Peter Beagle - The Line Between

The creature, if somewhat slow of action, atoned for this failing by thinking far faster than any dinosaur. «A large asteroid is about to crash into the Earth," it chirped brightly back at the Tyrannosaurus. «So if you happen to be nursing any unacted desires, now would be the time. To act them out, I mean," it added, realizing that the Tyrannosaurus was blinking in puzzlement at him. «It'll happen next Thursday.»

«Asteroid," the Tyrannosaurus pondered. «What is an asteroid?» Before the little creature she held could answer, she asked, «Come to think of it, what's Thursday?»

«An asteroid is a rock," the animal informed her. «A big rock up in the sky, drifting through space. This one is about half the size of that mountain on the horizon, the one visible over the trees, and it's heading straight for us, and nothing can stop it. You and most other life on Earth are doomed.»

«My goodness," said the Tyrannosaurus. «I'm certainly glad you told me about this.»

After a thoughtful moment, she inquired, «What does it all mean?»

«For you and most of your kind, absolute annihilation," the animal piped cheerfully. «For mine — evolution.»

«I'm not very good with big words," the Tyrannosaurus said apologetically. «If you could… "

«You'll all be gone," the little creature said. «When the asteroid crashes into the Earth, it will raise a vast cloud of dust and debris that will circle the planet for years, cutting off all sunlight. You dinosaurs won't be able to survive the drastic change in the climate — you'll mostly vanish within a couple of generations. Then — just as when the fall of great trees makes room at last for the small ones struggling in their shadow — then we mammals will take our rightful place in the returning sun.» Observing what it took to be a stricken expression on the Tyrannosaurus's yard–wide face, it added, «I'm really sorry. I just thought you should know.»

«And your sort," the Tyrannosaurus ventured, «you will … evolute?»

" Evolve," the creature corrected her. «That means to change over time into something quite different in size or shape, or in your very nature, from what you were originally. My friend Max, for instance — smaller than I am right now — Max is going to evolve into a horse, if you'll believe it. And Louise, who came out of the sea with the rest of us, in the beginning — Louise is planning to go back there and become a whale. A blue whale, I think she said. It'll take millions of years, of course, but she's never in a hurry, Louise. And me — " Here it preened itself as grandly as anyone possibly can in the grasp of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, fifteen feet in the air. «Me, I'm a sort of shrew or something right now, but I'm on my way to being a mammal with just two legs that will write books and fight wars, and won't believe in evolution. How cool is that?»

«And me?» the Tyrannosaurus asked, rather wistfully. «Everything will be changing — everyone will be turning into something else. Don't my relatives and I get to evolve at all?»

«You won't. But there's a bigger picture," the shrew reassured her. «It will take a good while, but some of your kind are going to fly, my dear. Those of your descendants who survive will find their scales turning gradually to feathers; their mighty jaws will in time become a highly adaptable beak, and they'll learn to build nests and sing songs. And hunt bugs.»

«Well," said the Tyrannosaurus. «I can't say I follow all of this, but I guess it's better than being anni … annihil … what you said. But where does this Thursday come into it? What exactly is a Thursday?»

«Thursday — " began the shrew, but found itself at a disadvantage in trying to explain the arbitrary concept of days, weeks, months and years to a beast who understood nothing beyond sunrise and sunset, light and dark, sun and moon. He said finally,

«Thursday will happen three sleeps from now.»

«Oh, three sleeps!» the Tyrannosaurus cried in great relief. «You should have said — I thought it was two! Well, there's plenty of time, then," and she promptly gulped down the shrew in one bite.

Savory, she thought. Nice crunch, too. But then again, there's that hair. They'd be better without the hair.

Turning away, she caught the scent of a nearby triceratops on the wind, and was about to start in that new and tempting direction when she was hit squarely on the back of the neck by the asteroid, blazing from its descent through the atmosphere. As advertised, its impact killed her and wiped out most of the dinosaurs in a very short while, at least by geological standards. The shrew had simply miscalculated the asteroid's arrival time — which is hardly a surprise, as he didn't really have a good grasp on Thursdays, either.

Moral: Gemini, Virgo, Aries or Taurus, knowing our future tends to bore us, just like that poor Tyrannosaurus.

The Fable of the Ostrich

Once upon a time, in a remote corner of Africa, there was a young ostrich who refused to put his head in the sand at the slightest sign of danger. He strolled around unafraid, even when lions were near, cheerfully mocking his parents, his relations, and all his friends, every one of whom believed absolutely that their only safety lay in blind immobility. «It makes you invisible, foolish boy!» his father was forever shouting at him in vain. «You can't see the lion — the lion can't see you! What part of Q..E.D. don't you understand?»

«But the lion always sees us!» the ostrich would retort, equally exasperated. «What do you think happened to Uncle Julius? Cousin Hilda? Cousin Wilbraham? What good did hiding their stupid heads do them?»

«Oh," his father said. «Them. Well.» He looked slightly embarrassed, which is hard for an ostrich. «Yes," he said. «Well, it's obvious, they moved. You mustn't move, not so much as a tail feather, that's half of it right there. Head out of sight and hold still, it's foolproof. Do you think your mother and I would still be here if it weren't foolproof?»

«The only thing foolproof," the young ostrich replied disdainfully, «is the fact that we can outrun lions — if we see them in time, which we can't do with our heads in the sand. That, and the fact that we can kick a lion into another time zone — which we also can't do — "

«Enough!» His father swatted at him with a wing, but missed. «We are ostriches, not eagles, and we have a heritage to maintain. Head out of sight and hold still — that's our legacy to you, and one day you'll thank me for it. Go away now. You're

upsetting your mother.»

So the young ostrich went away, angry and unconvinced. He attempted to enlist others to his cause, but not one disciple joined him in challenging this first and deepest–rooted of ostrich traditions. «You may very well be right," his friends told him, «we wouldn't be a bit surprised to see you vindicated one day. But right now there's a big, hungry–looking lion prowling over there, and if you'll excuse us…»

And they would hurry off to shove their heads deep into the coolest, softest patch of sand they could find, leaving their feathered rumps to cope with the consequences. Which suited lions well enough, on the whole, but deeply distressed the young ostrich. He continued doing everything he could to persuade other birds to change their behavior, but consistently met with such failure that he was cast down into utter despair.

It was then that he went to the Eldest Lion.

The pilgrimage across the wide savannas was a hard and perilous one, taking the young ostrich several days, even on his powerful naked legs. He would never have dared such a thing, of course, if the Eldest Lion had not long since grown toothless, mangy and cripplingly arthritic. His heavy claws were blunt and useless, more of his once–black mane fell out every time he shook his head, and he survived entirely on the loyalty of two lionesses who hunted for him, and who snarled away all challengers to his feeble rule. But he was known for a wisdom most lions rarely live long enough to achieve, and the young ostrich felt that his counsel was worth the risk of approaching him in his den. Being very young, he also felt quick enough on his feet to take the chance.