Iterations and other stories (collection)

“Oh, the asteroid had nothing to do with it. That’s just a popular myth; you won’t find many paleontologists who endorse it. But all the dinosaurs have been dead since the end of the Cretaceous.”

“But this tooth looks fresh to me,” said Jacobs.

Ludlam nodded slowly. “It does seem to be, yes.” He looked at Jacobs. “I’d like to meet your patient.”

Ludlam ran toward the green light.

His feet went out from under him.

He fell down with a great splash, brown water going everywhere. The terminals on his flashlight’s giant battery hissed as water rained down on them.

Ludlam scrambled to his feet.

The light was still there.

He hurled himself toward it.

The light flickered and disappeared.

And Ludlam slammed hard against the slimy concrete wall of the sewer.

“Hello, Paul,” said Dr. Jacobs. “This is David Ludlam. He’s a paleontologist.”

“A what?”said Paul Kowalski. He was seated in a wheelchair. His leg was still bandaged, and a brace made sure he couldn’t move his knee while the tendons were still healing.

“A dinosaur specialist,” said Ludlam. He was sitting in one of the two chairs in Jacobs’s office. “I’m with the American Museum of Natural History. ”

“Oh, yeah. You got great sewers there.”

“Umm, thanks. Look, I want to ask you about the animal that attacked you.”

“It was a gator, ” said Kowalski.

“Why do you say that?”

Kowalski spread his hands. “ ’Cause it was big and, well, not scaly, exactly, but covered with those little plates you see on gators at the zoo.”

“You could see it clearly?”

“Well, not that clearly. I was underground, after all. But I had my flashlight.”

“Was there anything unusual about the creature?”

“Yeah—it was some sort of cripple. ”

“Cripple?”

“It had no arms.”

Ludlam looked at Jacobs, then back at the injured man. Jacobs lifted his hands, palms up, in a this-is-news-to-me gesture. “No arms at all?”

“None, ” said Kowalski. “It had kind of reared up on its legs, and was holding its body like this.” He held an arm straight out, parallel to the floor.

“Did you see its eyes?”

“Christ, yes. I’ll never forget ’em.”

“What did they look like?”

“They were yellow, and—”

“No, no. The pupils. What shape were they?”

“Round. Round and black.”

Ludlam leaned back in his chair.

“What’s significant about that?” asked Jacobs.

“Alligators have vertical pupils; so do most snakes. But not theropod dinosaurs.”

“How do you possibly know that?” said Jacobs. “I thought soft tissues don’t fossilize.”

“They don’t. But dinosaurs had tiny bones inside their eyes; you can tell from them what shape their pupils had been.”

“And?”

“Round. But it’s something most people don’t know.”

“You think I’m lying?” said Kowalski, growing angry. “Is that what you think?”