Dino the Dinosaur. (standard:science fiction, 9477 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 21 2020	Views/Reads: 1217/872	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A real dinosaur is found in Death Valley.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

walked around his auto, looking for leaks or anything out of whack.  
Not finding any breaks in the undercarriage or seeing smoke, he walked 
away for a distance, thinking it might be something in the air. 

"Nope.  It has to be inside.  It smells like wet ten-year-old cat shit
in there.  I can't be carrying anything that smells that bad." 

Holding his nose, he opened all the doors and windows of the machine,
recoiling when he lifted the back end.  A viscous mess in the rear of 
the vehicle caught his attention.  It covered the unknown object as 
well as part of his supplies.  Homer shoved everything contaminated 
with the fluid out and drove a little distance away before using 
precious water to clean the residue out.  The Humvee smelled much 
better. 

Going back to where the mess lay, he tried to salvage what he could of
the stinking supplies.  Noticing that the strange object was leaking 
the fluid, and its outer covering much looser than before, he turned 
the thing so as to place the opening at the bottom, punched a small 
hole in the top, and drained it. 

While draining, the leathery object shook, as though something were
alive inside.  Homer shook his head to clear it, thinking the sun was 
affecting his senses.  No. He saw the thing was quivering and jerking. 

"I'm out of my depth here," Homer decided, watching the shaking object. 
What looked like a beak appeared through the hole he'd made, then 
withdrew. 

"I better get this damned thing out of here,"  Homer decided. "It's
alive." 

Gingerly putting the -- now softer and lighter -- object back in the
rear of the Humvee, he stepped on the gas and headed back to 
civilization as fast as he could traverse the sandy soil. 

Not having any place specific in mind -- only to get it to some sort of
expert and out of his vehicle so he could close the windows -- he 
stopped at the first government building he could find, a handy post 
office. 

"Good enough," Homer told himself. "Someone in there can figure out what
it is and what to do with it." 

Going around to a loading dock at the back of the building, he put the
object into an empty mail cart and wheeled it inside.  Finding an 
officious-looking woman carrying a clipboard near the back door, he 
tapped her on the shoulder. 

"Got something for you, sister," he told her, showing the object, a beak
now hungrily pecking through the hole in what was obviously a huge 
leathery egg. "It's your baby now." 

"What the hell is that thing?" she asked him. "It's not mine. It's not
properly packed for mailing.  Not even any postage on it."  The woman 
turned away, feeling sick from the smell. 

"Here." Homer shoved a few bills into her uniform pocket. "This should
cover it. Bye."  Before she could react, he was out the door and 
driving away. 

By then, a crowd of curious postal-workers had gathered.  The shift
leader, Muriel, didn't know what to do with the egg.  It stunk up the 
mailroom. 

"You people get back to work ... right now,"  she commanded. "Johnson,
take this to Mr. Jamison,"  she ordered a worker. 

In the postal system, it was always better to pass the unknown up the
ladder, as well as to pass any blame downward.  After all, she was 
under civil service. 

Al Johnson did as he was ordered and wheeled the stinking cart to an
elevator.  Pushing the button to the prestigious top floor, he held his 
nose and waited as the cage ascended.  When the elevator stopped, he 
wheeled the cart down a long desk-filled room to an office cluster at 
the far end.  Opening a door, he banged himself and cart through a 
narrow doorway, stopping beside the first work station. 

"My boss, Muriel down in the mail room, sent this up,"  Al told a
secretary, then hurriedly left with an apologetic closing explanation, 
"Someone left it down there." 

Smelling the cart, the secretary was in no hurry to come any closer. 

"Mr. Jamison?  I think you better come out here, right away, sir,"  she
spoke into the intercom on her desk. 

By that time, the egg's occupant had almost succeeded in extracting
itself.  It looked like a large iguana; one with a three-pronged horn 
on its nose.  "Squeeeeeek" it said, as it took its first good look at 
the world outside.  "Sqqqquuueeeek," in annoyance at not finding its 
mother. 

Fearful -- but curious at the sound – Sandy Peters, the secretary, edged
over and bent down to the cart while holding a handkerchief over her 
nose.  She though it was kind of cute.  But then, Sandy was a native of 
that area and had seen many a lizard.  She'd even kept a few as pets 
when she was younger. 

Her boss came out to see what all the ruckus was about, only to recoil
at the smell. 

"Jesus. Who farted," was his first statement.  It couldn't be his
attractive secretary, but no one else was around.  He went over to the 
cart.  "Where the hell did this come from ... Sandy?" 

"I don't know, Mr. Jamison.  A worker just brought it in and left it." 

"Well, get it out of here.  Jesus, that smell." 

"They all stink when they hatch. I think he's cute." 

"Well, clean it up or throw it out.  I don't care.  Just get rid of it."


He went back to his office and closed the door.  Sandy took the creature
into the womens' restroom and cleaned it off in the sink. It smelled 
much better afterward. 

Returning to the office for a garbage bag, she stuffed the remains of
the egg inside and dumped it back into the cart, which was promptly 
sent downstairs in the elevator – unattended and passing the buck back 
downwards. 

While cleaning the mess in the cart, she noticed a strange object
half-covered with gook.  It was an inch-thick metallic rod, over a foot 
long and shiny.  Strange, she thought? wondering how it had gotten 
inside a lizard egg.  Looking closer as she washed it to in the sink, 
she noticed strange hieroglyphics along the side and decided to keep 
it.  Sandy had never heard of such things being inside eggs, even 
lizard eggs. 

She took the lizard and rod back to the office where she lined a
wastebasket with paper towels and deposited both inside.  A little 
spray deodorant made any lingering stink go away. 

"Might as well take the little stinker home with me," she mumbled to
herself, grinning.  It reminded her of a former pet. 

