Free The Legacy of Heorot by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, Steven Barnes Page B

naked rock, and Cadmann saw that yes, a trap could...
    Suddenly he was smiling as he climbed, spun the Skeeter around and dived toward the lights of the Colony.
    There were no colorful newsreels or densely worded technical briefs displayed on the walls of the communal meal hall. There were no sharp, tangy vegetable smells, and no warm buzz of camaraderie.
    A low mutter of disgust tinged with fear wound its way through the group as they faced the floating image of the dead calf, its wounds marked with flashing green labels.
    Mary Ann gripped Cadmann's hand; her nails bit into his palm every time the camera zoomed in on a wound, until he carefully disengaged her hand and put it firmly in her lap.
    At the head table, Zack paused in his comments to take a drink. It seemed to brace him. Cadmann wondered what exactly was in that pitcher.
    "This is our best reconstruction," he concluded, rather apologetically. "Sylvia extrapolated this from the spread and depth of the bite marks. We have an eighteen-centimeter jaw base, and a roughly wedge-shaped head. It looks like something sired upon a rattlesnake by a bear." Nobody laughed. "Um... massively strong jawbones and corresponding muscles.
    "We can't be sure how much such an animal would weigh. Certainly enough to destroy any credibility the tracks by the chicken cages might have had." He peered out into the audience. "I'm afraid that that incident was a particularly unfunny prank."
    Gregory Clifton handed a drowsy April to his wife, Alicia, and stood. "Zack, let's cut the crap. I worked on the computer map. Half the Colony saw the information as it was coming in. There isn't an adult here who can't interpret the technical data for himself. How about opening up the floor?"
    The applause shook the room.
    Zack shrugged, spreading his hands. "All right, Gregory—what's your idea?"
    "We know about the pterodons. None of them get too large. But maybe there's another species of flying carnivore. Something the size of—oh, crap, let's say a California condor..."
    There was a quick spate of derisive laughter. Jon Van Don yelled, "What the hell, why not a roc, Greg?"
    Barney Carr-brayed with laughter. "Watch out for flying elephants!"
    "Wing span-to-weight ratio, Greg," Stu called. "It would have to be huge to lift a calf. Much larger than a ground carnivore capable of bringing down the same size prey. And how would it evade the Skeeters?"
    Greg held up his hand. "Hear me out. It wouldn't need to fly away with the calf. It could fly in, and then drag a heavy victim to a safe place.
    And maybe it nests up in Mucking Great Mountain—"
    There was a shout from the back of the auditorium, and Andy Washington, the big black man from the engineering crew, stood. He was fighting a losing battle with an evil grin. "I say our mistake is thinking it had to be big. Maybe it's not an it. Maybe it's a them, like a herd of Marabunta army mice—"
    "Something like a glassfish," Jean Patterson added. "A super-chameleon—"
    "It has to be coldblooded, to evade the infrared—"
    "The hell it does! There're hot springs everywhere you look!" The opinions were flying too thick to stop now, and Zack sat back, pleased and relieved by the healthly creative energy being released.
    La Donna Stewart stood, tiny fists poised lightly on her hips. "Has anybody considered a borer?"
    "I think we're listening to one—Ow!" There was the sound of an affectionately brisk slap as she whacked her fiance, Elliot, and the room quieted for a moment.
    "I mean like a mole, or like ants or termites. This entire area could be riddled with tunnels and we'd never know it. It could operate like a trapdoor spider. Engineering should put together a seismic detector, Zack..."
    Andy whipped out a pad of paper and started making notes to himself.
    Zack Moscowitz took the opportunity to grasp control again. "A good suggestion. La Donna. All good suggestions..." He glared at the engineer. "Except maybe the Marabunta mice, Andy."
    He touched a