Prologue

The newspaper journalists and left-wing liberals said the virus was addictive.

They said the constant presence of the virus (the government called it an 'agent', but the pilots had no such illusions) meant to change pathways in the brain so that pilots could completely submerge themselves in new, organically improved military hardware (fight jets, tanks, mobile units) was so helpful and easy to use, the brain over time would adapt so fully to interacting under the influence, the pilot would never be able to disengage it and go back to civilian life. They would continually strive for the adrenaline rush that would keep the virus activated, or go into withdrawl.

With the amount of money that went into training, almost half of it was helping the pilots adapt to the expanded nanite pathways in your brain. The government would never jet let them go into the world alone without support and surveillance.

   

     

Chapter 1

Jaysen thought about the new series of articles in the Global Times as he stood at ease with his feet apart, hands clapsed behind his back, outside his squadron commander's office. he wondered what the feeling of new zones, the integration of pathways in his brain never used before as they became finally active, would be.

All of his contemplation was safely locked away from his feelings, so he felt no real connection to any of the momentous decisions being made a mere thirty feet away inside the office. He was safe in his usual adolescent smugness, the knowledge that he'd scored highest in his freighter and fighter classes made him smile, he nodded to an officer that walked by, and strained to listen to the two low voices, one the deep alto of his squadron commander, the other the fragile soprano of his mother.

"Cadet," his commander's voice snapped him automatically to attention. "Come on in."

"Sir," Jaysen acknowleged as he turned and entered the room, taking the seat his commander gestured to. Lt Colonel Callin was heading for retirement and could be grouchy and unenthusiastic, but he wasn't nearly as bad as some of Jaysen's daily teachers. He was always open and amiable with the cadets, supporting them wholeheartedly in their fighter jet ambitions.

Next to him Jaysen's mother, with her heavy makeup and anti-depressant smile, epitomized everything he had taken the initial aptitude tests to escape.

"Cadet Amico, you have completed all necessary steps and benchmarks in this phase of your training. Are you ready and willing to accept the responsibilities of pilot training in the T-17 Jayhawk for the next two years, with the understanding you will be called upon to serve your country on active duty for at least ten years following that training?"

Jaysen, scarcely eighteen years old, nodded. "Yes, sir. I am."

"Good." Callin offered him a rare smile before turning to the young man's mother. "I will be glad to sign his transfer papers to Lauderdale for training, ma'am. The government service incentive bonus will be along in the mail shortly. Please, Cadet. Feel free to escort your mother back to your quarters to gather your things. You will be expected to report on October 18th for training. Thank you for spending four exemplary years here with us."

Callin stood and held out his hand; Jaysen did the same. They shook, palms meeting firmly over the paper laying on the desk that specifically said, for Jaysen's eyes glanced down a split moment, 'aptitude for long-range fighters'. Which meant S/F-12 scout/fighter jets in the Indian Ocean.

He looked at his (former) unit commander and smiled. "Thank you. Sir."

 

The interface was smooth, as fast as his brain could manufacture and synthesize commands, the interface instantaneous as he took his fighter humming off the deck of the carrier, the USS Eisenhower, and into the clouds, over the islands being used as stepping stones by the enemy.

Perfection was man and machine combined, the organic, original thinking combined with a machine's perfection and clear thinking at all times. The virus checked the amount of adrenaline getting through and kept the pilot focused at all times.

As Jaysen flew his patrols and engaged enemy aircraft, he was always aware of a feeling of ultimate synthesis, the feeling of something besides his own mind supporting him like a favorite couch, where he could always fall back on it, exhausted, and not have to worry about anything changing while he caught his breath.  That feeling was more than enough to make up for the lack of adrenaline pumping through his system.

Unfortunately, the only thing the military had been unable to do for their pilots was to perfect the ejection system, and the first time Jaysen flicked the little red button, seeing the missile streaking towards him from the dark brown, camouflaged enemy fighter, he felt a terrible foreboding.