*** 

The creature, transferred to a cardboard carton, peered out the window
of her car.  It was quiet and seemed interested as they drove to 
Sandy's apartment.  She rented half a duplex in the suburbs.  The 
lizard squeaked softly and rubbed its head against the back of her hand 
as she carried it inside. 

Setting the carton on the kitchen table, she turned to the refrigerator
-- feeling like an after-work snack.  Usually Sandy stopped at a 
fast-food place on the way home but, with her new pet, she'd forgotten 
and driven straight home instead. 

"Now what would the little guy eat, I wonder?" 

She looked in the vegetable drawer and saw only wilted lettuce and a
limp carrot.  Turning to give them to her new pet, she found he was 
gone.  Somehow he had gotten out of the cardboard carton.  She looked 
around and found the little critter standing in the doorway to her 
living room. 

"Now, how did you do that?"  Her question was answered as the animal
jumped from the doorway to her shoulder, and she was almost six-feet 
tall.  It had been a good twelve-foot leap.  It landed gently, though, 
and began nibbling on her ear. 

"You're a strong little kid, aren't you?"  She picked it off and,
sitting it on the table, tried out various foods.  She even found a few 
stray cans of cat-food from when she'd boarded a friend's pet. 

The animal seemed to be watching closely as she opened the can with a
small hand-opener.  It appeared to eat almost anything, but preferred 
the cat-food.  She left a second can and the opener sitting on the 
counter. 

"Maybe you're only hungry, little feller?   I'm just glad I don't have
to use an eyedropper to feed you milk." 

After eating, it squeaked contentedly, curled up on the table and went
to sleep. 

Sandy made a bed for it by cutting down the sides of the carton, putting
in rags, and then placing it in a corner of an enclosed back porch 
behind the kitchen. 

Not knowing what to do with it, she put the cylinder on top of the
refrigerator.  Placing the creature inside the box and leaving the 
kitchen door open, she went back into the apartment to watch 
television. 

That night, Sandy searched the Internet for lizard pictures, trying to
identify her new pet.  She knew something about them, enough to know 
that it wasn't local, but wanted to find out just what species it 
belonged to.  After hours of searching, and several visits to the 
kitchen to look closer at it, she still didn't know.  Sandy left the 
door cracked open when she went to bed, not thinking her find was a 
threat.  It hadn't tried to bite her before, so she didn't think it 
would sneak in and rip her throat out during the night. 

*** 

When Sandy's alarm clock went off in the morning, she reached over to
turn it off, feeling a lump beside her in the bed.  It was the lizard. 
Somehow, it had gotten in bed with her and was cuddled up alongside her 
pillow.  In the dim light, its eyes seemed to glow with intelligence. 

"How you doin' this morning, Sonny?"  she asked, petting it. 

Of course, it didn't answer, but did jump down and follow her out to the
kitchen.  She needed several cups of coffee in the morning to wake up. 

It must think I'm its mother, she thought.  Sandy filled the coffeemaker
and turned it on, getting bread out for toast.  Then, thinking of the 
lizard, her eyes found the second can of cat-food.  It was open -- and 
half eaten.  She didn't remember opening it the night before, and would 
have certainly put it in the refrigerator if she had. 

"It must have been me.  The little guy can't work a can opener and I was
the only one here.  Strange, though."  She scraped the cat-food out 
onto a paper plate and offered it to her new companion, muttering, "I 
must be desperate.  Now I'm sleeping with lizards." 

Sandy ate her breakfast and began the process of getting ready for work,
the little guy following her everywhere.  It seemed to be paying more 
attention to rooms like the bathroom, which had the door closed the 
night before, than the open rooms.  It ran around and stuck its nose 
into everything. 

Spying a Polaroid camera on the dresser, she dusted it off and took
snapshots of the critter.  She knew an office worker that was a nut 
about the things.  He could tell her what type it was. 

"Now don't you make a mess while I'm gone,"  she told it and shut the
door in its face.  She could hear squeaking through the panel as she 
walked to her car.  At least the other tenant of her house was away so 
the noise wouldn't bother anyone, she thought. 

In the lunchroom during lunch break, she saw the lizard nut sitting
alone.  Sandy remembered her photos and sat across from him. 

"I've been meaning to ask you something, Paul."  She showed him the
pictures and explained about her new companion, forgetting about the 
shiny cylinder.  He studied them carefully, and couldn't identify the 
creature. 

"Let me take these home and look through my books.  I'll let you know
tomorrow." 

"Sure. I can take more if I need them." 

On the way home, she stopped at the supermarket.  She bought various
items for herself and a large mixture of foods to try out on the 
lizard, curious to see what it would eat.  Sandy also  stopped at a 
McDonalds and bought herself a couple of sandwiches and a large order 
of fries.  She already had a twelve-pack of Cokes at home. 

The woman was surprised when there were no squeaks as she opened the
door.  Searching for her lizard, she found a magazine open in a corner 
of the back porch.  It had a neat pile of little pellets on it. 

Talk about being housebroken, she thought, continuing her search.  At
least one problem was solved.  She found the lizard sleeping peacefully 
on her bed. 

"Hello, little guy.  Miss me?"  She nudged it.  It looked up and growled
at her, showing its teeth, then turned its head back to the covers. 

"What's a matter with you? Mad at me for leaving you?" 

She carefully tickled its exposed stomach, getting a kind of giggle and
a squeak.  Its head raised to lick her hand. 

Friendly again, it followed her around the same as the day before, but
never getting underfoot.  It did seem intent on the television screen, 
as though studying the programs.  After checking the TV Guide, as an 
experiment Sandy turned on a show about crocodile hunting. 

