Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  "And a sea full of plesiosaurs and a continent full of dinosaurs," continued Rick.

  "With my baby brother acting as tour guide. Maybe I could come along to fluff the pillows." They both laughed at that idea. Tom picked up a large fossil shell from off a table and, as he turned it in his hands, he grew pensive. "Remember when you found this?"

  "That's my first ammonite," replied Rick. "I must have been eleven."

  "It was the first time I saw you happy after Mom and Dad's accident," said Tom, handing Rick the fossil. The rock brought back a flood of memories with its touch. "I slept with this fossil for years."

  "Your stone teddy bear," mused Tom. "Grandma feared you'd grow up strange."

  "I did," said Rick.

  Tom chuckled, then grew serious. "When you gave it to me as a graduation present, I was really touched," he said. "It's hard to believe you'll soon be picking them up off the beach, brand-new. I wonder what colors they'll be."

  Rick tapped into his brother's reflective mood. "All those summers, looking for fossils . .."

  "I remember a few winter trips, too," said Tom. "We nearly froze our butts off."

  "Yeah, but we found some great stuff," said Rick. "Those were good times, Tom, all of them. Good times."

  While the chili simmered, the talk turned to past trips and past eras. As they spoke, the past wove in and out of their conversation, and the ancient sea flowed through it. They spoke of their visits to its dry, ossified shores and imagined the bones of its creatures clothed again in flesh. They ate dinner and remembered the camps in the desert, where the smoky taste in the food did not come from a bottle of seasoning. The evening wore on, and eventually it was time for Rick to go. Tom left the room momentarily and returned with something in his hand. He held it out to Rick. "You've had your eye on this ever since you were a kid. I think it's time you had it."

  Rick looked down at the precious hunting knife in its weathered leather sheath, the thing he coveted most as a child, and a lump formed in his throat. "Tom... I... I..."

  "Can't send my baby brother to the Cretaceous un-armed, can I?" said Tom with a false heartiness to mask his feelings. "I want you to have it."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "Say thanks. Then say good-bye, you've got a plane to catch tomorrow morning." Rick hugged his brother. "Thanks."

  "Bring me back an ammonite," called out Tom, as Rick headed down the hall. Rick turned. "I'll try," he said. Then, with one last wave, he walked out of Tom's life forever. 4

  RICK GREW INCREASINGLY ANXIOUS DURING HIS TRIP TO

  the rendezvous point. The closer he got to his destination, the more Tom's arguments on the improbability of time travel weighed on his mind. By the time his flight landed, Rick almost expected disappointment. Still, he could not fig-ure out what anyone had to gain by fooling him. Only that slim rationale sustained his hope that the trip was not point-less.

  The man who met Rick when he disembarked did not iden-tify himself. He drove Rick in silence to the outskirts of Chicago. "Here's your stop," the stranger finally said. As the car drove away, Rick found himself outside a small, one-story brick building in an industrial zone. The building and the surrounding area looked run-down and late-twentieth-century. A small sign taped to the inside of the glass door to the building read p.g. enterprises. It seemed an unlikely site for the greatest scientific breakthrough of the twenty-first century.

  The door was locked, and Rick had to pound on it loudly before anyone came to open it. Eventually, a burly, dark-haired man appeared. He looked Rick over thoroughly before entering a code on a keypad next to the door. The bolts snapped open.

  "You Clements?" the man asked.

  "Yes," replied Rick.

  "I'm Nick," said the man without offering his hand, "I work for Mr. Green. Come on." He turned and walked down a corridor. As Rick followed him, he heard the bolts in the door automatically snap shut. Nick led him to a door and opened it. "In here." Rick passed through the doorway; then Nick, who had remained in the corridor, closed the door. Rick stood and glanced at the three other occupants of the room.

  A dark, tall black man in his late thirties smiled sympa-thetically at Rick's confusion. "I see you've met the ever-charming Nick Zhukovsky," he said. "I'm Joe Burns, the pilot for this little junket." Rick shook his hand. "I'm Rick Clements."

  "Our naturalist," said Joe. "So you're the guy I'll fly around when we get downwhen."

  "Downwind?"

  Joe laughed. "That's downwhen, short for 'back in the past.' I fly in all four dimensions."

  "You've done it before?" asked Rick. "What's it like?"

  "Ever fall down? Like from a ladder or something?"

  "I walked off a twelve-foot ledge one night."