Two point five seconds from going forward at mach one to falling, hanging from a parachute.  The virus kept him calm and clear, and within ten minutes there was a rescue helicopter flying towards him above the water.

-

The snapping motion gave him whiplash for a week, but he flew again for another eight years, promoting two more ranks, until he was assigned to fly over a reef spotted in the distance, an immense reef that extended miles out from an island.

"A helicopter dropped out off the radar yesterday morning, over that island we've been unable to keep a real lock on. It might be a base with one of the new cloaks. Here is your course."

"Sir, I thought the cloaking technology was only something we had under wraps."

"All the more reason to be more diligent, hmm? Dismissed."

"Sir."

-  

   

Chapter 2

The deck of the carrier dropped away and he knew, in a moment of clarity, why he had become a fighter pilot. Punching the course into his flight computer, he initiated a mental link with his jet and soared out over the open ocean.

He was running radar and visual checks, ten times faster than the fastest human could, zomming over islands dotting the Indian Ocean, when the first hint of trouble took his jet by the nose and gave it a good shaking. Immediately, Jaysen felt a strange sensation tingling in his arms and legs, and the controls went dead.

Oxygen still flowed into his mask, and the engines still roared, Jaysen and his machine were still moving forward...

Two strikes and you're out. Two ejections and a pilot will no longer be allowed to fly, for fear of permanent spinal injuries.

The engines died.

-

Immediately, the plane dropped, and Jaysen had the unpleasant experience of being trapped in a metal container in a metal seat, in an increasingly sharp bank towards the earth. He saw sudden hills on a small island below him, and then a vast piece of land came out of the ocean and grassy savannah stretched far into the distancce, and he stared in awe at an island never on the charts as his fingers groped blindly for the ejection button.

-

His body snapped back painfully as the chair separated from the plane, but the metal support filaments implanted in his spine kept the damage to his spinal cord minimal. The chute unfolded above him and he jerked upwards, watching his plane go flying gracefully, far below him, near a stand of trees.

There was no anti-aircraft fire, and he could see no outposts on this edge of the island. Those were the first things he looked for, the second was to see if there was *any* sign of life whatsoever.

He controlled his glide in over the plains, twisting side to side in an attempt to gain some altitude, but there was no wind and slowly but surely he sank towards the ground. As he came closer to the ground, he soared over a stand of trees and found himself gliding over a large meadow, where large grey lumps were arranged on the grass. He frowned, trying desperately to hook to his virus, to connect to the nets, to access his resources to identify them, but before he could manage to make the link, one of the grey lumps unrolled and a blunt head on a long, graceful neck rose to peer at him, following him on his flight.

Jaysen, figuring himself to be close enough to the ground, reached up to his chute and unsnapped the harness. He dropped, falling through the air for too long, but he landed in a roll and ran for the treeline.

He felt panicked, scared, but only was it when he reached the trees, unsnapped his helmet, and had his power rifle clutched across his chest, did he realize something was missing.

There was no virus connection, there was nothing that connected him to his armor, to his rifle, but his clumsy fingers and shaking, terrified body. He recognized the panic that gripped his stomach as the panic of prey, quashed it with a focused thought, and knelt behind a bush to wait for the predators.

     

     

Chapter 3

Jaysen waited in the bushes for long minutes, counting the seconds to himself. When he counted fifteen minutes, he slowly rose to his feet and duck-walked to the edge of the woods.

The long-necked grey things had all woken up, and were moving, herd style, down into the lake, none of them looking back towards his hiding place.

Without his mechanics activated, Jaysen didn't hear anyone walking up behind him; when a cough sounded, he whirled around, the rifle ready.

   

The man was middle-aged, with dark hair and a distinctively Indian look. He wore loose, brown work clothes with yellow and orange symbols embroidered on the hems, and for along minute the two men stared at each other without moving.

"My name is Balaji," the man offered in a soft, soothing voice. It was the sort of voice one would use in the presence of a distressed animal, and Jaysen suddenly reached with his mind to check how he looked.