The little lizard perked right up and began squeaking softly, apparently
talking to itself.  It was, indeed, watching the television -- even 
seeming to understand what it saw.  Her other lizards had never done 
that.  That night, the lizard slept with her again. 

The next day, Paul told her that he couldn't find anything out about her
new pet.  It had some distinctly non-lizard-like features.  For 
instance, it seemed to have opposing claws, like thumbs.  That was 
something no other lizard possessed.  It meant that it could grip 
objects the same way humans could. 

"I checked all my manuals and even made a trip to the library.  I
couldn't find any pictures exactly like your's.  Maybe it's a new 
species or," he joked, "a dinosaur." 

"Yeah, I'm the proud owner of the world's only compact tyrannosaurus." 

"Let me know when it gets to twenty-feet tall.  It could make one hell
of a lot of lizardburgers." 

"Nobody eats my dinosaur,"  she exclaimed, with a serious look on her
face that made Paul laugh. 

*** 

That night, the two of them were watching television.  The Flintstones
were on.  The lizard seemed to like cartoon shows, much like a little 
kid would.  He was jumping around and squeaking up a storm. 

"I see you like this show, Dino."  She exclaimed, watching his antics. 
It seemed an apt name.  He did look something like a smaller version of 
the cartoon character. 

Dino kept growing.  Not so quickly that it was noticed day by day, but
in six months he grew to four-feet tall and six-feet long.  He also 
evolved to walking on two legs.  Somehow, I seem to have gotten a real 
dinosaur, Sandy thought. 

Her pet also showed more and more signs of intelligence.  Noticing her
throwing his droppings into the toilet, he began putting them in 
himself, even flushing.  He became adept at using the can opener, even 
the electric one.  In time, he learned to change channels and volume on 
the television set.  His claws had trouble with the remote, but he 
could work the larger controls on the set itself. 

Sandy was continually amazed by Dino's actions as he grew, both in size
and in intelligence.  She never had trouble controlling him.  It was as 
though he really thought of her as his mother. 

One morning, when she crawled out of bed she saw Dino in the living
room.  He held the cylinder in his claws, up to his right eye. 

Dino seemed preoccupied, only giving her a noncommittal
good-morning-type squeak.  Since she had to leave for work and he found 
his own food by that time, she dressed and left.  I have to decide what 
to do with Dino, she thought.  It's getting too expensive to feed him.  
My savings won't last forever, and he keeps getting larger. 

That night, Dino hadn't moved from his seat.  From his weight, the
bottom of the couch nearly touched the floor.  He was still peering 
intently into the cylinder. 

An observer would have seen both of them apparently lost in thought. 
She was trying to decide what to do about her finances and he was 
sitting, immobile, with the cylinder to his eye. 

"What can I do with you, Dino honey?" she muttered to herself. "You're
getting more and more expensive to keep.  I'll have to take out a loan 
or something in order to feed you.  On top of that, if you keep growing 
this house will be too small to keep you." Her eyes clouded. "I'd hate 
to get rid of you, but this just can't go on much longer." 

By that time, Dino was at least eight-feet long and five high, on all
fours.  She had to switch to buying dry pet food in hundred-pound bags, 
along with the largest cans she could find. 

For over a week, Dino spent most of his time looking into his cylinder
and wasn't very sociable.  After the first few days, he would mutter 
and point the other end at Sandy, as she also muttered and talked to 
him and herself.  It felt almost as though he was aiming a gun at her, 
which she thought was silly. 

One night, while watching television, she heard.  "Hello, Ssssandy.  How
youuuu doin'?" 

She looked over and saw Dino looking at her. 

"Did you say something?"  she asked, in a mild shock. 

"Yasss.  Youuu can underssstand me?" 

She got to her feet, shaky feet at that, and joined him on the poor
sagging couch. 

"Yes, I  . . .  und  . . .  uder  . . .  understand you.  How  . . . 
how did you learn to talk?  That thing in your hand?" 

"Yessss, It isss what youuu call a computer, and muuuch more.  We
muussst talk." 

"Oh, Yes.  Yes.  I  . . .  would love to talk to you, Dino."  She was
ecstatic at the thought, "What does your computer do?"  It was all so 
weird, as though in a dream. 

"It told me my hisssstory, explained who I issss, and tauught me youuur
languuuage by lissstening to youuu talk,"  he explained.  "Of 
couuurssse, I knew a lot from lissstening by myself." 

He had trouble speaking, using an unfamiliar language with vocal cords
not made for human speech.  His volume also went up and down as he 
talked. 

"History?  What is your history?  Are you really a dinosaur from our
past, or are you from outer space somewhere?" 

"Both.  My people sssstarted ouuut on Earth, buuut left it before
youuuuu came." 

Questioning brought out that ancient dinosaurs were intelligent, some
much more than humans.   By the time Earth's climate changed, becoming 
colder, they had already started colonies on other worlds. 

When it became too cold for them here, they simply packed up and left. 
At first, the Earth became a tourist attraction.  After a few million 
years, it was abandoned entirely because of lack of interest.  For a 
brief few million it had also been used as a prison colony, to send 
incorrigible criminals. 

When mammals evolved, this world became a sort of nature preserve --
which was Earth's present status.  According to his device, Earth has 
the only intelligent mammals ever found.  It is a condition so rare 
that it is a crime to even land here. 

"Did youuu actuuually think that a sssspecies that wassss huuundredssss
of millionssss of yearssss old wuuouldn't be intelligent?"  Dino 
laughed loudly at the thought, shaking the house at the audacity. 

"You said it told you who you are.  Did it tell you what you're doing
here?  And what is your name?" 

"If I told youuu, youuu probably couuuldn't pronouuunce it, and it might
shake down the houuusssse. Better not.  And the one thing it didn't 
tell wassss why I am here."  He gave her a sad look. "It did tell me 
how to get home, though." 