  "Well, remember the instant you started to fall? Stretch that feeling out over an eternity and you have time travel."

  "It doesn't sound pleasant," said Rick.

  "It isn't," said Joe with a grin, "but I guess the trip's worth it."

  'To see living dinosaurs? I'll say!" said Rick.

  "An enthusiast," said Joe wryly. "Let me introduce the others." Joe turned to a man in his sixties whose leathery, sun-darkened face contrasted with his blue eyes and white hair. "James Neville, meet Rick Clements."

  "Pleased to meet you," said James with an exotic accent that blended British with African. "As the camp guide, you'll be working for me."

  "James ran a safari camp in the Serengeti Park. He goes back to when the animals were still real," said Joe.

  "No bloody poachers where we're going," said James with satisfaction. He turned to a short, slightly plump dark-eyed man in his twenties, and said, "This is Pandit Jahan. Hasn't been downwhen, but he was with me in Uganda. Damned good chef, in or out of the bush." Pandit smiled modestly at James's praise and shook Rick's hand. James continued, "We'll run this just like a safari camp. Hear you've done your share of camping."

  "Entire summers," replied Rick, "some winter trips, too."

  "Good. Main difference between your camping and a sa-fari is we have guests. They don't rough it. For them, it's a fine hotel, only alfresco. You'll be the camp guide, but you'll pitch in on the other work, too—washing dishes, tending the guests, whatever's required. We're shorthanded. In Uganda, I'd have a staff of twelve for four guests."

  As James detailed Rick's duties, Rick was chagrined to discover how much Ann Smythe had left out. He began to feel he had been conned into becoming a glorified busboy. Yet, already, he sensed it was useless to protest. James did not give the impression of flexibility. Rick considered ap-proaching Peter Green on the matter.

  As if on cue, Green entered the room. James instantly fell silent. One look at Green and Rick abandoned all ideas of complaining. Green's expensively sculpted face bore an in-timidating look. His cold eyes fixed on Pandit and Rick, siz-ing them up. "I'm Peter Green, CEO of Temporal Transport. Welcome aboard." With those minimal pleasantries aside, Green addressed die group. "This evening, we will leave on our first paying excursion downwhen. All of you need to know how impor-tant this trip is. It's much more than a maiden voyage. The future of time travel and the future of mankind are at stake. This is no exaggeration.

  "If this trip seems shrouded in secrecy and hurried, it is because of our situation. Consider for a moment how truly dangerous time travel is. I'm not referring to any danger to the traveler—that's negligible. But think of the effects such travel could have on history itself. It does not take much imagination to conceive how even a minor alteration of the past could cause unpredictable changes to the present. If those alterations were motivated by greed or a political agenda, catastrophe could result. I feel so strongly about this, I would halt all development in this technology if it were in my power. Unfortunately, it is not. Others, without my scru-ples, are also working on time travel.

  "One of the paradoxes of this technology is that, even though I am far ahead of my competitors, being first means nothing. If they ever succeed in discovering its secrets, they can
go back in time, destroy my research, and gain sole con-trol over the technology. With additional capital and re-search, I believe that I can prevent that. I am working on a system for Temporal Field Stabilization. To put it simply, it will prevent anyone from altering the time continuum. The future will unfold without interference.

  "At the present, this field is not in place. This is the reason why your nondisclosure agreements are so important. Up-when, people are researching history to pinpoint our precise location in time. Talk to your grandchildren years from now about this trip, and these people may find out. With that information, they might travel downwhen to kill your mother."

  Green paused to let the implications sink in. Already, Rick regretted his talk with Tom. Have 1 already said something that might be traced in the future? he wondered. Was that the real cause of Mom and Dad's auto accident? I was in that car. Was someone trying to get me? This convoluted chain of causation was as confusing as it was ominous. It meant that there would have been an unaltered past where the accident did not occur. Yet somehow, Rick would have spoken to his brother in that time line also. But why? puzzled Rick. My life would have been completely different. Rick became aware that Peter Green was staring at him. He hoped he did not look guilty and was relieved when Green continued his talk. "The real purpose of this trip is to gain money to fund my research into temporal stabilization. I chose our destination, aside from its obvious appeal, be-cause it's far enough downwhen to prevent us from affecting the present. Our first client will be the billionaire John Greighton, along with his fiance'e and daughter. I hope to demonstrate the potential of time travel to him, both for good and ill, and obtain his backing for my research."

