Mike was starving and exhausted.

He’d fought with Jason until the sun set. He now knew how to run like a velociraptor, how to jump like a velociraptor, and how to bite like a velociraptor. His balance had improved immensely.

He was also bleeding from a dozen minor cuts and one long slash across his chest.

Mike had landed one solid kick on Jason’s side, and that’s all it had taken for the older dinosaur to decree him a competent fighter.

Now, finally, it was time for food. After food it would be time for sleep. Mike looked forward to both.

He went to the dining room, half expecting another plate of raw meat. The professor had given in and allowed him a few candles to heat his lunch with, but no one had been happy about it. Not even Mike, who had ended up with a slightly warmed but still very raw steak.

Bartholomew was waiting at the entrance of the dining room, smirking. Mike was debating asking what was funny when the doors opened, and smoke poured out.

“What’s burning?” Mike asked.

“Your dinner,” Bartholomew answered. “We put it in a highly charged electrical field and waited until it was… cooked.”

Mike hesitated, then stepped into the room. There were three plates on the table; one had a raw fish filet, one had an arrangement of vegetable slices, and the last had the charred remains of what had once been… something alive. Mike sat down at his place, sniffing the blackened lump on his plate.

The cook gave a polite cough, stepping out of a shadow. “I heated it for you,” she said. “I hope it is no longer raw.”

Mike was sure this had to be some kind of joke. Still, just in case… “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The professor came in, followed by Bartholomew. They both stared at Mike’s dinner for a few seconds before continuing on to their seats.

“May this meal bring you joy,” the professor said, and cut into his fish.

Bartholomew echoed the words before digging into his salad. Mike repeated the phrase, wondering if that was some kind of prayer. They’d said it at lunch, too.

But he had more important things to think about. Like, was the food on his plate actually edible.

He picked up his fork and knife, paused, and cut into the meat. It flaked like fish, which was encouraging. Now he knew what it was. He put it in his mouth and chewed.

It was burned to hell and back, but other than that it was fine. Somehow it wasn’t all that dry. And it tasted like it had been seasoned with lemon.

Shrugging to himself, Mike happily finished the burnt fish.

“You really ate that?” Bartholomew asked, disgusted.

“Obviously he did,” the professor said, frowning at the small quadruped. “I’m more fascinated by his enjoyment of it.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Mike said. “Just a little overdone, but nothing lethal.” Not like whatever parasites potentially lived in the raw fish here.

The professor hesitated, then shook his head. “Well, I hope the Marquis doesn’t mind you setting food on fire.”

----------------------------------------

Mike was, once again, in a cage. This time he’d been politely asked to walk in.

The cage was in the professor’s showroom, and had a huge sheet over it. Mike bounced in place, waiting for something to happen. They’d promised the Marquis would be here soon, but he was taking his sweet time.

Finally Mike heard the door open, and a butler announced two names.

“Marquis Sherrington and Miss Coleberry.”

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Two sets of footsteps entered, and Mike heard the distinct click of velociraptor claws hitting a wood floor. He paced back and forth, trying to find a hole in the sheet so he could see them.

“Welcome, Marquis,” the professor said. “And Miss Coleberry; we’ve never met, but I know that name. I’m Professor Tiberius Montgomery, how do you do.”

“Fine, thank you,” a smooth feminine voice replied. “I apologize for the intrusion, but my father is looking into getting a clone and I thought I’d see what the fuss is all about.”

“Well, if you have any questions, feel free to ask,” the professor told her. “Meanwhile, Marquis, allow me to introduce you to your clone. Bartholomew!”

The sheet over Mike’s cage was pulled away with a dramatic flare. He blinked in the light, then stared at what could have been his reflection.

His reflection… if he’d been wearing a top hat, fancy tie, monocle and a ruby ring the size of his eyeball.

The Marquis strutted closer, looking Mike over. “My feathers are shinier.”

“That’s a mere cosmetic difference,” the professor said. “You obviously spend much time and money getting your feathers to shine so brilliantly. This clone hasn’t had the time to shine his feathers up yet.”

A velociraptor who had to be Miss Coleberry glanced Mike over before looking thoughtfully into his eyes. He couldn’t help but look back. Where he was grey and black, she was cream and brown. The earth tones made her seem softer, but her sapphire eyes were as sharp as knives. Her only adornment was a blue shawl clasped around her neck with a silver brooch.

Which confirmed to Mike that dinosaurs didn’t really wear clothes; all they did was accessorize.

“I suppose it looks enough like me,” the Marquis said, bringing Mike’s attention back to him. “Is there a way to prove its luck?”

“Ah, about that,” the professor said, taking a step back. “While we grew the clone your mother contacted us and requested we change it to be a defense clone.”

“What!?” the Marquis screeched. “How dare you! Why did you think that was acceptable? I wanted a luck clone! Luck!”

The professor took another few steps back. “Yes, but luck clones are falling out of fashion. Allow me to show you the things a defense clone can do, and compare them to what a luck clone would be doing.”

The Marquis followed the professor to the other side of the room, leaving Bartholomew and Miss Coleberry next to Mike’s cage.

“Do you have a name?” Miss Coleberry asked, still watching Mike.

“They don’t come with names,” Bartholomew said. “But you can give it one if you like.”

“Michael,” Mike said. “My name is Michael.”

Bartholomew grinned. “Sometimes the noises it makes almost sound like words.”

Miss Coleberry leaned down to look him in the eye. “I could snap my jaws around your neck, and your severed head would bounce a few times before rolling under that bookcase.”

“Carnivores threatening herbivores like that is illegal,” he informed her.

“No, it’s only illegal if I say I’m going to skin you and eat your flesh for dinner,” Miss Coleberry said. “Death threats in and of themselves are perfectly legal.”

“That sounded like an ‘I’m going to eat you’ threat,” Bartholomew said. He looked at Mike. “Did you hear her threatening me?”

“Sorry, I can’t understand words,” Mike told him. “If only I were a person with feelings, and not just a clone, I might understand the implications of someone saying you look delicious.”

Bartholomew rolled his eyes, walking hurriedly to where the professor was showing the Marquis a series of lists.

Miss Coleberry smiled at Mike. “If they ever let you out of your cage, Michael, we should chase that anchi through the streets. Seeing him run would be incredibly amusing.”

“It would be, but I’m slightly worried about what would happen if we caught him,” Mike said, smiling apologetically.

“We wouldn’t catch him,” she said. “Catching someone means they only run once. Chase someone for three blocks and vanish, and you can torment them for years.”

Mike decided she was incredibly dangerous, and that he needed to stay on her good side. “Is that a hobby of yours?”

“Well, it does make for good exercise.”

“True, true. I’ll probably need lots of exercise. Is there anything else you recommend for getting blood pumping?”

Her smile turned deadly, showing far too many teeth. “Ask me again in a month.”

An entire Mardi Gras parade of red flags sprang to life in Mike’s mind. “I will, absolutely.” He hoped to never see her again.

Before Miss Coleberry could say anything even more alarming, the professor walked over and unlocked the cage.

“Defense clones are the best type of clones,” he said. “You won’t regret this, Marquis.”

The Marquis followed slowly. “I’m still not completely convinced. I’ll have to put it in a fight right away and see how it does.”

“Either way you should keep him,” Miss Coleberry said. She smiled at Mike. “I like this one.”

“Hmm. To please Miss Coleberry, I shall not order the clone incinerated,” the Marquis declared.

“Inc-” Mike cut himself off with a cough. He tried to act calm about it.

Bartholomew was grinning again, and Mike wanted to very literally bite his head off.