He told her that although his people knew all about machinery, they
preferred to use their minds.  They knew enough about molecular and 
biological engineering to shape their children to fit other worlds, 
rather than using mechanisms to re-shape the worlds themselves.  That 
was probably why he had opposable thumbs, he said. 

"I hope you don't have to leave soon, Dino.  I'd miss you."  She hugged
his huge form.  Sandy no longer thought of him as a pet, rather as a 
companion; now, especially, since he could talk. 

"I don't know what I sssshouuuld do, Ssssandy.  Thissss is my home. 
Buuut I am getting too big for this houuuse.  Can youuu find a bigger 
one, with a place I can go ouuutsssside?" 

Despite his obvious intelligence, it took her hours to explain the
concept of money. 

"So, you see, I would need a lot more money to buy another house.  The
bigger the house and the more land I want, the more money I also need.  
Right now, I don't have much left." 

They talked about ways to get more money. 

"Wouuuld people pay to see me?" 

"Sure, but then the government would probably take you.  You wouldn't
like that." 

"I ssssaw on TV that humans pay to grow new hair.  On my compuuuter,
there is a formuuula to do that to us." 

"I don't think many people would pay to grow hair on lizards." 

"On birdssss too?" 

"Na. Wouldn't work out." 

"I ssssaw a thing youuu have to cuuut things.  It sssseemed awkward.  I
know how to grow a cuuutting sssstring.  It will cuuut throuuugh 
everything, even diamondssss." 

"How does it do that?" 

"It issss only one molecule thick and slips easily throuuugh
subsssstancessss, between the atomssss, ssssplitting the forces holding 
them together.  Youuu slowly drip a mixtuuure from the end of a glassss 
rod.  It hardenssss into a ssssingle sssstring, the excessss dripping 
off th' end."  He finished, "It only sssssticksss to glassss." 

"That might work.  How hard is it to make the mixture?" 

"Real eassssy.  I alsssso know how to make a gluuue that will sssssstick
anything together with anything elssss.  Sssstronger than anything 
youuu have now.  It can gluuue huge machinessss together with one 
drop." 

"UUUee, but that sounds good.  Something like that might be easy to
sell." 

The hardest part, and most expensive, was to identify the chemicals
needed.  Dino had to query the computer endlessly to identify and match 
names to profiles of simple chemicals. Although smart by human 
standards, he wasn't all that good with chemicals.  Sandy bought him 
every toy chemistry set she could find. 

He looked for attributes of chemicals in his computer database, and then
had to try out and document each earthen substance individually to find 
one that matched.  It took time, but he finally had them isolated. 

Making the cutting string was hardest.  He experimented with quantities
and types of glass rods to get it right.  He finally asked Sandy to buy 
a small air-conditioner to keep a room the right temperature to 
solidify a mono-molecular string.  The glue was relatively easy.  He 
never did get it exactly right, but close enough to sell. 

*** 

Sandy was run ragged, trying to work full time and then visit
prospective buyers in her off-hours.  After all, she worked most of the 
business day.  A lot of them wouldn't even see her, and others worked 
the same hours she did. 

Of course, Dino was no help.  With his accent, he couldn't even answer a
telephone. 

Eventually, Sandy used her job to get a loan and then took a chance and
quit the post office.  She packed a suitcase with samples to take with 
her and -- leaving Dino alone with a stock of food set out for 
California.  Addresses from television commercials, the Internet and 
magazines in hand, she hit those sunny hot streets. 

*** 

"We only pack and ship the product," a manager of one plant told her.
"The parts are sent here by different factories.  We assemble and 
package products, then send them to another company for distribution.  
We don't buy or sell anything ourselves."  After several similar 
replies, she tried a company that sent in orders to the packer. 

"No, ma'am.  All we do here is answer the telephone and mail, take
orders, and process payments.  Then we pass the order down to the 
individual shippers.  Sorry, but I can't help you." 

Frustrated, Sandy called a television station and found the telephone
number of an advertiser. 

"Ace Advertising, Ms. Jones speaking.  May I help you?"  Ms. Jones only
knew that her company received samples of products and used them to 
advertise on different media.  She could not give out information about 
who they billed. 

The factories only produced simple parts, shipping them to assembly
plants.  They had no interest at all in any other aspects, such as 
buying or advertising.  They received instructions on how many of what 
item to produce and when -- then trucked their products to an assembly 
company.  No. The factories weren't interested in investing in new 
products.  "Someone sends us specifications, then comes in to check 
once in a while and we send them the bill," the manager told her, with 
a shrug. "We're only the middleman." 

It took a week of running and searching, but she finally made it to a
small concrete block building behind an average house in Fresno, 
California.  The entire huge conglomeration seemed to emanate from that 
small shack.  And the building was closed and locked up.  It must be 
the right place, she knew, because there was a tiny hand-lettered sign 
on its screen door, "Home of Your Friendly International Selling 
Consortium." 

Finding no answer by ringing a doorbell at the front of the house
itself, she went to a local 7/11 store and used its bathroom.  Then, 
Sandy bought a couple of bottles of water and a pile of sandwiches and 
camped out in a driveway between the front of the house and the shack, 
deliberately blocking the entrance. 

Late that night, a middle-aged couple in a ten-year-old Ford pulled into
the driveway.  When they saw Sandy's auto parked across the driveway 
and her nodding off under a nearby tree, they tried to backup and 
retreat.  Sandy jumped up and caught them before they could get out of 
sight at the house. 

"Oh, yes, we own that company.  A real moneymaker,  if you're
interested?  It's already set up and you can have it for only 
ten-million dollars?  You got cash?"  the man asked her, after 
introductions. "Sure. We have a little time if you haven't got the 
money with you." 