He came back empty, realized the power rifle in his hands could not, then, be used without the connection, and tossed to the side, letting his arms hang limp at his sides.  "Jaysen," he offered, with an acute feeling of helplessness.

"Are you hurt?" Balaji asked. "My wife knows more than I about healing wounds. Would you come with me to our home?"  He still spoke in that soft voice, and after a moment, Jaysen realized that yes, he really did want to go somewhere where things made sense, and if he could get his mechanics to connect, perhaps he could make a connection with those people in the house.

His mind had conveniently blocked out the awareness of the enormous, long- necked beings, and Balaji showed him on a path towards a set of fields and a cottage where no beasts labored. There was only an empty field of half- grown grain and the house itself.

       

Balaji showed the visitor in, and tried not to show his surprise as Jaysen stripped down to his uniform pants. The young man stood in the warm, cozy living room and Rumani, Balaji's wife, put salve on the nasty bruises on the pilot's shoulders and back.

There were metal filaments running up Jaysen's back. They were visible in his arms, under the skin, and supporting his collar bone and hips.

"They go to my feet as well," was Jaysen's first full sentence as he grinned ruefully at Balaji. Support all the way up the back, to protect from ejections and ... other dangers of the job."

"Handy, then," Rumani smiled at him. "You're welcome to stay for a few days here. You look exhausted."

"I am, thank you, ma'am."

Balaji stepped back and watched as his wife expertly led the young pilot to one of the guest rooms, tried to offer him dinner, and then carefully put him to bed.

"Where did he come from?" she asked her husband as they both walked outside the cottage, Balaji sipping cold juice.

"I don't know," he admitted.  "I think we should visit Prosperine, though. It's time to take the apple harvest, anyway, and he does look like one of the military... but it's not a military any of us would recognize. Did you see his rifle?"

"Rifle?" Rumani's eyes opened wide.  "He was armed?"

"Yes, in the forest.  I'll send one of our struthimimus to find it, and alert the dinosaurs to his situation so they can decide what is best for him. I don't think he even remembers seeing the sauropods out on the meadow."

"He looks shell-shocked," Rumani agreed.  "I will talk to Sharp, and then we will leave, as soon as the last carts get in.  That will still leave us another five or six hours before sunset to make the journey."

They looked at each other and years of experience made them perfectly aware of what the other was thinking; they shared a smile, and parted ways.

   

          

Chapter 4

Mikha and Tara shared a long look in the hallway.

"Did you hear him crying?" Tara finally asked quietly, glancing to the closed door. Mikha nodded.

"I think we should tell Sharp," he said. "I thought dolphinbacks were supposed to love coming here."

"Dolphinbacks, love leaving behind everything and coming here?" the deep voice of the two children's favorite cart-puller, a beautifully golden brown triceratops nicknamed 'Sharp', came up behind them and shook his massive, three-horned head. "I think not. Come. Let's go outside where we can speak without our visitor being disturbed."

The two children walked with the triceratops out of the cottage and along the fence that marked out the end of the front yard and the beginning of the field.

"Three quarters of the dolphinbacks who come to us are male, and only half of those will ever find cumspiritik here. They come from a world full of technology. Him, more than most."

Mikha pulled himself up to sit on the fence, nodding. "He's got metal in him, doesn't he?" the boy asked, and when Sharp nodded, he looked back to the cottage with a sad expression. "He said something about the connection being gone, and he looked so sad and ... well, left alone when he said it."

"We think it is the crystal beacon network that relays messages interferes with the Outer World's technology. He said something about another mechanical bird, but it must have crashed on the reefs." Sharp sighed.

"So there was a machine in his mind?" Tara asked, climbing up onto Sharp's back behind his frill. "Wouldn't that hurt?"

"Not a machine," Mikha shook his head. "I saw his back. He's got metal strips or something put into his body. It's really weird.. he said it was so he never got hurt when he had to shoot out of his plane."

