The setting, a desolate landscape, rolling hills painted sagebrush gray and bunch grass yellow. A washed out sky filled with thin clouds that do nothing to stifle the dusty heat. The starship hovered a few feet above the reservoir, the silvery disk reflecting in the muddy water like an oily bubble, tiny waves dancing beneath its belly. In the distance dark-green helicopters patrolled wide swaths, while National Guard troops cordoned off the two-lane asphalt half a mile to the west.A beat-up Dodge growled to a halt near the water's edge, not far from the knot of men and women wrapped in high-priced clothes and advanced degrees, who had, since just after dawn, been scrutinizing the aliens. A lone figure stepped out of the truck. He was tall, hardly more than a boy, his thin shoulders burdened beneath video gear and battery packs. An old yellow dog jumped out behind him, her tail tucked beneath her legs. The man stopped, amazed at the impossible machine hovering over the placid Missouri. He whistled, soft and low, and marched out to join the others.
"Doctor Anspaugh?" The newcomer stuck out a hand in greeting, waiting for the figure in the maroon windbreaker to acknowledge his arrival. The wait was uncomfortably long. Finally, Professor Williams Anspaugh took the offered hand. He glanced over the rim of his green-tinted glasses. The younger man ploughed ahead. "I'm Derek Jacobs, from the MSU field dig south of here. Uh, you know, the dinosaur site... You needed someone to do some video- taping?" "Ah, yes." Anspaugh nodded, allowing the faintest smile. The camera man. Good. He glared towards another knot of humanity 200 yards north, holding a low bluff, dark suits surrounded by marines sticking so tight they looked like a camouflaged fence. "Seems our friends from the State Department need the equipment we brought more than we do." He took a few steps forward. "Well, come along. Time you met Them." Derek squinted in the afternoon glare. "You mean the aliens?" A heavy battery slipped off his shoulder and thudded into the thin soil. It kicked up a tiny plume of pale gray dust. He bent to retrieve it, more camera gear slinging forward, nearly grounding him. "Who else would I be talking about?" Anspaugh tapped his foot while Derek recovered his gear. "That was the whole point in sending for you, wasn't it? Does that dog have to follow you everywhere? Get down, would you?" "Sorry," Derek muttered, catching up. "Uh, it doesn't do much good to yell at Duchess. She's stone deaf." "Wonderful." Anspaugh lifted his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Try to keep it out of the way then, shall we? I would hate to spark an inter-stellar incident thanks to a deaf retriever." "I will. She won't, I mean..." Derek broke in mid apology as his eyes fell on the party wending through the scrubby sage. "God Almighty!" Eleven willowy creatures, covered neck to heel in drab, sleeveless robes, their sandaled feet picking careful paths between clusters of prickly pears, approached. Their arms and the backs of their shoulders, in fact every bit of exposed skin other than their narrow faces, were covered in multi-hued gossamer. It rippled in the rising wind. Wide, slitted nostrils flared in the breeze. Magnificent dark eyes wandered with animal fascination around the empty landscape. They seemed in perpetual motion, bodies tilted forward, dancing in and around each other, never at rest. The tallest of the beings stopped long enough to regard Derek and his tangled equipment. And the tired old dog. "God, indeed, Mr. Jacobs." Anspaugh permitted himself a thin smile. "Now then, since the introductions seem to be out of the way, shall we get to work?"
