For the second test, Lou took us to a room that simulated a prehistoric forest. “This is a restoration of an Early Permian North American forest,” he said. “Your task is to cross it. The problem is, there are two large predators in the way. If either of you sets foot within two meters of either, you both fail the test.” I inspected the room. “I know we’re before the dinosaurs were around. What was there? Big lizards?”

“The dominant predator was Dimetrodon,” Carlos said. “You know, big critter with a tall fin. It looks kind of like a lizard, but it’s really a synapsid—one of the ancestors of the mammals—probably the first terrestrial animal to specialize in eating other large vertebrates. The only other large predators would be giant amphibians–picture salamanders with the size, shape and lifestyle of crocodiles.” He pointed to a pool. “We stay clear of that at all costs.” I spotted several lizard-like creatures, none of them large enough to threaten us. Then I spotted the sail. “Look,” I said. “That’s a Dimetrodon, isn’t it?”

Carlos looked at it critically.

“No, it’s not,” he said. “The ribs are the wrong shape. They’re curved, see? A Dimetrodon’s are straight. That would be an Edaphosaurus, an herbivorous synapsid. Perfectly harmless. But you see that thing there? Looks like a really tall fern? That is a Dimetrodon. And that dark shape in the water would be an amphibian. So, we’re good.” We strolled confidently through the artificial forest. Then Carlos froze. “You know that sail that looks like a fern?” he said. “Looking at it from this angle, I think it really is a fern.”

“Let’s stop and think things over,” I said. “Are there any more possible sails?” We looked around. There seemed to be none. “In that case, we should be looking for another amphibian.” We looked carefully. I was the one who finally found it. It was artfully concealed under a log. If we had stayed our course, we would practically have stepped on it. “Well,” Carlos said ruefully, “that shows how much help the experts are.”

For the next test, Lou led us to a firing range. There were a dozen targets shaped like various prehistoric animals. They were already so riddled with bullet holes that I could see foliage behind them. Lou unlocked a large shed. This took some time, since there were six separate locks on the door. The wooden door swung open to reveal a second, metal door with a panel full of buttons beside it. Lou punched eight buttons and inserted a key to open the second door. “This is the Association’s armory,” Lou said with obvious pride. “Take whatever weapons suit your fancy, but remember to give them back after the test. Hold on a moment while I open the safe with the really heavy stuff.”

I could understand why there were so many locks on the shed. The Armory was a true anarchist’s toy shop. The walls were lined with dozens of weapons, mostly rifles and shotguns. I took a look at the boxes of ammunition. Many of them were military armor-piercing rounds. I whistled in amazement, wondering what the “really heavy stuff” was. Carlos was more critical. “These are all 5.6 and 4.7 millimeter weapons. Minimal stopping power; I wouldn’t trust them for protection against anything larger than a dog,” he said. He hefted a semi-automatic .38 rifle. “But these Tactical rifles are very nice.”

Just then, Lou opened the safe. We stared in awe at what was inside. The safe held three identical rifles, each one four-and-a-half feet long. I quickly estimated that they were about .90 caliber. The weapons had a Spartan design, with the long barrel protruding from a boxy plastic frame. The guns had a forward-sweeping grip, which I had previously seen only on a vintage Boys anti-tank rifle. By all appearances, these weapons could have been built with the same purpose in mind. Every possible measure had been taken to reduce recoil. There was a large muzzle brake, numerous tiny holes in the barrel, a padded stock and a folding unipod. On top of these features, the barrel was designed to slide backward in the frame during firing. Two springs hooked the breach to the frame, so that the sliding barrel would stop sooner. I would later learn that there was a third spring inside the stock.

“The test will be in two parts,” Lou said. “First, you will be tested for proficiency with standard firearms, then you will be tested for your ability to handle one of these: the A-Cube Eliminator. It is a bolt-action rifle of 22 mm caliber, with a capacity of five rounds in a magazine in the stock plus one in the chamber. Each bullet weighs 125 grams. The cases are based upon the .50 Browning machine gun round. As you can see, extreme measures have been taken to mitigate recoil; but, it still knocks inexperienced users off their feet. In theory, it can be fired from the shoulder, but I definitely would not recommend it. The last applicant to try it was knocked back over a meter.”

When we came out, Dianna was waiting. “I always enjoy this part,” she said enigmatically. I was a little perturbed to find that Carlos, despite his military background, was not a very good shot. He averaged only one hit for every three-round burst from an assault rifle. This was in spite of an excellent gun sight and a sophisticated stock that kept the user from feeling any recoil until the end of a burst. He faired much better with a shotgun. In contrast, I was on the top of my form. I put shot after shot into the flat wooden targets, but in the end, I didn’t score many more hits than Carlos. On consideration, I decided that Carlos might be even more effective than me in dealing with emergencies. Where I would take time to aim at the most sensitive parts of an animal, Carlos would immediately fire an instinctive burst. In a crisis, he could be expected to shoot before I did.