"That's simplistic, Mikha, but you're right. It's not a machine, it's a sort of virus that, instead of making you sick, it makes your brain more aware of different waves of information ... sort of like if you were to put something in you that would make you able to understand the crystal relay messages without decoding them."

"Just get them passed through you, and you'd get it?" Tara asked.

Sharp nodded. "Exactly."

"So where is he gonna go?" Mikha asked, biting his fingernail and watching the cottage with a worried expression. "He looked really sick, but maybe that was just seeing the sauropods. He's never heard of dinosaurs before. Will he go to Waterfall City?"

Sharp took a long, long moment to consider the question, watching the cottage as well. "He may not," he finally admitted. "There is a place in the Forbidden Mountains where those who can find no peace here with us retreat, and I have a feeling he will find his way there."

"The Tentpole?" Tara asked, sitting up excitedly. "I remember a story about the Tentpole!"

"Yeah, the Tentpole," Mikha smiled at his sister. "I could see him up there. He does seem like he would fit in there ... he's in such awesome shape, I bet he could climb up there with nothing but his hands and feet!"

With a laugh deep in his throat, Sharp butted his beak against Mikha's leg. "You've got potential, hatchling," he complimented the boy. "Now, it is getting chilly in this night air, and we have all had a very long day. We will see how the day goes tomorrow, and don't breathe a word of the Tentpole to our guest until I have had a chance to speak to him... a retreat is not something to take lightly, and I believe he will need some time before he is up to the journey."

"All right," Mikha decided, hopping down off the fence. "Is it okay if I show him the apple orchards tomorrow?"

"If there are no sauropods around," Sharp nodded. "Perhaps spending some time with you two will settle him in easier. No horns or strange sounds around. Remember, he was a child once, too."

"He must have grown up fast," Mikha said doubtfully. "He doesn't look like he ever just played in the dirt."

"Maybe not," Sharp said with a laugh, turning towards the cottage. "Maybe you can show him how. Now, if you two go and get your pajamas on, I will tell you a story until your parents return from Prosperine."

With the promise of a story, the ultimate prize, both Mikha and Tara tiptoed past their visitor's bedroom to get ready for bed.

Jaysen lay curled in his nestbed, head on his pillow, staring into the blank, empty darkness of his mind. He heard the hushed giggles and felt a sudden aching in his heart for everything outside the reef, and it didn't go away even as his body gave in to the exhaustion and he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a desert he flew over, back and forth, unable to move the controls or to power up the engines, helpless to escape.

     

     

Chapter 5

Jaysen woke to the smell of freshly baked bread and lay curled in his nestbed for several minutes before he slowly uncurled and stood up in the small guest room. There were candles on each side of the door, and one on a desk over in the corner. There were two books on the desk, both written in unfamiliar, sharply claw-like script.

He still felt in shock as he took a plain black, long-sleeved shirt from a pile of clothes by the door and pulled it on, running his fingers through his short hair for a moment as he took a deep breath and opened the door.

Rumani was walking from the kitchen into the main living room with the loaf of bread and a cutting board.  Balaji sat on the couch next to Tara, who held a small, lizard-like animal on her lap. It saw him and squeaked.

What was it, he wondered, staring at the small being from the entrance to the hall. A lizard?

"Good morning, Jaysen," Tara looked up at him with a smile. "This is Entia, a compysognathus who came back with father from Prosperine this morning."

Balaji, a sympathetic smile on his face, nodded for the pilot to come in and sit down at the table with them. "Have you ever seen a saurian, Jaysen?" he asked. "They died out in the rest of the world hundreds of thousands of years ago, but have survived here, mixing with the humans who come to this island."

Jaysen didn't feel like saying anything, and anyway, he was too busy watching the compysognathus, who was staring right back at him with an amused expression on its face.

Rumani clucked at him disapprovingly as she brought a large pitcher of juice to the table and reached past him to put it next to the bread. It was chilled; Jaysen could feel the condensation on his outstretched arm. "It's not polite to stare," Rumani scolded him gently. "How would you like if you were to be stared at all the time?"