  "Your jobs are to make "this trip as enjoyable as possible for Greighton and his party. That's all you need to do, noth-ing more and nothing less. Everything I just said stays in this room. Remember, they're on vacation. I'll broach die fund-ing matters with Greighton myself. That's my job. Just do your parts and it will be easier."

  As Green finished talking, Nick entered the room pushing a cart laden with food and a huge bottle of champagne. "That's enough of business," said Green as his expression softened. He popped a cork and started filling glasses. "We have something to celebrate." He handed out glasses to everyone, then raised his own in a toast. "To Montana Isle!"

  The power of Peter Green's personality was such that everyone in the room soon mirrored his festive mood. Rick dismissed his guilty fears about his parents' accident and began to feel excited again about the trip. By his second glass of champagne, he was even ready to chat with Green himself. When Rick caught Green's eye, he said, "Now I understand why we're going so far downwhen."

  "I'm glad," said Green.

  "Just before the K-T event, it's perfect."

  Green got a confused expression on his face, as if he didn't understand what Rick had just said. Rick clarified himself. "I mean, the asteroid impact will wipe everything clean. It'll be as if we were never there."

  "Oh yes," said Green, "of course. Well, we can't be too careful, can we? By the way, I need to discuss your job. I'll need your help if I'm going to get to Greighton. I can't do that with his daughter hanging around. I want you to keep her away from camp as much as possible. That's the main reason you're on board, to arrange trips for her."

  "Won't Mr. Greighton and his fiancee be interested in the sights also?"

  "Maybe one trip, if that. We've researched them pretty well. They're more interested in the birds and the bees than wildlife," said Green with a knowing look. "Greighton's only other interest is business. When he talks business, his fiancee gets bored. She'll go off sunbathing or swimming."

  "I don't think swimming would be a good idea," said Rick. "The Interior Seaway had some pretty dangerous creatures in it—mosasaurs, crocodiles, and not all the plesiosaurs ate fish."

  "Don't worry, we have a protected beach. But it's good you're on your toes. We'll need that expertise." Green abruptly turned toward James and Pandit and began to dis-cuss provisions. Rick felt that he had been dismissed and wandered over to the food cart.

  Joe was there, making himself a sandwich. "Trying to schmooze with the boss?" he asked in a joking tone.

  "Was it that obvious? Then I guess I'm not very good at it."

  "Mr. Green has a lot on his mind," said Joe. "Your best course is just to do your job," Joe lowered his voice to scarcely above a whisper, " and stay out of his way." 5

  A LIMOUSINE PICKED UP CON OUTSIDE OF HER APARTMENT

  building. A burly, dark-haired man got out, took her bag, and opened a door for her. Her father and Sara were seated inside, drinking champagne. Sara had kicked off her shoes and snug-gled close to Con's father. "Constance!" she said gaily, hold-ing up her glass. "We're on vacation!" Con was already regretting her decision to go, but she forced a smile onto her face. "Hi, Daddy. Hi, Sara."

  "What did you tell your mother about tonight?" asked John Greighton.

  "I told her we were going out to dinner, just the two of us," lied Con. "I said I'd be back before eleven."

  "I wonder how you'll explain your two weeks' worth of tan," said John, cracking a smile. "This time travel thing's a great idea; I won't miss a single meeting tomorrow."

  Sara ran her fingers through John's hair. "And we'll have two weeks together." Con recognized Sara's gesture—she was staking her claim.

  "You sure you want me along, Daddy? I'll just be a wet blanket."

  "Nonsense, you and Sara need to get acquainted. You're not a child anymore, it's time you took your proper place."

  "Where would that be?"

  "Why... by my side, along with Sara. Maybe as a kid you resented how busy I was, but now you're old enough to understand. This is the perfect opportunity for us to spend time together. For you to get to know me better."

  "And you won't miss a single meeting," said Con.

  "That's not the point!" said John irritably. "I spent a mil-lion Euros so you could come. That proves something."

  "Just kidding, Daddy. If you spent more time with me, you'd know."

  "Come on, Constance," said Sara, "it was very nice of your dad to invite you." Nick Zhukovsky spoke over the intercom from the driver's seat, which was partitioned from the passenger compartment by a glass panel. "Mr. Greighton, for security reasons, I'll be blacking out the windows." The windows and the glass par-tition darkened until they were opaque. Con stared at her reflection in the black glass. "Well, this is cozy."