“Excellent, both of you,” Lou said. “Now for the Eliminator.” Carlos went first. He handled the weapon as if it were a baby or a live bomb. He crouched, and set the unipod on a bench rest that had been provided for us. At his first shot, he hit a target painted to look like a mammoth in the ear. He cursed in pain at the recoil. He handled the second shot better, hitting the mammoth in the forehead. The third shot missed. Carlos handed the gun to me, shaking his head. “This gun ought to have wheels on it,” he said. “I think you can handle it, but don’t try anything fancy.”

I hefted the gun, examining it carefully. It was very light for its size at less then ten kilos. On impulse, I folded up the unipod. I glanced at Di through the corner of my eye. She was covering her mouth, as if expecting something horrible to happen. I felt like Arthur, gripping the hilt of Excalibur. Finally, I braced myself and pulled the trigger.

I don’t think words can describe what it feels like to fire an Eliminator. My first shot left me short of breath and a little dizzy. Spots flashed before my eyes. But I was still standing, right where I had been before, and when my vision cleared, I could see daylight between the mammoth’s eyes. Dianna whooped, then giggled self-consciously. I massaged my shoulder, and then fired again. The second shot seemed easier. Feeling new assurance, I aimed my last shot at the mammoth’s chest. The sheet metal target began to creak. Then, with an incredible crash, it fell to the ground. Now everyone cheered. “The final test should be strictly a formality,” Lou said. “Let’s go meet Lacerto Leo and Old Rip.”

“Lacerto Leo” turned out to be a reptile handler named Leonard Simmons. He led us to a large enclosure that held a twenty-one-foot-long crocodile. “Gentlemen, meet Old Rip, the salt water crocodile,” the trainer said enthusiastically. “He’s a professional movie star, and he attacks wildlife-management trainees as a side job. He will administer your test on rescue. You should know that he holds two Guinness World Records: one for being the largest reptile in captivity, and one for wearing the world’s largest set of dentures. He knocked out all his real teeth fighting with other crocodiles, and eventually they stopped growing back. His artificial teeth are made of rubber, so he probably won’t be able to bite any limbs off. However, he can still injure you, and if he manages to get you in his pool, he has a very good chance of drowning you.”

The trainer brought out a life-sized dummy. The dummy was quite crude; its face consisted of two blue eyes and a red “O” for a mouth. Simmons held up the dummy. “This is Mr. Bill,” he said. He opened the gate of the enclosure. The crocodile roused and made a few steps toward the gate. “Wave hello, Mr. Bill. Mr. Bill, I’m afraid I have to throw you to Old Rip, who will attack you savagely. But don’t worry. These men will save you. All they have to do is fight off Rip with their bare hands.” He heaved the dummy into the enclosure. The crocodile attacked as soon as it hit the ground.

“They’ve got to be kidding,” Carlos and I said to each other.
“You’d better get in there,” said the trainer. “Oh, no! Looks like Mr. Bill will never be a father.”

“We’re going to have to get the crocodile to let go of the dummy first,” I said to Carlos. “I have a plan. I’ve seen it work on alligators…” Pinching one nostril shut, I made a moaning sound, “MMMnnn, MMMnnn.” It’s a fair approximation of an alligator’s call. The big croc looked at me inquisitively, but held onto the dummy. I repeated the sound. Rip let go of Mr. Bill and snarled at me. Carlos rushed in and grabbed the dummy. But, as he tried to run back out, Rip caught him with a swing of the tail. Carlos threw the dummy as far as he could. I ran in to grab it, but Rip lunged for the dummy at the same time. Rip caught hold of a foot, while I wrapped my arms around the torso. I kicked Rip in the snout, while Carlos got the croc in a chokehold. “No unnecessary roughness!” Leo scolded.

After a few moments, Rip let go of Mr. Bill. The croc wasn’t done yet, though. Carlos relaxed a little when the dummy came free, and Rip positively erupted from his grasp and cut me off from the gate. I leaped over him, with the dummy over one shoulder. Just as I reached the gate, Rip caught me by the foot. I flung Mr. Bill over the finish line, just before Rip dragged me away. Fortunately, Rip was very gentle when he closed his jaws on my head. Leo tapped his pencil thoughtfully against his clipboard. “Not bad,” he said. “Apart from getting killed, I’ll give you a passing grade for effort.”

As I struggled to my feet, I saw Di outside the fence. I tried to straighten up and look strong and confident. “That was incredible!” she said. “You’re the first set of applicants to get the dummy out. Far as I can see, the jobs are yours for the taking. C’mon! I’ll take you to see Dr. Werner.”