He explained that he developed products and set things up to work
automatically.  Even the checks for his expenses were written by a 
hired organization, with profits sent directly to his financial 
adviser.  Once the complex process was set up, he and his wife were out 
of the loop.  All they had to do was draw money out of an account 
handled by their bookkeeper. 

"But now," he admitted, since he could see she wasn't going to buy the
business, "but now, my products have about run their course and are 
less in demand every week. Now's the time to bail out, before the 
lawsuits come in." 

"Lawsuits?" Sandy asked, "What lawsuits? Is something wrong with your
products?" 

"Heavens, no, child," the wife told her. "It's just that any seller has
small lawsuits piling up. The longer you sell, the higher the pile.  
You pay your lawyer to hold them off for months or years, in hopes many 
will disappear ... and they do.  Others eventually drop to reasonable 
levels and are paid.  But when you go out of business, sell your 
company or go bankrupt, you have to settle all of them first.  Buyers 
won't purchase a company if it has piles of pending lawsuits.  It's 
only a nuisance.  Most will sue for ten million and settle for ten 
thousand. 

"We've owned twelve companies in ten years," the man bragged. "When
profits become eclipsed by expenses, we close down and start another 
one -- often with the same goods to sell at the same locations but 
under a new label and logo." He sniffled. "It's part of the game." 

"I don't want to buy your business," Sandy told them for the fifth time.
"I want to make you rich with my new string and glue." 

The woman sighed. "Everyone wants to make us rich ... with our own
money.  Right now, we're spending half our time trying to sell the 
business, and the other half avoiding people like you and your lawyers. 


"Since you're here, what have you got?  A better can opener?  A doggie
diaper?" The man asked.  "I'm interested in a new idea for when I start 
my next business cycle." 

Finally, Sandy had a chance to demonstrate the mono-molecular fiber.  It
was invisible without a microscope and came wound onto polarized-glass 
rods -- the only thing it would not cut through.  The sample threads 
were eight-inches long with protective polarized-glass hand-holds on 
each end.  Grasping the string in each hand, Sandy cut through a 
six-inch-thick iron pipe with no effort at all, as though it were made 
of butter. 

"I don't think we could sell that, Sandy," the man -- named Mr. Sampson
--  told her over a cup of tea.  "Despite warnings, people would end up 
cutting their hands off with it.  Maybe we could sell it industrially, 
though?  If we require each customer to sign an agreement not to sue 
us?"  He shook his head. “Even then, injury lawyers would proliferate 
like mice.” 

"I dunno, dear," his wife said.  "We try to avoid complex industrial
machinery.  They cost a  lot for each item and go out of style too 
quickly.  Small items for mass markets are more our style." 

The glue fared much better, but was still no good for sale to the public
since Dino had no way to dissolve it.  If you accidentally got a drop 
on your finger and touched something you were attached for life.  That 
wasn't a very good selling point. 

"If you want, you can leave the samples with me and I'll try to find a
buyer.  For a percentage, of course,"  Mr. Sampson suggested. 

Since she had no alternative plan, they agreed on a fifty-percent share
for him.  After all, he had a complete system set up. 

She was forced to return home in virtual defeat. 

*** 

On the second day Sandy was gone, the doorbell rang.  Dino maneuvered
his eleven-foot-long frame out into the foyer and peeked out the side 
of a curtain.  Maybe Sandy ordered something? he thought.  An old woman 
stood outside, ringing the bell.  She was looking right at him as he 
quickly drew his massive head back. 

"I know you're in there.  Is something wrong?   I haven't seen you
lately.   If you don't answer, girl, I'm calling the police,"  a 
strident voice called out.  The woman wasn't going to leave. 

"It's Mabel from next door,"  the woman said. "I heard banging in there.
 If it's you, Ms. Peters, say something  . . .  last chance before I 
call the cops." 

Not knowing what to do, Dino turned off the lights and opened the door a
crack. 

"Everything's all right, I've just got a cold," he told her, trying to
sound like Sandy,  "Please go away."  Of course it came out as, 
"Everything'ssss all right, I've juuust got a cold. Pleassss go away," 
in a gentle soft rumble. 

Before he could close the door, there was a loud  "Bang" and something
came through the door.  Bewildered, Dino backed up by reflex as the old 
lady pushed her way in.  She held a large smoking pistol. 

"I knew it.  What did you do to poor Sandy?"  The woman pointed her
weapon at Dino. "Back up, you glorified lizard.  I'm a security guard 
and know how to use this thing." 

Of course, gentle Dino did as she demanded.  He knew from television
that the pistol thing might sting. 

"Don't huuurt me pleassss, I didn't do anything to her," Dino implored
Mabel, wondering how to handle the situation. 

Mabel listened to his explanation, and then insisted on searching the
apartment.  Everything seemed in order -- except for the giant lizard, 
of course.  While she was searching, Dino brewed a pot of tea.  Then 
they sat down to talk. 

"Ssssoo Ssssandy is ouuut trying to get moore money for ussss.  I'm
sssstill not ssssure why we need it, buuut she inssssissssted." 

"Oh, it's necessary, believe me."  Mabel took time to go over the
concept of money for him, trying to make him understand.  Then the 
woman had an idea. 

"I think I know how to solve that problem, Dino,"  she confided,  "A way
you can pay your own way and get plenty of extra." 

*** 

When Sandy returned home she was feeling depressed.  On one hand, she
was glad to get back to Dino.  On the other, she was not only without a 
job but in debt from her trip and with no solution in sight.  The 
little money she still had from her loan would have to go for another 
week or two of food for the dinosaur. 

As she entered her apartment, Sandy noticed the bullet hole in her door
and rushed inside, all thoughts of finances forgotten. 

