the gate, washing spattered onlookers clean. A trail of gore and broken bone stretched twenty feet across cracked cobblestones and smashed benches. Before Kit could cast more than a cursory glance at it, another dark shape dove through. This one was winged.
"Holy-"
A defiant scream like bending metal echoed through the Commons. A smaller winged shape darted through the black madness, then another and another, until a whole seething flock of wildly gyrating winged things darted frantically amongst the girders. Lightning sizzled through and struck a catwalk near the fourth floor. Blue fire danced across steel gridwork. Thunder smashed through the station, shattering upper-level windows. Class tinkled in sharp slivers on the cobbles.
Then the gate collapsed.
It vanished, almost in the blink of a stunned eyelash. A final drizzle of rain drifted down in a bewildered sort of mist to settle into forlorn puddles. Silence---profound and complete reigned for a full heartbeat. Then someone pointed and someone else screamed. An enormous shape with leathery wings skimmed low above the crowd. Kit dove instinctively for the floor.
My God...
Its wingspan was nearly the size of a Learjet's. It snapped a long, sharp beak with a clacking sound like striking-two-by-fours and passed less than a foot above the nearest "streetlamp."
This time, 'eighty-sixers broke and ran. A silver underbelly caught the lights as it winged around toward the ceiling. Dark markings in black and grey mottled its back and wings. An enormous, broad vertical crest was patterned like a moth's wings, with huge eyespots and scarlet streaks. It snapped at a tourist on the third floor and narrowly missed her head. The woman screamed and hugged the catwalk. Pest Control tracked it with shotguns.
"DON'T SHOOT IT!" Bull yelled. `TAKE IT ALIVE!"
Half a dozen Pest Control officers swore, but dropped shotguns in favor of big capture nets. Kit scrambled up and grabbed the edge of the nearest net. Malcolm latched onto another section and lifted it in readiness for the beast's next pass.
"What is that thing?" a nearby Time Tours employee gasped.
The enormous animal soared toward the ceiling on thirty-foot wings, scraping a catwalk with one wingtip.
Sue Fritchey said calmly, "Looks like a Pteranodon sternbergi to me. Damned near as big as a Quetzalecoatlus-and that's the biggest pterodactyl we know about. That gate opened right into the Upper Cretaceous. Here it comes Ready ...wait... wait...
Kit hung onto his nerve and faced down a lethally sharp beak as the giant pterosaur swooped directly toward them. The head and neck alone were longer than Sven Bailey was tall. Kit's lizard-brain, that portion of the human cranium that controls fight-or-flight reactions, was screaming "RUN!" at the top of its lungs.
Kit ignored it.
Sue was still cautioning them, "Wait ...almost ...almost... NOW!
A dozen men heaved the big net. It tangled in wings. Another net hit it, settling over the sharp beak and soaring crest. The huge pterodactyl came down hard in a mass of screaming, struggling beak, wings, and claws. Someone fired tranquilizers into it, three shots in rapid succession. Bull Morgan darted over to help hold the nets. A powerful wing lifted Kit off the ground then flung him back toward the shattered cobbles, but he hung onto the rope. Malcolm came loose and vanished from Kit's immediate awareness. Kit thought he heard a cry of pain and an explosive curse, but he was abruptly confronted by a baleful scarlet eye and a snapping, up curved beak that severed half-inch hemp fibers like spaghetti strings.
One of the Pest Control officers darted in with a coil of rope and risked hands in order to rope the sharp beak shut. A twist of the pterosaur's neck lifted him off the floor and sent him flying, but the ropes around its beak held. The tiny crimson eye rolled murderously; then, slowly, that wicked little eye began to close. By the time the tranquilizers had taken effect, Kit was bruised and battered, but La-La Land had quite a zoological prize.
"Good work," Bull said, panting slightly. "What're those?"
He pointed toward the ceiling.
Sue Fritchey was studying the smaller winged figures perched now amongst the rafters-through her field glasses. "Those over there are Ichthyornis, looks like. Little primitive birds, beak full of teeth, about the size of a seagull. Fish eaters. They'd be about the right time period and ecosystem to come through with a sternbergi. Must be twenty of 'em up there. And over there," she swung the glasses around, "we've got about fifteen little pterosaurs the size of crows. Hell, I have no idea what those are. Those, either." She'd swung the glasses around toward a pair sitting by themselves near the rafters. "They look like predators of some sort, but I'm not sure. Could be fish eaters, but the beaks look wrong. Far as I know, there's nothing in the fossil record anything like what I'm seeing."
"Are there enough of any of those things for a breeding colony?" Bull asked sharply
"Maybe. Those two by themselves, probably not. Those pterosaurs, though, and the ichthyornis flock... Close to critical failure of the gene pool, of course, but we've rescued species from that close to the brink. Depends on the number of breeding-or gravid females up there. It's hard to sex birds without plumage differences to go by and I'm not seeing any. And I have no idea how to sex pterosaurs."
Nobody cracked the obvious jokes.
"Any danger to the tourists?" Bull asked, glancing unhappily at the damage and the white-faced tourists still cowering in storefronts.
"Dunno. Probably not, unless the animals feel threatened. I doubt they would unless somebody went after 'em: Birds, anyway, aren't as violently reactive as, say, killer bees, although the pterosaurs may be. Not as likely, but we just don't know." "Then we don't disturb them until we get additional expert advice," Bull decided. "Next time Primary cycles, send for whoever you need Those things eat fish? Okay, stock all the fish ponds in the station and keep 'em stocked. Watch the little buggers and let me know if they put anybody in danger. Well, more danger than being spattered with dinosaur droppings."
The Pest Control crews chuckle Sue Fritchey said, "They're not dinosaurs, they're pterosaurs and protobirds. But don't worry, we'll handle it."
Bull nodded, then glanced at Malcolm and Kit. "Thanks for the help, boys."
"Glad to pitch in," Kit smiled. "It's not every day even I get to wrestle a giant pterodactyl to the ground."
Bull chuckled "Point taken. You all right, Malcolm?.
Kit looked around. The young guide was nursing his wrist. "Yeah, just bloody bruised."
Bull peered closely at the wrist, which was visibly swelling. "Have Rachel look at it and don't argue. My tab. I'll call her."
Malcolm sighed. "Thanks, Bull. Me and my lousy luck."
Kit grinned. "Don't think you get out of this job so easily."
Malcolm gave him a sour glance. "What job? You haven't even told me what it is, yet."
Kit formed a sling from Malcolms shirt and suspend his wrist at chest height. "What I had in mind was nurse-maiding Margo through the Britannia Gate."
Malcolm stared, then eased the sling into a more comfortable position. His eyes had already begun to glow. "Are you serious?"