The aliens danced in his viewfinder, darting back and forth, paying no attention to the frustrated scientists following their every movement. Derek's eyes were beginning to blur. He stopped filming long enough to rub them. Without warning, a chubby whirlwind in chino shorts and ridiculous beige fishing cap brushed past, knocking him into a thick patch of prickly pears. No apology was offered. "Doctor Anspaugh? Here they are. I've got the star maps off the down link." The stubby man waved a fistful of paper. "Let me through, please, I've got the maps!" Anspaugh cleared the way, parting the mob of scientists like Moses breaking the sea. "Wonderful, Eowing. Jackson?" "Jacobs," Derek corrected. "Of course. Close in tight, will you? This could be the breakthrough." Ignoring the cactus spines imbedded in his boots, Derek waded into the crowd, struggling to stabilize the image, zooming tight on Anspaugh and the man with the star charts. The short man, Eowing, approached the beings. His hands shook as he offered the maps for approval, the paper rattling in the stiff wind. The tall alien leaned forward to scrutinize the maps. "You are getting this, aren't you?" Anspaugh whispered. "Yeah, it's all on tape." Derek checked the tape counter. "I'm pretty sure it's working." The whir of the video camera and the flapping of the paper were, for the moment, the only sounds. All attention lay focused on the beings' reaction. A hush blanketed the dusty world. Slowly, the alien lifted his spindly arm. It touched the paper with the longest of its three fingers. No one even dared to breathe. Suddenly, the ancient yellow dog began barking at a gopher 30 feet downwind. In unison the aliens turned, found the dog, forgot about her, forgot about the star-maps, and returned to their frantic march across the prairie. "I knew it! I warned him about that dog." Anspaugh seemed on the verge of crying. "Eowing, for God's sake man, show them another chart." "Yes, sir." The researcher in the beige cap pounded the dirt, trying to cut in front of the bird-quick visitors. Derek followed with the camera, too embarrassed by his pet's betrayal to do anything else. The camera swung back and forth as the downy creatures wandered at random through the stiff bunch grass. Eowing, sweat gleaming on his moonish face, offered first one, and then another of the maps to various aliens. They gently pushed the papers aside and continued on their way. A sudden realization slammed into Derek. "They don't understand two dimensional images." "What was that?" Anspaugh said. "What did you just say?" Startled, Derek turned his head. "Oh, I didn't see you there, sir." "What did you say, damn it?" "Well," Derek's conviction wavered. "We've been studying theropods...carnivorous dinosaurs, right?" "Yes, of course. I know what a theropod is. Get on with it." "Okay, it's just a theory, but most paleontologists think dinosaurs needed movement to visualize anything. They wouldn't be able to perceive images on a flat sheet of paper." He paused. "I don't think these guys can either." Anspaugh scowled. "Preposterous." A deeper scowl. "Eowing, hold on a moment!" He darted forward. "Try this idea on for size."
Anspaugh was arguing, again, with the State Department people. Arms flew and voices rose, as the scientist pounded his foot against the hard ground for emphasis. Meanwhile, the lanky aliens continued their trek, undeterred by the bellicose humans. Derek used the lull to switch batteries and cartridges, hoping he had brought enough of both. The old dog lay beside him, panting in the heat. Against the wide horizon a thunderhead was building, trailing virga like a massive purple jellyfish. "Duchy." He scratched behind the retrievers limp ears. "I think we’re in over our heads." "Jackson!" Derek sighed, stood, slung his gear back across his aching shoulders. "Coming." Anspaugh waited at the crest of a low rise. "Does your camera have a microphone?" "Well, yeah, of course..." "Good. Get closer. This damned wind is distorting everything our equipment picks up." His eyes narrowed. as he pointed at the bureaucrats. "And they won’t let us use theirs." "But..." Derek paused, hating to ask. "What am I supposed to listen for? All my mike's picked up so far has been their breathing. I haven't heard them vocalize anything beyond a lot of hissing." Anspaugh rolled his eyes and counted silently to ten. "That is their vocalization. Now, would you kindly do what I ask?" Derek pushed through the throng, muscling past the marines who had by now joined the fray. He drew closer than he had intended. He was mad at Anspaugh, and mad at himself for asking stupid questions. Placing the bulky video-cam against his cheek, he hit the trigger, focusing tight on the two closest creatures. His anger forgotten, Derek stared through the viewfinder, fascinated. He watched the incalculable expressions