"Dino, where are you?" she called, running from room to room.  Dino was
gone. 

In a state of shock, panting from exertion, Sandy slumped onto the
couch, wondering what she could do next. 

"Did the authorities get him?"  She pondered the implications.  The
woman sat, crying, missing the big lizard.  It wasn't until she became 
hungry and went to the kitchen that she found a human-sized note on the 
table, propped up by a ketchup bottle.  She hadn't noticed it before 
because Dino couldn't write that small.  It was from her neighbor, 
Mabel, who rented the other side of the house and read: 

"Hi, Sandy.  Me and Dino have gone to see my brother in Hollywood.  He
promised Dino a job.  There has been a resurgence of Godzilla movies 
and he said Dino would be perfect for the part.  When you get home, 
call us.  It might take a few days to get to Hollywood, though."  Mabel 
left her brother's phone number. 

*** 

"We there yet?" Dino called from a large horse-trailer trundling along
behind Mabel's ten-year-old Ford. Cars swerved as his growling voice 
carried across six of eight lanes.  Mabel parked illegally at the edge 
of the road and got out to answer him. 

"Now you be quiet, Dino.  We're in California, but still need about
three hours to get to the studio." 

"I'm huuuungry and thirssssssty and my bucket'sssss full." 

Mabel brought the last two five-gallon cans of water from her backseat,
along with several cases of canned dog food.  He could open them 
himself, thank God, she thought.  Next, she spent fifteen minutes 
dipping buckets of droppings from a large washtub in the trailer, 
dumping them in a ditch.  It's probably illegal but what else can I do? 
she thought.  She certainly couldn't let him out to pee. 

"Thank youuuuu, Mabel." 

Matters improved once they found and entered a movie lot in the
Hollywood suburbs.  The gate guard, used to strange sights and special 
effects, barely acknowledged Dino standing quietly when he checked the 
trailer out for hidden fans and groupies. 

"Okay, ma'am.  Mr. Thirston said you should go to Lot #32.  Down this
road to the end, then make a left.  It'll be a large brown Quonset hut 
on your right." 

They were surprised to see his new home was large and airy, the size of
an airplane hanger.  It was used for storage and her brother had set up 
a nice corner for Dino.  The studio owned plenty of overly-large 
furniture, used in several movies, so that wasn't a problem. 

The dinosaur did have to go outside to relieve himself in a fake well
from an ancient Lassie picture. It had never held water but was lined 
with plastic bricks so Lassie could save a kid on his knees inside. 

"It'sssss nice, but when will SSSSandy get here?" 

"We'll have to find out if she called while we were on the road.  If
not, I can call her.  First, though, I have to see my brother and he'll 
want to meet you." 

"Me!  A monsssster.  I can't believe it.  Maybe I'll meet Godzilla, in
persssson?  You think ssssso? 

"I doubt it.  Godzilla isn't real, only camera trickery with small toy
monsters.  Now, look around and get comfy while I make my phone calls." 


Dino looked into a huge walk-in refrigerator, finding it cold but empty.
"I need sssssome food." 

Within an hour, matters were to become hectic.  First, Mabel finished
her calls and came over to Dino, who was sitting on a huge couch used 
in the Shrinking Orphan movie. 

"Sandy won't be here for three or four days.  She has to close her bank
account and notify our landlord that none of us are returning there.  
Sandy says she's found a backer for those new products, whatever that 
means, and to tell you. So, I told you." 

"I have to explain sssssomething, Mabel. I sssssearched my
(unpronounceable) and--" 

"Sheeee. We don't have time now.  Herman's coming over with a gaggle of
movie bigshots.  They want to meet you and should be here any minute." 

An overhead door picked that moment to rise, allowing three
brightly-colored limos to drive right in, to steer over to Dino's 
corner of the huge storage room.  They sat silently for a moment or two 
before a door opened and a middle-aged man dressed in a casual style of 
jeans and a striped shirt got out.  Immediately, a dozen men and women 
wearing expensive suits hurried out and over to their boss.  Dino and 
Mabel could already hear a chorus of "Yes," and "yessir"s. 

He came over and motioned Mabel to join him. "Oh! Yessss!  He'll do.  He
is alive, isn't he, Mabel, honey?  Not a fake like at MGGM?" 

"Dino's alive all right, Barry.  I've been shoveling his shit for the
whole trip. Believe me, he's alive." 

He lowered his voice to ask, "He doesn't bite, does he?  You say he's
housebroken?  I don't have to hire a man with a Super-Pooper-Scooper?" 

"Alive and probably more intelligent than we are, Barry.  Don't worry
about that." 

Barry called one of his flunkies over.  "Jim-Jim.  Junk that trailer and
get Dino, here, the largest limo you can find." 

"Yessir, boss. Uh, I don't think they're made that large.  Is he still
growing?" he asked Mabel. 

"Dunno. I think so, though.  He grew a few inches on the way over." 

"Jim-Jim, boy.  You got your task, now leave us alone. Use your
imagination."  He looked back at the car and trailer. "And while you're 
at it, find Mabel something appropriate to drive before the press finds 
out." 

He motioned to two of the women standing near their car. When they came
over, he told them to, "Introduce yourselves to Dino.  You're to be his 
personal assistants.  Fix him up good." 

Another man was assigned to see about clothing Dino.  Barry thought a
naked dinosaur, his sex swinging when he walked, would annoy mothers.  
Another was put in charge of arranging a screen test for the dinosaur.  
In that manner, the crowd was soon reduced to Dino, Mabel, and Barry 
himself -- not counting his driver, who was sitting in the limo reading 
a magazine. 

