Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  Cretaceous Sea

  Will Hubbell

  CRETACEOUS SEA

  Will Hubbell

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book." This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CRETACEOUS SEA

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / November 2002

  Copyright © 2002 by Will Hubbell.

  Cover art by Les Edwards.

  Cover design by Judith Murello.

  Text design by Julie Rogers.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. Visit our website at www.penguinputnam.com

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  ISBN: 0-441-00989-1

  ACE® Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the "A" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 987654321

  Dedicated to Richard Clements Hubbell

  1949-1971 Vivere in cordibus quae ament est non mori.

  1

  CON'S COMSET SILENTLY VIBRATED. SHE SURREPTItiously removed it from her pocket and glanced at its screen when her calculus teacher turned his back. The message from Mother was short and cryptic—"Your father called. Has sur-prise. Limo to meet you after school." Con wondered what the surprise could be. She doubted Mother knew. Most likely, it was another of her father's sporadic and extravagant ges-tures, like the horse she received a month after he forgot her sixteenth birthday. The limo was a dead giveaway.

  Limousines were common at Con's school, so no one be-trayed any interest when she departed in a big hydrogen-electric Mercedes. It took her to an office building in a fashionable district of the city. When the driver opened the car door, Con's father was waiting outside. Con groaned in-wardly when she saw that he had his new fiancee with him. Con recognized her from the tabloids, but she was even more striking in person. Curvaceous, with intense green eyes and dramatic black hair, she seemed too perfect to be real. Con suspected little of her was.

  "Hi, Daddy," she said.

  "Hi, honey. I'd like you to meet Sara."

  "Hi," said Con. "I've seen you on the news."

  "Don't believe everything they say," said Sara, smiling and extending her hand. "I've been looking forward to meet-ing you. John's told me so much about you."

  Con shook Sara's hand. "Don't believe everything Daddy says about me."

  "He says only the nicest things."

  "That's what I mean."

  "We're expected," said John Greighton impatiently, ush-ering his daughter and his fiancee inside. An elevator took them to an expensively decorated office on one of the upper floors. As soon as they entered, a receptionist rose to greet them. "Mr. Greighton," she said, "welcome to Montana Isle. Ms. Smythe is expecting you."

  Con watched the aforementioned Ms. Smythe advance to-ward them. She was elegantly dressed, and her smiling face had been redone in the currently fashionable angular look. Con recognized the designer. The surgery was almost cer-tainly a knockoff, but it was well-done. None of the exag-gerated planes of Ms. Smythe's face seemed overly unnatural.

  "Mr. Greighton, I'm so pleased you've come. I'm Ann Smythe. I can answer your questions about our unique of-fering."

  John Greighton shook her offered hand. "This is my fi-ancee, Sara Boyton, and my daughter, Constance."

  Con spoke up and corrected him, "It's 'Con.' "

  "Will Constance accompany you and Sara, Mr. Greigh-ton?" asked Ann.

  " If we go ... yes. You weren't very clear about the nature of your resort. What you told me was intriguing, but vague ... damned vague."

  "We've been secretive," admitted Ann, "I think soon you'll understand why. This is something extraordinary, and we're not catering to the general public. Our clientele appre-ciates privacy." Ann, a consummate salesperson, paused for effect before proceeding. "If you're expecting a sales pitch, don't worry. This isn't just a resort. Words can't possibly describe Montana Isle. It's almost beyond belief, nothing is remotely like it. Fortunately, we have this ..."

  A pair of doors glided open to reveal two seats floating in a short hallway that led to a large, empty room. The chamber beyond was spherical, and the hallway formed an opening halfway up its sides. The room's shimmering silver walls revealed it was a holotheater. Over thirty feet in diameter, it was the largest Con had ever seen. Ann appeared pleased with the effect such a huge expenditure made on her pro-spective customers; even John Greighton seemed impressed.

  "Only a holovision could possibly convey what we're of-fering. You'll be the first people outside our organization to see it." Ann gestured toward the two waiting seats. Mr. Greighton, why don't you and Sara get comfortable while I get another seat for your daughter." Con watched Ann and the receptionist struggle to lug a heavy seat to the hallway from a nearby supply closet. Once it was in place, Ann went to a console outside the hall and activated some controls. The seat levitated upward to the proper height. Con walked over to the floating seat and sat down. Once Ann saw that everyone was buckled in, she re-turned to the console, pressed a button, and the outer doors of the holotheater closed.

  Con's seat bobbed slightly as it levitated to the center of the holotheater. Once she was in position, the chamber's sil-ver walls darkened until she could barely see her father and his fiancee floating close by. The holovision began subtly. First, the darkness above was pricked by stars. The soft sounds of water became perceptible. Con looked down and saw the starlight reflected on the gentle waves of a sea. For a short while, all she could see was water and the night sky.

