Charles Sheffield - Starfire

But why not go offshore, to any of a dozen Golden Ring labs that would happily do the work and deliver the results?

Because a crippled, wizened man enjoyed playing God? That she could believe. But she suspected a stronger motive. This underground stronghold was where Gordy Rolfe had been raised. It was his home, his fortress, his sanctuary. He wanted a guarantee that he could never be made to leave, for any reason.

“How much land are we talking about?”

“A circle of four miles, centered on the schoolhouse. There are no occupied houses, and I have checked ownership. Every landowner has already agreed to sell. The Argos Group is ready to make final purchase.”

“I assume you realize that you can’t be outside U.S. jurisdiction unless you are counted as a foreign territory. That’s difficult to arrange legally.”

“Difficult, but it happens all the time.”

“Between countries, not individuals.”

“I don’t want you telling me how hard it is. I’m telling you how it has to be. You get me the land, you get more and better rolfes. Otherwise, forget it.”

An independent country, completely surrounded by a single other country. There were precedents. Lesotho. Vatican City. More recently, Basque and Kurdistan. The area that Rolfe was demanding was tiny, but the political problems would be immense. Even the Indian nations on U.S. territory were subject to most U.S. laws. Celine began a mental count of the different Cabinet-level departments involved: State, Commerce, Interior, Agriculture, Defense, Transportation. After six she gave up. Congress would have to agree, and that might be the biggest hurdle. If it could be done at all, it would probably take years.

“I don’t know. The best I can promise you is that I’ll try. But it won’t happen overnight.” There was the understatement of the century. “Nothing in government happens fast.”

“One reason I’d never work there.”

“We need the rolfes at once.”

“Then you’re lucky I’m not the government. I’m willing to deliver. And I’m willing to wait for your part.”

Celine stared at him in amazement. “Are you implying that you’ll make the rolfes available?”

“Sounds like it, don’t you think?” Rolfe lifted himself laboriously from the arm of the chair and wandered away behind the desk. “You do your bit,” he said over his shoulder, “and I’ll arrange a first shipment for three days from now. One other thing, though. These rolfes will have new circuits in them, still unprotected by patents. You tell your people to keep their hands off. No opening up. No examination of the entrails.”

“I see no difficulty with that.”

“Then we’re all settled.”

“You don’t want something in writing from me?”

“Saying what?” He was lifting a cage from the stack, picking it up as though it was almost too heavy for him. Why didn’t he tell the rolfes to lift it?

He went on, “Suppose you did give me a piece of paper. What could you say? ’I, Celine Tanaka, promise to do my best to get for Gordy Rolfe the land that he wants.’ That’s not worth shit in a court of law. You know it. But it’s all you can offer.”

“I will do my best.”

“And I’m accepting that you will. So everything’s fine.”

Celine doubted that. Everything had been too easy. What had she missed? Rolfe went on, as though the discussion of rolfes and land rights was over and done with, “While you’re here I want to show you something. See what I’ve got?”

The communications center was buzzing again to indicate an incoming call. He continued to ignore it. He turned a knob on the top of the cage and the slits on its front widened. Celine saw white whiskers and a pink questing nose.

“It’s — a rat.” She felt ridiculous. “Isn’t it?”

“Sort of. Actually, it’s a hundred and twenty rats.” He lifted the cage with a great effort and carried it toward the leashed carnosaur. He paused out of reach, lowered the cage, and carefully pushed it forward. The scaly head dipped to peer in through the slits and the creature snuffled noisily.

Gordy Rolfe nodded approvingly. “The rats haven’t been fed for a long time. Neither has the minirex. Rats are one of his favorite foods. If he could get at them, they’d be doomed. Small mammal against big dinosaur. A one-pounder against a ninety-pound meat-eater. You’d think the mammal would have no chance. Agreed?”

Celine said nothing. If Gordy Rolfe was losing his sanity, he might have any unspeakable thing in mind.

“No opinion?” Rolfe asked. “Well, let’s find out.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to see it,” Celine said loudly.

Rolfe took no notice. He touched a series of buttons on a device clipped to the belt of his jumpsuit. The green restraining muzzle on the carnosaur clicked open and fell to the ground. The animal leaned back on its thick haunches and opened its mouth wide. The tongue appeared — a gleaming leathery strip of black with a delicate forked end. Inch-long white teeth stood out against the mottled red-and-black background of the roof of the mouth.

Celine resisted the urge to back away. The carnosaur was still safely held by the thick chain. But it was strong. When it lowered its head and butted at the front of the cage, the solid frame dented.

“He really wants those rats,” Rolfe said happily. “He can smell them, and he knows they’re his dinner. You’d be a candidate for dinner, too, if he could get at you.”

His fingers were again at the controller on his belt. There was a whirring of an electric motor and the front of the cage lifted. A single gray rat darted out and paused, a front paw raised. Before it could move, the minisaur swooped. It rose with the rat impaled on its long teeth, squeaking and wriggling in agony. Blood ran down the blunt jaw. The minisaur’s head snapped back sharply. The rat was tossed in the air, caught, and swallowed in a single gulp.

“You might expect the rest of the rats to huddle in the cage,” Rolfe said cheerily. He moved a little closer to Celine. “Or maybe you think they ought to come out and try to run away. That seems like the smart thing to do. The minirex is so much bigger and stronger than they are, it outmasses all of them put together. Worse than that, their teeth can’t penetrate the armored scales. And the minirex can only reach to the limit of its chain. What would you do, Madam President, if you were the rats? Would you run away?”

Celine was too fascinated and horrified to answer. There was a moment of utter stillness, then the rats emerged all at once from the cage and moved across the floor like a gray tide. Rather than fleeing from the minisaur they were heading straight at it.

The saurian took a step back, so that the chain did not hamper its movements. The great head dipped and came up with two rats between its jaws. The minisaur growled, crunched, and swallowed. By that time the wave of rats had reached the taloned feet. They swarmed up the powerful tail and thick legs, heading for the belly and the head.

The carnosaur gave a deep, coughing roar. It flailed its tail violently from side to side, hurling a dozen rats away in all directions. A couple hit the wall and dropped maimed or unconscious, but the rest landed, turned, and at once headed back. By that time another score of rats had climbed as far as the softer wrinkled leather of the neck and were clinging there with teeth and claws. A shake of the head dislodged many, but half a dozen held on tenaciously. The short, withered arms of the carnosaur reached up to claw most of them away.

But not all. A rat at the back of the scaled neck was able to hold on through another shake of the head, climb higher, and claw its way forward until it reached an eye. It tried to sink its teeth into the eyelid, but it was batted away at the last moment by a forearm. Rats lay strewn on all sides, limbs and backs broken.