In Situ (19 page)

“I know you are aware that the first trains from Washington will start arriving tomorrow under the auspices of a National Emergency Drill, but this is no drill, Pete,” Batter said, looking down at the broken glass as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“I understand,” Pete replied, but it was too much information. His head was reeling.

“Do you have family?” Batter asked, already well aware of the answer.

“Yes.”

“I am very sorry, Pete.” Batter took a long gulp from his cognac and tossed the stub of his cigar into a large ashtray. “One last question.”

“Yes
, Sir?”

“I’m just curious. Do you think there are any more of them?”

“Sir?” Pete was lost in the news of the asteroid, trying to focus.

“Arzats, dinosaurs, whatever you are calling them?”

“You mean, anywhere else besides what we found in the Utah site?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I mean.”

“Pretty unlikely sir.”

“It’s a weird coincidence isn’t it?”

“What’s that, Sir?”

“Your gal, your Arzat.
Wasn’t she around the last time this happened?”

“Well
, yes, now that you mentioned it.”

Batter leaned towards Pete. “I suggest you get some rest. We’ll regroup first thing in the morning and figure out a plan. I am going to need your help with this
, Doctor.”

“You’ll have it,” Pete said, trying to regain his composure.

Batter got up. “I think it goes without saying that this needs to stay between us for the time being. There are only a few people in the world who have this information and probably even fewer who can handle it.”

“Of course,” Pete said as Batter left the room. He sat there, looking at the broken glass on the floor for a very long time
. Then he thought about his family and cried.

Alex thought she was dreaming that she heard the TV. She had been dreaming of water, lots of water, and now she thought she was dreaming TV. Then she realized she was awake.

She opened her eyes and took a minute to adjust. There was sunshi
ne showing through her window. Alex was safe in bed and her clock said 6:15 a.m. Had she really been sleeping 12 hours? Was she really in her bed back at the ranch? She had dreamt that she was drowning. Had she really left the TV on downstairs? Then she remembered Mot, and the thought shocked her fully awake, like someone dumping cold water on her. She had a 65 million year old house guest, and he was obviously watching the dinosaur movie she had left in the player!

Alex popped out of bed and ran downstairs worried about what she might find. It was irresponsible to have left Mot alone last night to fend for himself and even more irresponsible to have left that
damn movie out. She was relieved to see that he was seated on the floor about three feet from the television with his legs crossed Indian-style watching like a little kid, but bigger by three hundred and fifty pounds, his eyes wide with interest. Mot did not move when Alex entered, nor did he take his eyes off the screen.

“Mot,” Alex asked cautiously, “are you
OK?” Alex continued berating herself for not removing the movie the night before when she had thought about it.

“Sorry
, Alex, I got up and this box came alive.” He silently said to her without looking away from the screen.

Alex noticed the remote upside down on the floor. She thought Mot must have accidentally knocked it over
, and perhaps that is what turned on the TV. Hell, maybe he just turned it on with his mind, she thought. She watched him for a moment. Nothing different between him and a three-year-old on Saturday morning, she decided. I guess I worried for nothing.

Alex felt great after her
12 hour sleep. Now all she needed was a cup of strong coffee and a good hot shower. Then maybe she could figure out what to do next.

“Mot, I am going to make some coffee, take a shower, and then come back and make you
a traditional country breakfast. How’s that sound?”

“Mot?”

Mot telepathed something that resembled a “yes,” but he was obviously distracted.

“I will be right back.” When she
got no reaction, she shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes, just as her father was so famous for doing. Why am I not surprised, she asked herself? The movie had been a favorite of Simon’s and hers for years. She often watched it when she wanted a mindless distraction. She went back upstairs, quickly made her bed, and turned on the shower.

“Heaven,” she said after she had stepped in and let the hot water run through her hair and o
ver her body. She took her time; washing and rinsing until she felt squeaky clean. Occasionally, Alex thought she heard the phone ringing, but it was all the way downstairs and she was damned if she was going to ruin her shower running for it. I have to call Tom, she remembered.

There was no answering machine attached to the phone
. That was technology her father had rejected for the ranch entirely. Of course, Simon had allowed Internet for research—but he frowned on email. “Alex, the last distraction I need when I am trying to get something done is trying to answer twenty damn messages!” Alex couldn’t say he was wrong, so she had left his old land-line alone. She thought about her cell phone that was lost somewhere hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth, and made a mental note to pick up a new one.