  The waves continued to move in a natural manner, but the sky changed at a pace accelerated for dramatic effect. It light-ened, and soon dawn painted the heavens with increasingly bold colors, which the waves reflected back. On the horizon, snowcapped mountains glowed orange pink in the day's first light. The sun rose higher, and its rays touched the sea, seem-ing to set it on fire. It rose higher still, and the water, which had blazed rosy gold just moments before, became clear. Con peered into its crystal depths. A school of fish swam beneath, the sunrise sparkling pink and gold on their silver scales. A huge, dark green creature swam into the school, flapping its front flippers like wings. The animal's long and snakelike neck thrust its head among the fleeing fish, grabbing one. Next, the creature swam upward until its head and neck burst through the waves. It seemed so close that Con could stare into its golden eyes. A large fish flapped crosswise in its jaws. As Con stared in wonder at the plesiosaur, she heard Sara squeal like she was at an amusement park. The creature, being only an illusion, ignored them both. It flipped the fish into the air and caught it to swallow headfirst. Then, arching its neck downward, the animal submerged and swam off into the depths.

  The view began to change again. Soon Con felt that she was flying rapidly over the surface of the sea. Only the lack of wind in her face made the illusion incomplete. The sense of motion was accompanied by music, then words. "Come to the springtime of the world... a time when the Earth was new ... unspoiled

 
; ... and filled with wonders. A startling scientific breakthrough allows Temporal Transport to offer the ultimate travel experience." The music began to swell as an island became visible in the distance, the early-morning sun glowing on its rocky sides. "... Montana Isle, set in the pristine beauty of America's ancient Montana Sea. The most exclusive destination in history ... enjoy absolute privacy amidst the untouched splendor of nature." Con's seat seemed to fly over the island, then circle back. The island was small and mostly rocky. In its center, a mesa of dark rock rose from a grove of trees. For an instant, Con thought she spotted some structures clustered at the base of the spire, but her perspective changed before she could be sure. Her seat dipped toward low rocky cliffs above sandy beaches. Now the gently rolling waves appeared inches beneath her feet. Instinctively, she lifted her legs. A haze, tinted gold by the morning light, gave the view a dreamlike quality. "Montana Isle ... as close as your back door and millions of years from everything." The music swelled to a crescendo as Con's seat seemed to soar higher and higher above the island until it was a tiny fleck of gold in a sapphire blue sea. The mainland was now visible, covered with greenery and cut by rivers flowing from the nearby mountains. The unpolluted air was so clear she could see for miles. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty. The vision faded, and they were once again looking at the silver walls of the holotheater. Con's father grinned like a kid discovering an exotic new toy. Sara glanced at him, then formed her expression into a demure imitation of his. Con's reaction was more complicated. She was enchanted, even dazzled, yet dubious that the holovision was genuine. While part of her hoped it was, she also found that prospect unset-tling.

  As the seats floated back to their starting places, the doors parted to reveal Ann Smythe waiting for them. Next to her was a small table with champagne in a silver ice bucket and four glasses. "You're the first to see it," she said, popping the cork. "I thought we'd celebrate. Dom Perignon, vintage 2047." By the time they were out of their seats, Ann had filled three glasses. She hesitated and looked to John Greighton before filling the fourth. "I know your daughter's not quite eighteen, but perhaps you'd..."

  "I don't drink," said Con before her father could answer.

  Ann gave John and Sara their glasses. They were made from hand-cut crystal. "A toast!" she said. 'To the ultimate travel experience ... time travel!"

  2

  ANN SMYTHE WENT TO HER OFFICE AND SHUT THE DOOR

  before entering Peter Green's code in her computer. When the link was established, she submitted to a retinal scan and entered her password before Green's face appeared on the viewscreen. His features had been redone by a well-known designer, but his handsome face had a harsh cast. Ann was convinced that his somewhat sinister appearance was inten-tional. The cold, pale eyes, however, were beyond artifice. They bore into her. "Well?" Green said.

  "I sold him," said Ann. Tell him the good news first, she thought.

  "He didn't balk at the price?"

  "He didn't blink. Convincing him the offer was genuine was the hard part, even with the holovision. Once he believed he would actually go back in time, the privacy won him over. He's been hounded ever since he got engaged again. I told him that only he and Sara would ever know if they packed their swimsuits." Green smirked. "You're good."

  "The best," agreed Ann. "Three million Euros in one af-ternoon."

  " Three million?"

  "He's taking his daughter, too."

  "I didn't know he had a daughter," said Green.

  "I thoroughly research my prospects. That's why I'm worth my commission," replied Ann. "She's from his first marriage. Doesn't live with him. When he brought her to the showing, I knew she was the key to the sale. They're not close, and that's why he wants her on this vacation."

  "What for?" asked Green. "Having a kid hanging around would be the last thing I'd want."

  "I believe he wants to resurrect his family," said Ann.

  "Only with a younger wife," said Green cynically.

  "Yes," agreed Ann, "that's his pattern." She saw her op-portunity to break the bad news and took it. "But you're right about him. He doesn't really want the kid hanging around. That's why I told him our staff naturalist would keep her busy."

  "You told him what?" said Green angrily. "I don't want anyone else in on this! Too many know already. Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "I'm a salesperson, the best. I trust my instincts, and I felt it was necessary to close the sale. If you disagree with my judgment, I'll call Greighton up and tell him I was mistaken about the naturalist. But I guarantee he'll cancel."