rise and fall on their leathery features. The tiny feathers on their necks swayed in the wind as first one, then the other danced ahead of the next ‘speaker, moving further downwind with every exchange. Derek slipped a pair of foam padded earphones on, adjusting the volume with his free hand. A rapid series of hisses and grunts, like graduation night at a Lamaze class, filled his ears. "Are you picking up anything?" A man with a long, Hollywood style boom mike and heavy earphones nudged Derek gently. "Not much. Just breathing noises." "Same here." The man stuck the heavy boom back in front of the aliens. "Between you and me, I think that's all they ever make." Derek frowned, taking his eyes away from the viewer. He wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?" A faint aroma, like carp sauteing in vulcanizing fluid, drifted on the flinty wind. The sound man shrugged, fighting to keep his microphone steady as the tall visitors do-si-doed among themselves. "That's just what they smell like. Be grateful the wind is blowing. This morning, when they first came out to meet us, the smell was enough to make you gag." Derek reset his earphones, imagining words among the unfamiliar hisses. A low, throaty growl burst through loud and clear, far too close to have been one of the creatures. "Oh, shit." He knelt down, the tape forgotten, and put a reassuring hand on Duchess'back. "It's okay, girl. They won't hurt you...I hope." As one, the aliens turned their obsidian eyes once more toward the dog. Several came nearer, heads cocked, nostrils wide, no trace of menace in their quirky movements. Satisfied that the animal posed no threat, they began again their circling stroll, crunching through grass so dry it shattered. "Let me through. Please, let me by." Eowing had returned, his short arms burdened by a cumbersome sheet of fiberboard festooned with pipe cleaners and colored ping-pong balls. He nearly tripped in a badger hole, before careening into the aliens. He offered the fiberboard display to them as if it were the Grail itself. Anspaugh crashed through the crowd and jerked the fiberboard away. "What in the hell is that?" Eowing fairly beamed. "Can you believe it? This was at the local grade school...It's a three-dimensional rendering of the local star systems." Anspaugh had no time to comment. Two of the aliens snatched the crude map into their own hands, hissing and grunting among themselves. Their fingers traced the paths, caressing each ping-pong ball as if it were china. Derek threw the camera back to his shoulder, zooming tight on the map. Eowing, smiling ear to pudgy ear, moved center screen, and pointed at the central "star." He then pointed skyward at the bright patch hiding behind the gathering storm. "Sun," he said. Nothing, the alien replied. "Damn, damn, damn!" Anspaugh's composure was slipping more by the minute. "Hey, wait a minute." The sound man jumped to his feet, his boom dipping perilously near the earth. "What's that one doing?" A green feathered alien stepped forward and fished a thin, ebony-dark stick from his robe. Long fingers danced and twisted along the length of the stick. Its surface rippled, shifting, tiny bumps and groves appearing magically. The creature came near, pointed at one of the bumps, pointed at the ping-pong ball, then also at the sky. Even Anspaugh cheered. The celebration was short lived. A bright, undulating light appeared above the horizon, moving swiftly, pursued by a single helicopter. Its rotors pounded the air like drumbeats. The light dipped low, hovering above the wind-rippled reservoir. Rising, it touched the shimmering hull of the starship before darting to join the aliens gathered on the shore. Derek followed it, the lens dilating to avoid the glare the miniature craft produced. The closer it came, the smaller it seemed to grow, dwindling until it was no larger than a softball. It hovered silently, an arms length from the tallest of the robed figures. The creature's hand penetrated the surface of the glowing sphere. Its head dipped, eyes blinking frantically before it withdrew its arm. The messenger sped away and was swallowed by the much larger starship. The alien hissed, pointed south-west, and broke off at a fast trot. The others followed, dropping Eowing's star-map in the dirt. One, a little slower than the others, stopped and turned. It came back and retrieved the star-stick from Anspaugh's hand before setting off to join its companions. Derek followed them with his video-cam until they had disappeared over the ridge. Duchess lay at his feet, wagging her tail with lethargic abandon. Anspaugh stared dumbfounded, crushed to gravel by the abrupt departure. "What just happened?" Eowing picked up his crumpled map. "I think they're heading toward the town I just came from." He stared down at the rumpled cardboard. "God alone knows why."