"Sorry," Jaysen said, feeling very light-headed and vacant. He was still looking at the dinosaur, but he glanced at Balaji. The man was grinning at him.

"I've never met a dolphinback before," Balaji said.  "There haven't been any in a very long time. The last one that came, before my lifetime, I believe, said that it had been put on an off-limits list."

"It wasn't supposed to be so big," Jaysen admitted. "It's a no-fly zone, but there's a war, and in war, everyone wants every piece of land they can get."

"A war, dad?" Mikha suddenly appeared out of the hallway, frowning as he pulled out his chair and sat down across from Jaysen.  "Does that mean you killed people? Are they gonna come and find you?"

He had the entire family's attention then, but Jaysen shook his head. "They won't dare send anyone else. They train so many pilots now, and we're winning, they won't need them all afterwards. They can afford to let some be downed and lost. It's a capitalist system. Money is what matters."

"Money," Mikha shook his head with a disgusted look. "We learned all about money and what it did to the Poseidons in the past. It's bad stuff."

"Yes," Jaysen acknowledged, trace of a sad smile on his face. "It is. But it's how we've done things for centuries, and it won't change anytime soon."

Rumani shook her head in wonder at Mikha's questions as she walked back in with the jam.  "Come on, everyone. To the table. And after breakfast, Balaji will take you out to the meadow so you can meet a guest who will be arriving. There are several people who want to meet you very much. A dolphinback's arrival  is always an important event."

Jaysen nodded as Balaji and Tara came to the table. The compysognathus, Entia, hopped up onto the table itself, on the corner, and Rumani passed around slices of bread. The breakfast was something new for Jaysen. There was no meat, nor any milk. He helped himself to juice and fruit, and listened to Mikha chattering on about a new project he would be working on in the next term with his teacher, a lambeosaurus who worked with the ecology of the things living in fields and streams.

     

     

Chapter 6

Only his years of training and endless exercises in self control saved Jaysen from any sort of emotional response showing on his face as he left the cottage and went walking down the trail towards the landing meadow in the cool, foggy morning air.

Or maybe the pilot was still in shock... Balaji followed Jaysen at a distance as they left earshot of the house and turned into the pine forest.  "Are you all right?" he asked the young man.  Jaysen nodded shortly.

"Well," Balaji had been sure not to touch him at all once he had seen the metal supports, but now that Jaysen was wearing the jacket he reached out and put a friendly hand on the young man's shoulder, glad to see that Jaysen did not flinch.

"There are beings here, called quetzalcoatlus skybaxes, who take human riders to fly with them on their backs.  They are very helpful here, taking messages and flying missions to help the island."  Balaji gave a quick outline of the skybax duties in an interested, helpful voice. Jaysen made no sign that he heard.

"Their leaders are called master riders.  I wanted for you to meet the one who is good friends with our ambassador here in Prosperine. I have known him since we went to school together in Waterfall City."

Jaysen shot him a quizzical look at the name of the place, and Balaji smiled at his own memories. "Good city," he offered. "Beautiful. And very friendly, too. The people there are very kind to newcomers, as it is custom- "

"I can't leave."  Even to himself, Jaysen's voice sounded monotone -- flat and dead as the way he was walking, barely lifting his feet from the ground as he looked back at his boots.

"No egg rolls from the nest," Balaji said softly, sympathetically.

"Not true," Jaysen answered, shaking his head as he continued to walk and they approached the edge of the meadow, visible through the edge of the treeline. "Nests can be invaded, eggs taken. In a fight there are some that would be kicked away into the world outside."

"Not egg gets out of this place--" Balaji repeated firmly, but was cut off.

"Why?" Jaysen demanded, stopped and turning to look at him.  "With all your fantastic cities, why haven't you created a way to leave? Where's my jet? Can it be repaired?"