  "I don't want a scientist snooping around. You know that!"

  "He'll be a naturalist, for heaven's sake. I said he'd be young, too. How much trouble could he cause?"

  "You didn't listen to me," said Green coldly.

  "Look, I think Greighton's more to you than a customer. If you need a big investor, he's as rich as they come. I de-livered him. I'd think you'd be grateful."

  "You think too much," replied Green. He glared from the screen while he thought. "Okay," he said finally,

  " you find the naturalist. Research him like you would a prospect. Someone to keep the girl out of Greighton's hair and some-one who'll keep his nose out of my business. I'm holding you responsible. Don't screw up!" The screen went blank as Green broke the connection.

  Ann Smythe found her hands were shaking as she sat at her computer to begin her research. As a freelance marketer, she was used to demanding clients, even abusive ones. It came with the territory. Yet, Green unnerved her. She relied on her instincts, and she trusted them. They told her to be cautious; there was something going on.

  THREE DAYS LATER, Ann Smythe was picking her way through the cluttered basement of Horner Hall on the campus of the University of Montana. She was annoyed with Rick Clements already, and they hadn't even met. They were supposed to have met an hour ago, but he hadn't shown up. She had been forced to track him down. A series of inquiries had led her first to the paleontology department, then to the preparation lab in the basement. She was not pleased to be there. Disorder irritated her, and the ubiquitous rock dust had soiled her expensive suit. There, amid cartons of specimens and scattered tools, she located a muscular, sandy-haired young man staring intently through a stereo macroscope. Despite his youth, he had a weathered look, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun. He was using a needlelike tool to deli-cately remove the rocky matrix from a fossil, grain by grain.

  "Rick Clements?"

  "Yeah?" said Rick, not removing his eyes from the ma-croscope.

  "I'm Ann Smythe, we had an appointment."

  Rick suddenly started back from the macroscope, glanced down at his watch, then looked up at Ann.

  "I'm sorry. I lost track of the time." He rose and wiped his dusty hand on his pants before extending it to Ann. He had a disarming, guileless smile that made her decide to forgive him. "It's a Multituberculate from the Upper Cre-taceous," he said by way of explanation.

  "What?"

  "The fossil, it's ..."

  "Never mind," said Ann. "I've come a long way to talk, but not here."

  "Sure. Is the commons okay? Look, I'm really sorry about..."

  "It must be someplace where we won't be overheard."

  "There's my room, but it's a mess."

  "Your room sounds fine."

  Rick's dorm room resembled a more compressed ver-sion of the paleontology department's basement. Rick cleared some books and rocks off a chair, then offered Ann the seat. She decided to stand.

  "Professor Harrington said you had some kind of job offer," said Rick, "but he didn't say much more than that."

  "I didn't tell him more than that," said Ann. "The peo-ple I represent are starting a new venture and they're not ready to make it public yet. It's an opportunity for you to get in on the ground floor."

  "New venture ... ground floor ... are you sure you're talking to the right person? I study fossils. This doesn't sound like my line of work. Besides, I've alrea
dy lined up some fieldwork this summer." Ann ignored his question. "You should be a senior this semester," she said, "except you haven't fulfilled the core requirements. Just biology, geology, comparative anat-omy, and paleontology courses, some of them on the graduate level. You won't get a degree that way."

  Rick sighed. "I've heard this before. Did my brother put you up to this?"

  "No, I brought it up to make a point. Single-minded people like you generally have a hard time in this world. If you ever want academic work, you'll have to study literature and history also."

  "Now I know my brother set you up."

  "No, quite the contrary, I'm here to offer you a way out. To do what you love without the compromises." She pulled a small viewer from her pocket and inserted a disk. "This is raw input, straight from the datacam. Take a look."

  Rick peered at the screen and saw an aerial view of an open landscape dotted with clumps of trees. The ground was covered with low vegetation upon which a herd of large animals grazed. The view zoomed in closer on the herd, and soon Rick recognized them. "They're ceratop-sids. Triceratops . .. Torosaurus

  ... I don't know that one ..." He watched for a while with fascination. "This is very realistic, who programmed this?"

  "I said it was raw input. It's not computer-generated. It's realistic because it's real."

  "You mean a theme park?"

  "No. Real. Actual living animals."

  "Genetically engineered?"

  "No," replied Ann, "these are wild animals in their nat-ural habitat."

  "Cut the bull," said Rick good-naturedly. "That's not possible. You're talking time travel."

  "Yes."

  Rick's only response was a derisive snort.

  "Time travel's not only possible," responded Ann, "but you can experience it yourself. That's what I'm here to talk about."

  "This has got be a hoax."

  "My client requires strict secrecy, hardly what you'd expect in a hoax ... don't you agree?"

  "How can this be real?"

  "I don't expect to convince you," said Ann. "You can see it for yourself. I'm just here to make that possible. If you agree to go, I'm authorized to transfer a five-thousand-Euro advance to your account, plus provide you with airfare." Rick whistled at the sum. "That's real money," continued Ann, "maybe not proof, but a start."