It was raining by the time they limped into town, fat droplets that seemed to evaporate on impact, leaving nothing but wet shadows on the asphalt. Marines and guardsmen fought each other to man the limited street corners, holding back the curious. Natives in wranglers and levis stood beside tourists in car-wrinkled shorts looking as out of place as oak trees on the moon. Nervous soldiers ushered them all away. An Indian in a frayed straw hat stepped out of a convenience store. The red plastic coffee cup fell from his hand, dumping on the sidewalk. Immediately, two men in suits and dark glasses, radios to their ears, pushed him back inside. Derek's feet hurt. So did his shoulder. The headlong pursuit from the reservoir to the little crossroad town had taken its toll. Three of the scientists, and all but two of the state department officials had fallen out along the way, waiting for humvees or vans to gather them up. Anspaugh, however, was still very much a presence, leading the pack. "Jackson? For god's sake man, why aren't you filming?" "Out of batteries. They need to charge." "Well, find some more. Hurry!" Derek sighed. "I'll see what I can do." "Sir!" Eowing scurried by. "They're in the service station." Feet pounded on the pavement, crunching over the gravel turnout. No cars were parked at the brightly painted station, just the ghosts of exhaust and spilled gas, and the oh-so lovely perfume of air-freshener wafting out the open door. The girl at the counter was too shocked to speak, too scared by the soldiers and scientists to pay real attention to the curious beings cruising up and down the narrow aisles. Derek burst through the door, Anspaugh on his heels. Both had forgotten that taping was no longer possible. Duchess crowded close, slinking behind her winded master. "What are they doing?" Anspaugh frowned. "Eating, it looks like." Derek answered. Two of the visitors were devouring a bag of spicy pork rinds, while a third fought to open a jumbo sack of chips. All three dropped their consumables as yet another wanderer in a long, dun-brown robe hurried near, passing out foil wrapped samples of huckleberry chocolates. The alien scent had grown noticeably stronger. The aroma of ammonia and cloves drifted through the building, strong enough to mask the bathroom stink from the men's room. The carnage continued while Derek fumbled inside his numerous pockets, finally extracting a dc-converter and power chord. He located an outlet and brought his silenced camera back to whirring life. The grainy image in his viewer flickered, settling down to business just as one of the aliens drew to its full, impressive height. It hissed loudly for its fellows attention. In its left hand lay a garish, plastic toy. Eowing stared open mouthed as the beings gathered around, passing the object reverently from taloned hand to taloned hand. "What is that thing?" "I think it's a hadrosaur." Derek handed him the camera, and moved towards the feathered visitors. Nobody tried to stop him. The aliens made room for him, the leader holding out the toy, stroking it lovingly. It bobbed its head and hissed, dark eyes full of questions. Derek took the toy dinosaur. "This is impossible," Anspaugh stammered. "No," Derek sighed. "It all makes sense. This whole area was the western edge of the Cretaceous seaway. The last time these guys were here, this place was probably swarming with dinosaurs." He took the lifelike model in his own hand. "Hell, for all we know, they might have been relatives... or pets." Derek watched the expectant creatures, their soft feathers rustling in the air-conditioned breeze. Kneeling, he laid the plastic hadrosaur with deliberate slowness on its side and swung his head back and forth. Feigning death, he slumped forward. The aliens bent low, watching him, sadness dripping from their long faces. The tallest gathered up the toy. It nodded, imitating the single human gesture that seemed to translate with ease. It patted the toy, hissing softly, its breath a sad mixture of old leaves and autumn rain. "My God," Anspaugh mumbled, revelation dawning at last. "Smell. That's how they communicate. They use their sense of smell instead of hearing." "That's right." Derek rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving the disheartened creatures. "Dinosaur brains were based around sight and olfactory input. Wouldn't surprise me if theirs aren't, too." Single file, the aliens plodded out of the trampled convenience store, leaving a trail of opened bags and half-chewed chocolates in their wake. The only thing they kept was the plastic hadrosaur, cradled tightly in the crook of the tall one's arm. The lank being paused beside Duchess. Cautiously, its hand reached out. Duchess growled softly, her hackles raised, sniffing the oddly scented skin. Diplomatically, the tired canine let the visitor stroke her soft yellow fur. Anspaugh gasped, fighting for breath. "Don't go. Not yet." The tall alien gave the dog a parting caress, then turned without a sound and trotted away. Derrick knelt beside Duchess and pulled her close. The old retriever trembled, her eyes following the visitors splashing across the wet asphalt. Anspaugh stormed out the open door. "This can't be happening. They can't leave." He clutched the door jambs for support, his face pale as the rain drifting east. "There's so much to share with each other. We must have something in common with them." "We do." Derrick stroked the dog's neck, calming her, and sighed. He could just see the toy dinosaur in the alien's hand as it turned toward the distant reservoir. "We do."
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