"There is a reef structure that holds the entire island in its grip. You can't leave. Your 'jet' took a nosedive and left a crater in the middle of a herd of sauropods. They forgive you, but in the ensuing, well, stampede ..."

Balaji wanted to say more to explain away the confused look on Jaysen's face, probably from the reference to the sauropods, but at that moment a shrill screech was heard and a skybax was flying in along the meadow and swinging back its wings in a difficult flat ground landing. There was a dark-haired man in a blue uniform on its back, and he swung down slowly when the skybax had stopped, taking its beak in his hands for a moment and whispering something to it.

Only then, as he took his gaze away from Balam, did Balaji realize Jaysen had frozen at the first sound of the screech, and had gone completely white.  Balam came towards them at a run, seeing in the young man what Balaji did not, from his years of training inexperienced and overwhelmed young pilots.

Balam managed to catch Jaysen as he fell, and he gave Balaji a glance as the two of them knelt by the outworlder's side.

"Did you talk to him?" the master pilot asked.

"Maybe a bit too much information," Balaji nodded. "And something about Nightwing's screech hit him with more than his system could take. Oh, and wait until you see what he's got under his pants and shirt."

Nightwing was shuffling slowly towards them and Balam shook his head. "I don't have time to have him wake up here. I have a meeting with one of our riders in Prosperine in a few hours. Nighty, can you take me there, and then come back and take him?"

It was a moment of thought the skybax gave it, but he grasped the urgency of the task as he looked Jaysen over with concern. At his partner's nod, Balam looked up at Balaji. "Keep an eye on him, and Nightwing will come back as fast as possible, with a special saddle."

"I understand," Balaji nodded. "We'll be waiting. And Balam," he called after the master rider. "Thanks for taking this so seriously."

Balam acknowledged the gratitude with a wave and was airborne within seconds, Nightwing flapping vigorously to clear the ground and make it over the treetops.

     

     

Chapter 7

Sometimes, when practice flights were finished, Jaysen would lay in his bunk during free time and connect his mind to the nets, chasing bits of information as fast as he could make the hops from network to network. It was a game of skill he played with himself, but it was fun and took his mind off of his aching muscles, until his brain was tired and he lost the link, set adrift in a sea of darkness under the specially connected goggles over his eyes.

Sometimes when he woke, it wasn't his muscles that ached, but his mind, and today was no exception. Time to wake, surely, Jaysen decided and reachd up to pulled the goggles away from his eyes. There were sounds outside, day sounds, and he flinched at what the Colonel would say.

His fingers touched cloth instead of plastic though, and suddenly something warm but scaly, hard and gritted, gripped his arm.

"Wait a moment, auntie," he heard a male voice caution from further away, but he had already flung the cloth away and twisted his arm out of her grip, rolling towards the beast, off the bed.

A surprised croak of distress was caught under him.  He pinned the scaly being, or thought he did, when two strong arms lifted him easily up and hook under his shoulders.

"You went away for awhile," the man who held him had the same gentle, not unpitying touch as Balaji had. "Will you hurt me if I let you go?  You really should sit down. It's been a dizzying afternoon for you. Shock does nasty things to a man's system. Even a pilot's."

Even as addled as his mind was, Jaysen knew an ultimatum when he heard one, and nodded. The man let him go and he sank down onto the bed, looking up at the blue uniform with the golden flying beast on the front of it. The scaly lizard who had tended him skittered for the door and vanished.

"Jaysen, is it?" the man asked. "We didn't get to meet in the meadow, but Balaji told you about me. I'm the master skybax rider for this sector. Balam, friend and rider of Nightwing."

"Where am I? This isn't the cottage." Jaysen glanced around the small room, clean and well-kept with a few paintings of those lizards again on the walls.

"You're in the hospital wing of the skybax rookery in Prosperine. It's a quick flight from Balaji's cottage, and I wanted you to be here where you could have some contact with the islanders."

"I can't leave here," Jaysen tried to get things organized in his mind again. "Do I have to stay in Prosperine, or wherever?"