Conspicuously, Dino himself was pretty much left out of the
conversation.  Not that he was ignored, mind you.  A studio tailor 
measured him for a suit and especially shorts.  Janet and Janice, his 
assistants were busy making lists of Dino's needs and wants.  Lesser 
flunkies came and went as cellphone activity increased.   Barry knew 
the press would know, soonest, and wanted the dinosaur's new image to 
be in place by the time they arrived. 

*** 

When Sandy finally made it to the studio, she was stopped at the gate. 

"You need a pass to get in, Ms," she was told. 

"Who do I have to see to get one?" 

"It's after business hours and Admissions is closed.  Try back tomorrow
morning." 

"Look. I really have to see someone.  Can't you call them or something?"


"If you have their number, I or you can call.  If not, I can't give
phone numbers out, especially after hours.  Sorry.  See you in the 
morning.  Good night, ma'am." He turned to leave. 

Standing outside the gate, she tried Mabel's cellphone again, with no
answer.  Finally, since the huge lot was empty and the guard sitting 
with his feet up, watching a tv set in a far corner of  the shack, she 
settled down to wait.   Figuring it wouldn't do any harm, she parked 
her car in the closest parking spot she could find, a studio executive 
slot.  Getting in, Sandy turned on her radio and waited.  Almost broke, 
she didn't have enough money for a motel room in expensive Hollywood. 

*** 

Dino sat alone in his new warehouse home.  Despite the Dino-sized
furniture, the place was drafty. 

Mabel had gone somewhere with her brother.  She promised to be back
later to keep him company, but for the moment he was lonely.  Lonelier 
than he'd ever been in his short life.  And he still had to tell her 
the news he'd found out on his (unpronounceable) staff.  It was very 
important, but he hadn't had a chance.  Barry had hustled everyone 
around and they had been separated. 

He wished Sandy were there, but she wasn't expected till morning.  He
was lonely, both excited and lonely. 

After walking around the warehouse for awhile, examining props from past
movies, Dino realized  he could finally go outside.  He'd rarely been 
out since moving in with Sandy.  Well, he thought, riding in the 
trailer didn't really count. 

It only took a couple of minutes for him to figure out how to open the
large overhead door.  Stepping outside, he saw most of the lot was 
dark, except for a brightly lighted spot a long distance away.  Dino 
thought that might be where they'd driven in. 

He decided he'd go see.  Why not?  If he kept to shadows, his ten-foot
high twelve-foot long body might squeeze through spaces between 
buildings.  He'd heard of Hollywood through magazines and television.  
Now he could see for himself.  It would be nice to find a high place he 
could see from. 

When he was near the gate, Dino noticed a tall building close to the
security wall. It looked to be six stories high.  Why not? he decided. 

He'd never tried climbing but found it easy with a brick wall.  There
were many protuberances along with wide spaces between bricks.  His 
opposing claws were a big help. 

In minutes, he reached a flat roof. The lights of Hollywood were naked
before him.  Unfortunately for Dino, that wasn't the only thing naked 
he found on that roof. 

"Isn't it beautiful under the  stars," June Jimson, aspiring actress,
mumbled into her lover's ear. "Except for all those damned flashing 
lights." 

"Ummmmm, stay below the parapet, honey."  Tim Thompson, janitor, fumbled
at a latex condom, much too large for its present owner.  "You don't 
happen to have a rubber band on you?" 

"Damn it, Tim," she said, reaching under to help, "why'd you buy that
Nigerian brand?" 

"They was out'a Trainers, and I had'da get something." 

Hearing a growling cough, June snatched at vital areas with both hands
as she looked up to see a huge monster standing in the shadows of a 
ventilation pipe.  "Shreeeek!" 

Seeing a much larger problem, Tim forgot about his tiny one.  Jumping to
his feet, he cried to June, "Keep him busy.  I'll go for help," before 
running to the exit door. 

The man rushed down concrete stairs to the nearest telephone, calling
the police.  At first, they didn't believe him. After all, he was 
calling from a studio that was famous for cheap monster movies. 

"Goddammit," he screamed hysterically, "it is a monster, just like
Godzilla." 

When the desk sergeant promised to send someone to check, Tim thought of
the danger on the roof.  He broke the glass around a fire-axe hanging 
on a wall and rushed to slam the door at the bottom of the stairwell to 
the roof shut.  He would  show that monster by not letting it get down 
from there, he decided while shoving furniture against the door. 

The desk sergeant looked on his computer monitor and found a car only a
couple of blocks from the studio. "Car 52, standby please," he said 
into a radio.  Then the sergeant had to spend a few minutes looking up 
the closest radio code for "Godzilla on a roof with a pretty girl." 

He thought he had it, until noticing that was a giant ape. Finally,
frustrated, he called car 54 back, saying, "Car 52.  Tootie, there's a 
report of a huge monster holding a girl captive at Majestical Studios 
on 188th street. Why don't you cruise by and check the roofs quick?  
Ask the guard at the gate what's going on." 

When the policeman saw what looked like a fifty-foot lizard holding a
wildly waving naked woman, he reacted quickly.  The first thing he did 
was radio the matter in to the station.  Next was to put on all his 
flashing lights and sirens in an attempt to get its attention.  After 
that, he used his cellphone to take photos of the event.  Lastly, he 
called a friendly reporter that would pay for the heads-up. 

Within two minutes, the scene was chaotic.  It did take about ten
minutes more before a half-dozen news helicopters gathered to buzz 
around Dino and June.  Somehow, to the girl, the scene was reminiscent 
of an old movie as she, clutched safely in Dino's hand, smiled and 
waved at her audience. 

*** 

The activity woke Sandy, who'd been sleeping directly below.  The sirens
and lights frightened her.  After trying to figure things out, with no 
success, she stepped out into a frantic mess.  Police ran everywhere, 
shouting while setting up searchlights.  Reporters were doing much the 
same with their cameras. 

