While Chuck distributed bowls and Katie ladled soup, Patrick passed around his camera, showing off a sequence of his best shots.

“What are these two doing?” Gillian asked incredulously when she saw the first picture of the two triceratops.

“Exactly what you think they’re doing,” Patrick said.

“The filthy things!” Gillian wagged a finger reprovingly. “Naughty-naughty.”

“Dino porn. This stuff would be so marketable,” Jamal mourned.

“But who would buy it?” Chuck asked. “I don’t see much of a market.”

“Are you kidding? It’s sex, it’s funny, and it’s something you haven’t seen before. It creates its own market. Why, the calendars alone…”

Everybody laughed. Jamal flushed, then ducked his head and grinned ruefully. “Well, it would!”

They continued the discussion through dinner. “So you lost the shotgun?” Matthew asked when they told the story of being scattered by the post-coital triceratops.

“I was caught by surprise!” Lai-tsz said. “We all were. But, damn it, they told us in survival training that the noise of a shotgun blast would scare off anything. So when I shot the gun off in the air, I wasn’t expecting the thing to charge! It came barreling down on us, and we all just ran. If it had been a little faster, it would’ve gotten me.” She shook her head. “There was definitely something wrong with that animal.”

“Did you go back and look for the gun?”

“Yes, we did. All the ground was trampled into mud. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“I’d rather lose all four shotguns than a single Swiss Army knife,” Jamal observed. He turned to Leyster. “Still, that trike wasn’t supposed to charge like that. Our instructor told us she’d frightened off ceratopsians herself, dozens of times. Why didn’t it run?”

Leyster shrugged. “Back in grad school, Dr. Schmura used to say, ‘The organism is always right.’ Living things don’t always do what they’re supposed to. Some days sand fleas eat medusae and minnows attack sharks. When that happens, your job is to take good notes and hope that someday you’ll be able to make sense out of it.”

Hours passed as they quietly talked. It had been so long since they’d all been friends. Nobody wanted it to end.

“Hey, look what I found,” Chuck said. He darted into a shadowy corner, and wrestled the skull of a juvenile triceratops into the center of the room. “I found it bleaching in the sun. You wouldn’t believe how much work it was to drag it up here.”

“Why on earth would you bother?” Tamara asked.

Chuck shrugged. “I always wanted one of these things. Now I have it.” He lifted it up and held it before him, waggling it from side to side, as if it were in heat and courting a mate.

“What’s that sound it made, again?”

“Gronk!”

“More like grawwnk! With a little glissando on the awwnk.”

Chuck, who had early on assumed for himself the role of group clown, began to sing, “…darling, ‘cause when you’re near me…”

Katie picked up the tune, singing, “I’m in the… mooood… for love!”

Joke made, Chuck stopped. But Katie went on singing and, one by one, the others joined all in, singing the old romantic standard. Then, when that was done, they sang “Stormy Weather,” and “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.”

Then Chuck, squatting behind the triceratops skull, began beating its frill with the flats of his hands, as if he were playing bongos. In a high, clear falsetto, he began to sing

until the music filled the long house like a living spirit. Outside, the night was dark and filled with the furtive scurrying of small mammals. Within, there was the warmth of friendship and good times. People traded off verses, making them up extempore, so that when Daljit sang

They all collapsed, laughing, on the floor. It took them a few minutes to catch their breaths afterwards.

Leyster was about to suggest another song when suddenly Katie threw her blouse in the air. Patrick cheered and clapped, and then, as if that had been a prearranged signal, everybody was shucking clothes, struggling free of trousers, frantically untying bootlaces.

Leyster opened his mouth to say something.

But Tamara, sitting beside him, touched his arm and said in a voice so soft that only he could hear, “Please. Don’t spoil it.”

For an instant, Leyster did not know how to respond. Then he began to unbutton his shirt. By the time he had it off, somebody had already undone his fly and was tugging down his trousers. He kissed Gillian long and hard, and she pressed his hand between her legs. She was already moist. He slid a finger deep inside her.

It was strange, strange, to be so intimate so suddenly with somebody he’d never romanced.

Then Patrick murmured something which might have been, “Excuse me,” and Gillian was guiding Patrick’s head down where Leyster’s hand had been. Tamara’s mouth closed over the head of his cock, and he gasped softly. Beside him, Katie thrust her breast into his mouth.

His mouth caressed her nipple. It tasted so sweet.

Then things got confused. Confused and wonderful.

At breakfast the next morning, Leyster watched the subtle dance of small, shy smiles and light, fleeting touches that passed through the group. It astonished him. He’d awakened feeling ashamed and remorseful about what he’d done. Even though he’d never been a particularly religious person, it felt wrong, a violation of the way things should be.

The others clearly didn’t feel that at all. Well, they were grad students. They were young. Their sexuality was still new to them, and malleable. They were open to new possibilities in a way that he, though almost of an age with them, could never be.

Still, it was important not to let his embarrassment show. They had finally made peace, and peace was precious. He must pretend to be as happy as they.

Sometimes deceit was the best policy.

So when Daljit squeezed his shoulder, Leyster gently leaned back against her for an instant. When Nils placed his hand on Katie’s, Leyster briefly put his hand atop both of theirs. He stayed silent, and smiled, and was particularly careful not to flinch away from anyone’s glance. He waited.

Until at last the psychologically right moment was come.

Mentally, he took a deep breath. Then he said, “I’ve been thinking about this whole leadership thing.”

Several people stiffened. Jamal said, “Well, see, I didn’t mean to…” His voice dwindled off.

“It’s not like that. This isn’t about who gets to lead. I just don’t see why we need a leader at all.” They were all watching him intently, unblinkingly. “When this was an expedition, sure, we needed somebody to divvy up chores and keep everyone on task. But things are different now. And, well, there are only eleven of us. Why shouldn’t we just get together—like we are right now—and decide things as they come up?”