"No, you can go wherever you want. There are no places on this island off- limits to dolphinbacks, as we call you... though in your case we don't really have a name for the way you entered. Normally there are men and women here who are ship-wrecked and brought in by the dolphins. All of the humans here are the descendents of some poor souls. The dinosaurs have been here from the beginning."

"Dinosaurs?"

"They didn't tell you about them in school?" Balam sounded surprised. "Most everyone else who's ever come has had some knowledge... I don't blame you for having trouble adjusting. Several million years ago, there was a race that was far more varied than the current human one, called the dinosaurs. They ruled the earth but an environmental condition killed them all off, except for a group that went underground and resurfaced with the remnants of their old world - seeds, animals, etc - to repopulate this island."

"And they live in peace with you," Jaysen said. "Why didn't we get taught this in school?"

"Well, no one knows about Dinotopia. But I don't know why dinosaurs have been erased from your history classes. Perhaps you just missed that part ... I'm sure there are still scientists working on the paleontological puzzles."

"I did miss plenty," Jaysen admitted, reaching out to the pillow to pick up a small, stuffed hadrosaur doll. He held it for a moment, then looked at Balam.  "I can't do this."

"Do me a favor, and I'll see if there's an alternative for you. Stay here, lay down and get some peaceful sleep, and I'll bring you some food in the morning. It's late afternoon right now, and you're probably exhausted. I'll see what I can do."

Jaysen, having no real other questions he could think of, and being exhausted, lay down again and watched Balam leave the room. He looked at the hadrosaur doll for a long time before he drifted off to sleep.

   

   

Chapter 8

Balam caught up with Quaine and Rakel, the Partners responsible for the mountains as they were heading home to their guest cottage near the hospital and diplomatic buildings. The mastodon was obviously drooping, slogging along almost as pathetically as Jaysen had been.

"He looks like he needs a vacation," Balam told Quaine, letting the concern show in his voice as he fell into step beside them. "I've never seen him look so droopy."

"Droopy isn't the half of it," Quaine ran a hand over her blond braided hair and looked up at her nestmate with a sad smile.  "He really wanted to come to this, just like he goes to every meeting in the Basin. Even though it's horrible for him."

At the conversation obviously regarding him, Rakel gave a petulant, rude noise. Quaine, perfectly in tune with her partner, reached up a hand to rub him on the shoulder. "Yes, my dear. We'll get back to the mountains and you'll be back to yourself in no time. Don't worry."

Balam took a deep breath and seized the opportunity with both hands and a lowered voice. "I need a favor, Quaine."

The Mountain Ambassador nodded at him, her hand still resting on Rakel's shoulder in a physical reminder of solidarity. "I know. That boy you've got hanging out in the hospital."

"That's him," Balam admitted. "He's not going to make it here, Quaine. He's barely made it this far. He's never even heard of saurians before, much less seen one, and then he comes in from a world that's so technologically advanced, and for him focused on enemy targets and kill counts. I didn't think anyone could shoot out of a plane going that fast, but he has metal implants or something to absorb the impact."

Quaine was already two laps ahead of him, and she was never one to mince words. "So you don't even want him to see Waterfall City. Just to come with Rakel and myself to the mountains."

Balam shrugged helplessly, shaking his head. "I wish there were another way, but there isn't. Besides, the physical effort will do him good. He's very well muscled and he'll go to nothing if he isn't engaged in something physically challenging... and honestly, he'll probably just give up mentally as well."

Rakel made a supportive noise to the master rider and Quaine smiled at him. After a moment she shrugged as well and her fingers massaged her partner's coat. "Were you thinking Sky City or one of the smaller villages.. Powdertop, Alpine, Flowered Peak. Certainly not the Tentpole."

"Someplace where he won't be surrounded by reminders of this, where he can have a life that's useful, where he can see the results of being Dinotopian... I don't think he'll be against the presence of other mammals.  It's the lizards, as he calls them, that scare him."

