The Beast of Cretacea Read Online Free PDF

do as he says.”
    When the brute smirks and turns to leave, Pip appeals to the other nippers for help. Ishmael should have no allegiance to this well-fed, fancy-talking boy who acts so superior, and yet he feels a bond because they’re both new arrivals. Besides, he knows what happens when bigger guys think they can push you around. Once these sailors bully one nipper, what’s to stop them from trying to terrorize all of them?
    He figures it’s not in Billy’s nature to fight, and Pip looks too small and soft to be much help. That leaves Queequeg. When Ishmael shoots him a quizzical look, the tall, broad-shouldered boy nods.
    Ishmael steps in front of Bunta. “Give it back.”
    The brute stops and slowly swivels his head, pretending to look around. “Someone say somethin’?”
    Ishmael cracks his knuckles. “I did. Give it back.”
    Bunta looks down and curls his lip, baring a row of shiny steel teeth. “You? How old are you, pinkie?”
    “My name is Ishmael, and I’m seventeen.”
    “You ain’t big enough to be seventeen.”
    “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but nutrients are scarce back on Earth.”
    “Then you should feel lucky you’re not there and mind your own business here.” Bunta winks at Daggoo as though he thinks he’s said something clever.
    “Maybe
you’re
the one who should mind his own business,” Ishmael shoots back, “and not steal from new arrivals.”
    The room goes silent. Bunta’s face darkens. “Watch yourself, pinkie.”
    “I said, my name is Ishmael. Now give the T-pill back.”
    The brute snorts. “Make me.” As he pushes past, Ishmael reaches up and taps him on the back. Bunta instantly wheels around, a huge fist swinging for Ishmael’s head. Ishmael ducks and delivers a sharp jab to the brute’s ribs. But it feels like he’s just punched a firm slab of clay. Bunta sneers and draws his fist back. But before he can swing, Queequeg steps beside Ishmael.
    “This is between me and him,” Bunta warns. “You stay outta it.”
    Queequeg doesn’t budge.
    Bunta considers for a moment, then hands the T-pill to Daggoo. “All right, I’ll take you both with one hand.”
    “No.” From across the room comes the voice of the sailor with the white topknot.
    Bunta looks askance. “Aw, come on, Fedallah.”
    His bearing impassive, Fedallah points at Daggoo. “Return what he took.”
    The yellow-haired sailor tosses the sleep aid to Pip.
    Bunta narrows his eyes at Ishmael. “You’re dead meat, pinkie.”
    Ishmael raises his chin. “For the last time, my name is Ishmael. See if you can manage to remember it.”
    Bunta’s beady eyes bug out at the insult. For an instant it looks like he’s going to do grievous damage, but then he glances at Fedallah and stomps away. Daggoo lingers. “You don’t know what a pinkie is, do you?”
    Ishmael raises his little finger.
    Daggoo shakes his head. “You’re in for a treat one of these days.” Then the sailor’s manner grows menacing. “But mark my word,
Ishmael:
the next time you get in Bunta’s way, no one, not even Fedallah, will be able to stop him.”

“Anyone kn-know which p-planet we’re on?” Billy asks in the passageway while he and the other nippers follow Charity to dinner.
    “Cretacea,” replies Charity.
    Ishmael stops. “You sure?”
    Charity gives him a funny look. “Of course I’m sure. Why?”
    Ishmael feels goose bumps as he recalls his last night on Earth. Is it really possible that Old Ben knew where he was going? Or was it just a lucky guess?
    “Hey, friend, you just gonna stand there?” Queequeg asks. “Some of us are hungry.”
    Ishmael makes his feet move. As they near the mess, the passageway fills with unfamiliar smells, some oily and mechanical, others tart or smoky.
    “Listen up,” Charity says before they go in. “I assume most of you have never eaten solid food before. If you don’t want to spend the better part of tonight puking your guts out, don’t eat more than half a plate. Don’t eat