asked.
"No," Shellabarger said. He pulled his lips back in an expression Peter couldn't read. "Conserving his energy."
"What are you feeding him?" Peter asked.
"Shall we go look?" Shellabarger invited. "Sheila's going to spend this trip sleeping and throwing up. She hasn't eaten much . . ." He dropped the tarp and Peter and Anthony followed him on the steel-plated deck between the cages. The smell grew worse, sharp and strong enough to make Peter want to gag. A thick yellow fluid with massed black and white curds poured across the deck as the ship rolled. Peter narrowly missed stepping into the middle of the flow.
They came to the venator's cage. Shellabarger untied a rope near the cage and raised the tarp like a curtain. Inside, the venator lifted his head and blinked. His skin glimmered in the flashlight beam.
Shellabarger looked on the dinosaur with lifted chin and thinned lips. His jaw muscles worked for a moment as if he were chewing tobacco, and then he turned to Peter and Anthony and said, "You going to write about the changes on El Grande? No one's said much about them."
"Changes?" Anthony asked.
"Yeah." Shellabarger tied off the cord. "The cleft's closing. Everything mixing up like a big old stew."
"That's not exactly news," Anthony said.
The venator gazed steadily at the trainer, his only motion the steady rise and fall of his breast, flushed slightly pink in the heat.
"You can't understand El Grande without knowing about the old divisions. For tens of millions, maybe hundreds of millions of years, El Grande used to be cut up into three parts. There used to be a cleft north of the Lago Centrale, and another just south of it, each about a hundred feet across, like the present gap between Pico Poco and El Grande. Nothing crossed over but flying birds and insects. Just after Challenger arrived in 1912 came the first quake. In the north lived the therapsids and the suchids--mammal-like reptiles and crocodilians. They weren't seen in the southern portions of El Grande until after the earthquake. In 1917, another quake, and the second cleft collapsed, and the central region started to spill south, too. Avisaurs and small mammals invaded the realm of the venators and other dinosaurs, along with the therapsids and suchids. Now it's a big stew pot. Who knows what other kinds of competition and change are going on? In just thirty years . . . what a laboratory the Grand Tepui becomes."
Shellabarger held up his hand, palm toward Dagger, as if signing "peace." "Dagger's one mean fancy pachuco, but his kind can't compete with the death eagles. I figure in a few more years, the venators will die out and the death eagles will take over. I wonder if he knows what he's going home to."
The venator had eyes only for Shellabarger. It did not even look at Anthony or Peter. Shellabarger kept them well back from the thick steel bars. "Couldn't train him, couldn't tame him, and you know what? He's my favorite. Humans are perverse bastards, don't you think?"
"He's fascinating," Anthony said. "Like looking at your own personal death."
"Yeah," Shellabarger said. "Audiences would have stopped coming to Lotto's circus years ago if it hadn't been for the venator. Elephants are great, but lions and tigers make us shiver . . . And the venator is scarier than any tiger ever born."
Peter's eyes had adapted to the darkness. He examined the venator from ten feet away, through the bars of the cage, feeling the hair on his neck prickle. The animal's throat wattle flicked as if trying to rid itself of a fly, and his ribs swelled and subsided with slow, steady respiration. The venator's breath smelled thick and sour-sweet, like an ancient slaughterhouse.
Shellabarger turned to look at Peter. "I envy you, Tony."
"Why?" Anthony asked.
"Years ago, I wanted a son so I could teach him about the circus. How to know and care for the animals. Have him follow on after I was gone. I've lived a lot longer than I thought I would. Between this beast
"No," Shellabarger said. He pulled his lips back in an expression Peter couldn't read. "Conserving his energy."
"What are you feeding him?" Peter asked.
"Shall we go look?" Shellabarger invited. "Sheila's going to spend this trip sleeping and throwing up. She hasn't eaten much . . ." He dropped the tarp and Peter and Anthony followed him on the steel-plated deck between the cages. The smell grew worse, sharp and strong enough to make Peter want to gag. A thick yellow fluid with massed black and white curds poured across the deck as the ship rolled. Peter narrowly missed stepping into the middle of the flow.
They came to the venator's cage. Shellabarger untied a rope near the cage and raised the tarp like a curtain. Inside, the venator lifted his head and blinked. His skin glimmered in the flashlight beam.
Shellabarger looked on the dinosaur with lifted chin and thinned lips. His jaw muscles worked for a moment as if he were chewing tobacco, and then he turned to Peter and Anthony and said, "You going to write about the changes on El Grande? No one's said much about them."
"Changes?" Anthony asked.
"Yeah." Shellabarger tied off the cord. "The cleft's closing. Everything mixing up like a big old stew."
"That's not exactly news," Anthony said.
The venator gazed steadily at the trainer, his only motion the steady rise and fall of his breast, flushed slightly pink in the heat.
"You can't understand El Grande without knowing about the old divisions. For tens of millions, maybe hundreds of millions of years, El Grande used to be cut up into three parts. There used to be a cleft north of the Lago Centrale, and another just south of it, each about a hundred feet across, like the present gap between Pico Poco and El Grande. Nothing crossed over but flying birds and insects. Just after Challenger arrived in 1912 came the first quake. In the north lived the therapsids and the suchids--mammal-like reptiles and crocodilians. They weren't seen in the southern portions of El Grande until after the earthquake. In 1917, another quake, and the second cleft collapsed, and the central region started to spill south, too. Avisaurs and small mammals invaded the realm of the venators and other dinosaurs, along with the therapsids and suchids. Now it's a big stew pot. Who knows what other kinds of competition and change are going on? In just thirty years . . . what a laboratory the Grand Tepui becomes."
Shellabarger held up his hand, palm toward Dagger, as if signing "peace." "Dagger's one mean fancy pachuco, but his kind can't compete with the death eagles. I figure in a few more years, the venators will die out and the death eagles will take over. I wonder if he knows what he's going home to."
The venator had eyes only for Shellabarger. It did not even look at Anthony or Peter. Shellabarger kept them well back from the thick steel bars. "Couldn't train him, couldn't tame him, and you know what? He's my favorite. Humans are perverse bastards, don't you think?"
"He's fascinating," Anthony said. "Like looking at your own personal death."
"Yeah," Shellabarger said. "Audiences would have stopped coming to Lotto's circus years ago if it hadn't been for the venator. Elephants are great, but lions and tigers make us shiver . . . And the venator is scarier than any tiger ever born."
Peter's eyes had adapted to the darkness. He examined the venator from ten feet away, through the bars of the cage, feeling the hair on his neck prickle. The animal's throat wattle flicked as if trying to rid itself of a fly, and his ribs swelled and subsided with slow, steady respiration. The venator's breath smelled thick and sour-sweet, like an ancient slaughterhouse.
Shellabarger turned to look at Peter. "I envy you, Tony."
"Why?" Anthony asked.
"Years ago, I wanted a son so I could teach him about the circus. How to know and care for the animals. Have him follow on after I was gone. I've lived a lot longer than I thought I would. Between this beast
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