She dried off then threw on a robe and checked on Mot. Leaning over the banister she could see that he was still in place in front of the T
V. She quickly toweled her hair, and changed into some clean khaki shorts and a work shirt with pockets, then hurried downstairs.

When she reached the
lower floor, Mot looked up and his tongue flicked. Alex actually thought she could detect a hint of embarrassment cross Mot’s face. Alex found it astonishing that she could even get his attention. The movie was right at the part where a gang of Velociraptors were in the kitchen chasing the kids.

“I cannot believe that you figured out how to turn that thing on,” Alex said,
standing with her arms folded in front of her, watching along with Mot.

“You smell… different,” the Arzat stammered, looking up.

“You know that is not real, right?” Alex said, trying to ignore the remark and gesturing to the TV.

“Oh yes
, Alex, I know. The animals look nothing like that,” Mot said matter-of-factly, his attention already completely back on the television.

“Good,” Alex said reaching for the remote, “then let’s turn this TV off and see about some breakfast.” The screen went blank and Alex headed for the kitchen and the hot coffee she knew was waiting. Mot sat for a moment staring at the blank screen, then reluctantly got up and followed her.

“You smell so different, yet the same. It is just so with Arzats after we bathe.” Mot paused for a long time, glancing back at the box that was now black. “You remind me of Ara.”

“Come on
, Mot.” Alex said, blushing. She led the way to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of steaming black coffee.

Alex seated Mot on a barstool next to a small island that doubled as a huge chopping block, checking the legs on the stool to be sure it would support
Mot’s weight.

“
OK, Mot,” she said as if addressing a cooking class, “I know that you Arzats are pretty good at eating meat, and you liked that apple, but how about some other stuff? Other fruit? Maybe eggs? What else do you guys eat?”

“Yes, Alex
. Many things. A number of the products of the trees-perhaps ‘fruit’ as you are calling it-and many of their roots. We dry some of them and store them for consumption at a later time.”

“How about eggs?” Alex spun to the refrigerator and pulled a carton from the shelves and opened it. “These are eggs?”

“Yes, Alex, I am quite familiar with ‘eggs.’ I am ‘of’ an egg. All of our young, of course, are hatched,” he said, looking at them with great interest.

Alex blu
shed. “Talk about foot in mouth,” she said aloud. She closed the carton was about to put it back in the fridge when Mot grunted in a way that sounded like a laugh.

“It is
‘OK,’ as you say it, Alex. We also eat many eggs of other animals when we can find them.”

“Do you grow anything?”

“You mean purposely?”

“Yes, we humans grow much of what we eat from the earth. We plant it, water it
, and help it to grow. There is a garden out back of the house. I will show it to you later.”

“No
. We are hunters Alex,” Mot said proudly, “the plants grow everywhere on their own. I live in a great forest. You would never walk through it but for the paths we cut or the trails the animals make for themselves.”

“
Hum…. So, definitely hunter-gatherers. That sounds like pancakes to me,” Alex said, amused with herself, her hands on her hips. She began to spin around the kitchen, grabbing a large mixing bowl from one cupboard and a large brown bag from another with the words ‘pan mix’ hand scrawled on the side.”

“I’m sorry.
” Mot said, confused.

“Pancakes,” she repeated, “P
ancakes. And I bet you have never had pancakes better than mine, Mot. Actually, this is my father’s recipe passed on to me. ‘The best buttermilk pancakes in the entire southwest,’ he used to say, and he was right.” Alex dumped a bunch of the mix into a bowl, added eggs and milk and used a wire whip to mix it. She managed to do all that and to turn on the cook-top to get the grill heating as well.

Mot watched, fascinated. So similar in so many respe
cts to our females, he thought. Able to do so many things at once, while males seemed unable to focus on much more than one thing at a time. “What was your father’s name?” Mot asked. He flushed as he suddenly realized that the two of them had not actually been properly introduced
“Simon,” she said, pausing to look out the window, “Dr. Simon Moss.”

“Was he a Medicine Man?”

Alex paused, thinking fondly about old Simon. “No, more like a hunter—a bone hunter I guess you could say.”

“Then in my world, your full name would be Alex daughter of the great bone hunter Simon.”