  'Try a glass of champagne," said her father. "It'll relax you."

  "Maybe I will."

  "Good. Sara, pour Constance a glass."

  Con took a little sip of the wine and tried to decide if she liked it. The bubbles were nice, but she expected it to be sweet and it was not. Still, she continued to sip as she con-templated the man she called Daddy. His face was not the one she remembered as a child, though the eyes were the same. His chin was a little like the old one, but the rest of his features had been redone. They looked like they had come out of a fashion magazine, which was undoubtedly the case. It was the face of a stranger. She mused that, as a younger girl, she would have given anything to be with her father. Then, she loved him with the desperate yearning of the ignored. Now, she wasn't sure how she felt. So many disappointments lay between them, perhaps it was too late for closeness. Yet the old longings rose up from deep where she had banished them. They caught her off guard, and she found herself thinking, Maybe this time will be different.

  The three of them sat in awkward silence, watching the bubbles rise in their glasses. Finally, John said,

  "Giving any thought to college?"

  "I'm going to Harvard this fall."

  "Oh, of course," replied Con's father. "I remember. Do you know what you're going to study?"

  "I'm thinking about art history."

  "Then this trip should be just die thing, seascapes and all."

  'Too bad I can't tell anyone about them."

  "What / want to see," said Sara, "is a real beach
, like in those old movies."

  "How about our trip to Miami?" reminded John.

  "That beach was fake, part of the sea wall. We couldn't see the sunset from our hotel balcony because of that stupid wall."

  "The sun sets in the west," countered John.

  "So? All we saw was concrete. And the crowds ..."

  "It was packed," agreed John, "considering it was a 'pri-vate beach.' Well, we won't have that problem where we're going. We'll have the whole beach—the whole world—to ourselves."

  "That's good," said Sara with a coy smile, "because I didn't pack a suit." Con flushed at that remark. "You can always borrow mine," she said with mock solicitude.

  "I don't think I'd fit into the top."

  John Greighton let out an exasperated sigh that terminated the exchange.

  "Daddy, what are you looking forward to on this trip?"

  "I just want to relax with the two women in my life. I only hope they'll get along."

  "We will, John," said Sara.

  "We'll be just like sisters," said Con, holding out her glass. "Big sister, would you pour me some more champagne?"

  Sara looked at John for permission. "What the hell," he said, "she's on vacation." AS EVENING BEGAN, Rick finished up helping Pandit load provisions into the time machine. Most of the items con-sisted of cookware, foodstuffs, wine, and liquor in ad-dition to a large tent and a set of folding cots. Joe kept a running tally of the weight of everything that went into the machine. He also was very particular where the items were loaded in order to distribute the weight evenly. Each time Rick entered the machine, he took an op-portunity to examine it. His first impression was how finely constructed the machine looked. It lacked the makeshift appearance of a prototype. Only the partitions around the control center looked to be last-minute addi-tions. The rest had the level of finish superior to any car or plane he had ever ridden in.

  The stairway into the saucer-shaped machine led to a single room. Except where the control center was walled off, the room was a perfect hemisphere. The outer walls of the room featured various-sized hatches to the storage bays and what appeared to be several evenly spaced win-dows. These puzzled Rick at first because no windows were evident from the outside of the machine. Upon closer examination, Rick realized that they were actually viewscreens of incredibly high resolution. Set back from the wall was a circle of seats, all facing the center of the room. This was dominated by a thick, transparent column containing a cylinder that seemed disturbingly immate-rial. Rick found it hard to look at, and tried squinting to focus his vision. The squinting did little good, for he could neither identify the cylinder's shifting colors nor determine its precise diameter. Trying only gave him a headache. When Joe and Pandit were finishing up outside the sau-cer, Rick cracked the door to the control center and sneaked a quick peek. A single chair faced a viewscreen in the outer wall. Below the viewscreen was a large con-trol console. The console had a bewildering array of switches, gauges, and knobs, and a bank of monitors showing puzzlingly complex displays. Plastic tape labels affixed beneath the switches and the monitors reminded him that this machine was, indeed, a prototype. Although this area was strictly off-limits, Rick was tempted to ex-amine it more closely, but he heard footsteps on the stair-way. He quickly shut the door and tried to appear busy. Joe looked at him suspiciously when he ascended the stairs, but he all said was, "Loading's done. We're to go to the meeting room and wait for the guests to arrive."