Unsmilingly, he said his insurance company insisted on it.
Batshit, of course. But I chose not to argue.
The two were armed with small machine pistols, which wouldn't do diddly against a dinosaur, and.375 semiauto Magnum rifles. I thought of saying something, caught myself.
And so we trundled into the chamber, and Bruce Cohen punted us back in time.
It was, is, always a shock to see the chamber door shut on the University of St. Louis, and open again on rolling, wet plains, with the Kansas Sea in the background.
We hiked a klick or two away from the camp to a swamp, potted and staked a hypsilophodon for our bait, and went back to camp.
Beauregard had shot a small sauropod, and had butchered it out into steaks.
Kilbrew turned a bit green.
"Reggie, we're going to actually eat lizard?"
"We are," I said. "First you get one sundowner, no ice, then a nice, thick steak. Contrary to what they tell you, it doesn't taste like chicken, but dinosaur."
"I think I'll be happier with something we brought with us."
I shrugged. His business if he wanted to eat compo rations picked up from the military.
Dinner was, as always with Ming cooking, excellent. He'd done the steak with small baby greens and a real Roquefort.
I tried not to look at Kilbrew, eating some species of mystery meat loaf that came out of a pak.
"You really ought to try this," I said.
Kilbrew shook his head.
"My mother had no more than five dishes in her recipe book, all of them well done. And my father never seemed interested in food. So I grew up a bit of a retard in the gourmet department."
I refrained from saying "pity," helped myself to another slab of dinny.
When I'm in civilization, I watch my diet fairly closely. Great white… or any other color… hunters aren't supposed to have a prosperous paunch about them.
But not in the wild. If nothing else, the adrenaline keeps me from getting fat.
I noted Kilbrew's bodyguards didn't have any of the dietary prejudices of their boss.
Dessert was a wonderful cobbler, made from freeze-dried apples we'd brought with us.
Beauregard was pouring coffee, and, leaning across the fire, somehow managed to knock a metal plate off Hendrik's knee.
The last bite of cobbler spilled on the ground, and Hendrik glowered up at Beauregard.
"Bloody kaffir!" he snapped.
Black jerked back. He started to say something, but I was there first.
"That is language not used in any camp of mine, sir," I said. "I would appreciate your apology. At once."
Hendrik bristled, turned red, bulged a muscle.
I smiled, but there was no humor at all on my face. I shifted my weight forward, and got ready. Bodyguard my ass. I wondered how he'd handle a good solid fist to the voicebox.
"Hendrik!" Kilbrew said.
Hendrik's face stilled.
"I'm sorry," he said, in a voice that said very damned well he didn't mean it.
But Beauregard, being a professional and having heard worse, no doubt, nodded, and went for his tent.
I knew the damned Boers weren't content with having mucked up their share of Africa with absurd racism, but figured that, after almost a century of being driven back and back into their enclave, they were learning better.
How wrong I obviously was.
After a moment, both of the Africans got up, and went for their own tent.
I went to Beauregard's.
He was sitting on his cot, staring into the night.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Why? You din't say shit."
"It was on my watch, as I understand you Americans say," I told him.
Black sat for a minute, then shook his head.
"You think they learn, Reggie. But they don't. Goddamned Kluxers! We ought to do to all these sheet-head bigots what the liberation armies did thirty years ago in Africa."
"That's bloody enlightened," I said sarcastically.
"Ain't no enlightenment about it, boss," he said. "You can't convince a no-neck racist of nothin', not ever. Might as well put a.375 to the back of their necks and have done."
"Well… that's one approach," I said. "But do me a favor and don't start shooting people 'til their bloody check clears."
Beauregard smiled slowly.
"For you, Reggie, I'll do that. I'll do just that."
I went out, and saw Kilbrew sitting alone by the fire. He'd gotten a bottle of cognac from the supply chest, and had poured himself a small shot.
There was an empty glass beside him.
One job a hunter has is being willing to drink with the sahib, especially if there's nothing for the morrow except waiting for an already dead dinosaur to get stinkier.
We sat in silence for a moment.
"People sure go out of their way to find trouble," he said.
"They do," I agreed. "There ought to be a law against us."
He didn't smile.
"Words are only words, and don't have any real harm."
"I can think of a few people… blacks, Jews, Irish, Italians, Asians… who wouldn't agree with that."
"I never let anything like that bother me."
I thought of saying that was easy, since he was bone white, but didn't reply.
"Wouldn't it be a blessing," he said, "if somebody took a time machine to Africa, and jumped back a few thousand years to the first primitive black man?
"One squad of infantry, and there wouldn't be any Africans to worry about. Wouldn't ever have been. And maybe Africa would still be flush with all those wonderful animals nobody can hunt any more. Can't, in some cases, even find them to take pictures of."
"A lot of animals would like that," I said, trying to keep the shock from my voice. "No humans ever to see them as dinner on the hoof."
"You really believe that all life came from Africa?" Kilbrew asked.
"The theory seems to have every scientist I've met believing it."
"Bullshit," Kilbrew said mildly. "I made my money not listening to anything any scientist said as being absolute. And this belief that everything started up, where, in Ethiopia is obvious nonsense."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's only common sense!"
I started to argue, remembered what Beauregard had said a few minutes ago, and remembered there's many, many ways to package racism.
If he wanted to believe in spontaneous evolution, or a pure-white God, I suppose that was his business.
"Best we put our heads down," I said. "Your allie might just decide to wander up a little early, and your monster gun probably isn't any easier when you touch off a cap when you're hungover."
Maybe I didn't watch my voice, because Kilbrew gave me a cold look. I smiled, and went for my tent.
The allosaur didn't materialize, so we spent the next day getting some more meat for the camp.
I was just as happy. The third day would hopefully be the charm, especially as the transition chamber would make its first check on us then.
Kilbrew was chill, formal to me. I suppose, even as mildly as I thought I'd spoken, I must've been the first person to disagree with him since he made his first billion. His pet thugs weren't any more friendly.
As much for a little punishment as anything else, I decided we'd build a blind near our nicely-reeking hypsilophodon that night, and hope for results the next morning. Some smaller sauropods had already been sniffing around the carcass, and I hoped for some luck.
It rained most of the night, and then dawn was chill, gray and foggy.
It's always a surprise to be reminded how softly a carnivore moves. One minute, there was nothing in the small clearing but a very dead dinosaur, then, almost as tall as the cycads around him, the dark gray bulk of our theropod was there.
It couldn't scent us… the rotting hypsilophodon would mask the stink of a regiment of Napoleonic infantry on the march.
I touched Kilbrew. He jerked… I think he was dozing… and saw the allosaur.