Alex expertly dropped four large pools of pancake batter on the grill and then took a peek under it to make sure it was getting hot. “I like that
, Mot. I like that a lot.” Her father, she thought, was definitely a hunter, as was she for that matter. Oh, how I wish ole Simon could be here now to see what I brought home to him this time!

She took another long slug off her coffee and expertly flipped all four pancakes, then turned and caught Mot flicking his tongue, apparently trying to make sense of what she was cooking. “Don’t worry,” she added when she saw the look on his face, “I pulled a 5 pound ham out of the fre
ezer last night as a ‘provisional.’”

Mot took a long breath and flic
ked his tongue again, less self-conscious about it, vaguely wondering what the term “provisional” could possibly mean. It was amazing how much the smell of the kitchen had changed as Alex prepared the food. First, there had been the clean fresh scent of Alex after her bath. Then the aroma of that dark and very hot liquid that smelled like the roasted nuts the Arzats females would sometimes prepare. Now, the goo that Alex had placed on the hot surface was changing into something solid, its smell wafting all through the room.

Alex expertly flipped the four
giant pancakes off of the grill, placing one on one plate and stacking three on another. She put the stack of three in front of Mot, smiling.

“That
, my friend,” she said, her hands on her hips, “is called a ‘short stack’ and is ranked as one of the finest breakfast’s in the world.” Alex suddenly remembered the three other critical ingredients. She quickly rummaged through the refrigerator and pulled out a stick of butter, a jar of peanut butter, and a bottle of maple syrup.

“Pancakes. Short stack. Breakfast,”
Mot repeated the terms, trying to commit them to memory.

“
OK, Mot, we gotta do this fast,” Alex said excitedly. “First, we take a little butter and just slide it in there between the pancakes, like so. This has to be done while the pancakes are still hot so it melts the butter. Next,” she continued, unscrewing the top of the peanut butter jar, “we take some peanut butter and sneak some of that in there too.” Alex took a kitchen knife and spread a thick layer of the peanut butter between the pancakes as well. “Now, wait until that melts a little bit….” She tossed the knife nonchalantly in the sink.

“Finally
, the pièce de resistance.” Alex opened a bottle of syrup and ceremoniously poured a liberal amount over the pancakes, the excess running down the sides and onto the plate. “Voila! What do you think Mot?” she asked, smiling again. Alex took her own plate and a fork, hopped up on the kitchen counter, and sampled a large bite of her own pancake. “Fantastic,” she exclaimed, quite proud of her accomplishment. “Go ahead, Mot, try some. You can just pull it apart with your fingers if you want,” she said, gesturing at his plate with her fork. Her cheeks were puffed out trying to chew and talk at the same time, though she needn’t have spoken out loud. For the first time in days, she was clean, rested, and now she was getting fuel. It felt good to talk with a mouthful of food.

The entire time Mot had studied Alex
, watching the way she used the metal object to carve the food and place it in her mouth. Most interesting. Arzats sometimes used knives similarly but they were much larger and much more awkward. “I would like to try your way,” Mot responded, his eyes fixed on the movements of the eating tool Alex had in her hand.

“Absolutely!” Alex jumped down, fishing a fresh fork from the silverware drawer. She handed it to him handle first, wondering mischievously whether he would be right or left handed. Mot grasped it tightly in his right, the fork almost disappearing in his fingers. Alex leaned over and helped him hold it correctly. “Nice and easy
. You don’t need to squeeze it to death. Take your time.”

Mot managed to cut a segment of the pancakes and then
he carefully and very slowly took a bite. The combination of the syrup, peanut butter, and the pancakes almost immediately stuck the entire surface of his mouth together. It was quite shocking, but the sweet taste was delicious, one of the most amazing things he had ever tasted. Third most, he remembered.

“Good
, isn’t it?” said Alex, noting his reaction.

Mot could only
nod, having already noticed that up-and-down was yes in Alex’s world, and the Arzat affirmative of side-to-side was a negative to her. He hoped the nod was a polite answer. Mot was so busy smacking his lips and trying to get his tongue working that the words would not even form in his head-his brain stuck together by the peanut butter.

Alex proceeded to have one of the finest laughs of her life
, and Mot couldn’t help but join her. It was great to be alive. She pulled the ham out, unwrapped it, and began cutting slices for Mot much to his further delight.