Seeing the others staring above her, Sandy backed up a few paces to see
HER dinosaur on the roof, holding a half-naked woman around the waist.  
"Oh, God, Dino!" she said. 

About that time a policeman approached, holding a bullhorn.  He'd
noticed she was parked in an executive slot.  "You work here, ma'am?"  
When she shook her head, he backed up, raised his horn and said, in an 
amplified voice, "Hold on, young lady.  We'll save you." 

Looking around, Sandy saw two police in military-looking uniforms
holding rifles.  "You're not going to shoot my dinosaur," she cried 
while running in their direction. 

*** 

Earlier, while Tim ran into the small shack on the roof that led
downstairs, June scampered on hands and knees to hide behind a thin 
ventilator tube. 

She was crouching there when Dino came over.  "What'ssss wrong?  Was he
huuuurting youuuu?" 

"Stay away.  Please don't hurt me," she whimpered so low he couldn't
hear. 

"Youuuu're ssssafe now.  I won't let him huuuurt youuuu."  Having
watched a lot of television, Dino knew about sexual assault and rape.  
He reached down with his huge claws to comfort her. 

"Screeech!  Help!  Someone." 

June soon stopped as he gently patted her on the shoulder and looked
down on her with gentle eyes.  Luckily, he was silent for a few 
seconds, not opening a mouth filled with sharp teeth. 

"Wh -- Who are you?  Is that a Godzilla suit?"  She'd realized he wasn't
really all that threatening, not immediately biting off one of the 
augmented breasts she was so proud of. 

"I'm not wearing a ssssuit.  I'm Dino, a new movie monsssster.  I work
for Barry." 

"Barry Thirston, the producer?  You work for THAT Barry?" 

"Uuuuuh, huuuuh.  I think.  Nobody told me hissss last name." 

Well, June thought, that changed things one hell of a lot.  Maybe this
was her chance at a meaningful career?  She stood, in all her naked 
glory, and reached out a hand.  Who cared if he wore a gorilla or a 
lizard suit? Hell, even if he were really a spider under that thing?  
Visions of flashing lights filled her nimble mind.  Wait a minute.  
There were flashing lights. 

June crept over to the edge of the roof, glancing downward to see a
crowd forming, police lights flashing madly. 

"Come on, Dino is it?  Lets give them a show."  Giving Dino a bright
smile, she said, “We'll give them one they'll never forget.” 

Pulling at his arm, June held it around her waist until he tightened his
grip, then led him to the edge.  As she saw all those people, her fans, 
staring, June smiled and waved at them. 

Dino, not realizing his danger, went along with the ruse, waving his
other arm around while he held her tightly to keep her from falling. 

*** 

That was the scene as Barry and Mabel arrived.  At first, the police
captain in charge of the event didn't recognize him.  He thought the 
producer was only another civilian trying to force his way past the 
police blockade. 

When all the reporters, without exception, swung their cameras and
microphones toward the producer, Lieutenant Johnson realized the guy 
must be important and signaled to let Barry and Mabel inside the 
cordon. 

All things must come to a head, and that was it.  Within minutes,
matters had settled down.  The police took down their yellow tape.  
When Barry gave a brief statement about his new actor, the reporters 
tried for more information.  The producer, used to their pleas, soon 
set them packing with uninformative tidbits, leaving them to expand the 
bits into huge conjecture. 

The lieutenant, along with Sandy, Mabel, and Barry passed Tim, still
mostly naked, as they stormed up the stairs to the roof to break up the 
scene there. 

On his part, Tim, to be permanently bereft of those augmented globes,
found spare coveralls in a maintenance locker and made his way home. 
Later, he became fond of telling future girlfriends of his bravery. 

*** 

Finally, Dino and the others, minus police presence, were back in Dino's
warehouse.  After greetings and introductions with Sandy, they sat over 
coffee and beer while listening to Dino explain his important 
information. 

(Language briefly cleaned up for better understanding.) "You see," he
started, "what you call my staff is really an (unpronounceable).  It 
has many functions for a young what you call dinosaur.  First of all, 
it triggers our birth.  The staff monitors temperature, for instance. 

"For millions of years, it wouldn't let me be born until conditions were
right, such as in my finder's air-conditioned vehicle.  Something must 
have happened to my mother after she laid the egg that became me.  
Something that led to my abandonment.  I have no way of knowing what it 
was. 

"The (unpronounceable) is inserted into all of our eggs. It's also an
educational device, a sort of computer containing vital information.  
Unlike you, we're typically alone at birth, only the strong expected to 
survive with the help of our (unpronounceable). 

"When we reach the right stage in life, proving we can survive, it's
also a communication device, letting our people know when and where to 
pick us up. 

"When I reached that stage, I received a message that I'll be picked up
and taken to my people.  Not my mother.  She and my father are 
irrelevant after laying my egg." 

Sandy was shocked.  After all she'd been through, she was to lose him. 
"NO!  I won't let you go.  We're a couple, Dino.  Please tell me you'll 
stay." 

"I'm ouuuut of place here, Ssssandy.  I muuuust ansssswer the call." 

"Hold on here," Barry jumped to his feet.  "You mean that I've spent all
this money, not to mention my valuable time, only to lose you?" 

Dino nodded. 

"And, uh, how much time is involved, Dino, honey?" Mabel said, wiping
her eyes. 

"Any time now," Dino answered. "A few yearssss, or centuriessss." 

"Centuries?"  Barry said. "Centuries?" 

"Yessss.  Intersssstellar travel takessss a long time." 

"Then we have time to make you a star," Barry recovered his enthusiasm. 

"Yessss.  If I can pick my co-star.  I want Juuuune." 

The End.  Keep an eye on movie advertising.


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