Quaine shook her head again, finally grinning and continuing to walk down the street, past the vendors closing up shops in the evening. "You always find the most interesting people, Balam. You Skybax riders get around."

She was quiet for a moment, walking. "I'll take him with me in two days when we return to the mountains. We're planning on a long journey along the coast to the northern part of the range, then up the back way and through the foothills."

"Just avoid the major cities?" Balam asked.  "For his sake."

"And Rakel's," Quaine reminded him. "This will be another reason not to dawdle, though if he's interested, we'll stop. But Rakel is now and will always be my first priority. Okay?"

"Okay," Balam agreed readily, smiling again. The two diplomats exchanged a handshake and then went their separate ways, Quaine to find a cool place for her nestfriend to sleep, and Balam to find somewhere to eat before he returned to the hospital to stay the night.

     

     

Chapter 9

The letter arrived by Skybax six months later, written in the saurian letters in a blocky, unskilled hand.

~

Dear Ambassador,

    Please thank Nightwing properly for me. I wasn't really myself when we landed, and I really didn't mean to be so angry with him when I woke up.

    Ambassadors Quaine and Rakel went with me through Thermala, stopping at a wonderful Inn where I met the most interesting types of dinosaurs, living alongside humans. It wasn't so bad that time. I had plenty of time to talk about it.

    They have rock-climbing competitions up here in Sky City, where I have spent the last two months of my journey. Winter is coming soon, the snow packs covering the rocks, and now skiing and sledding have become the sports of choice. You were right about physical exercise.

    Maybe someone should do something about the field that surrounds Dinotopia. I know it's supposedly wonderful for people to land here, at least that's how what's his name, the guy who found me, said. But since I've been up here, I've found a lot of regular humans who just can't handle it down there. Everyone can say it's just the heat, but anyone who lives up here knows the truth.

    I don't think I'm coming back. I'll stay a few more months here, but in the spring when the worst of the snow has cleared away the trails, I want to go to the Tentpole in the Sky for a year or two. Dinotopia isn't meant for military pilots like me, and it's still incredibly hard to stop thinking about being smarter and faster and more perfect than anyone else here. Of course, up above this treeline, it's not Dinotopia, and I'm doing all right.

    Thank you for your help, and I know you saw the supports in my back but you didn't see the hardware they put in my head. Do something in your capital, Sauropolis, or whatever, and find out a way to just ward off the jets. The reason I came here was because of a helicopter that vanished, and there will be others who come to find me.

     From one pilot to another,

     Breathe deep, seek peace, climb strong, fly high.  Don't worry about me.

~

The last word was written in saurian, per the rest of the letter, but also scribbled in english, the language of the air force he had come from. Balam was silent for a long time after he finished reading it aloud, leaning against Nightwing as the skybax dozed. The afternoon sun was low, the young apprentice riders cavorting in the air far below him, doing tricks and games, relaxing.

Finally, with a deep breath, the master rider and ambassador folded the letter carefully and slipped it into the cargo pocket on his right leg, thinking about how incredibly lucky men from different skies could be, and how incredibly unfair the world itself was, dabbling in things that were never meant to happen.

Nightwing sensed his rider needing some comfort and he crooned softly to the pilot, as the sun set in the afternoon sky and Balam saw his son flying formations, laughing with his friends. He wouldn't be writing Jaysen back. The dolphinback, as badly used a word as that was, didn't want to be connected to the rest of the world anymore, and the last best gift Balam could give him, from one pilot to another, would be to honor that wish.

The master rider stood up slowly and Nightwing understood the signal, letting out a piercing, purposeful cry into the growing dark. All skybaxes were to come in for dinner, to be with their families, as was the custom at the end of a working week. But even more truthfully, Balam wanted to see Kaak. It had been a while since they had sat down to a dinner, and he missed his son. Maybe they could fly to Sauropolis together in the coming days.

There was a very important message he wanted to be sure those in the capital heard.