by Will Hubbell
"No, there's something else. We'll need to climb down to the beach." They climbed down and sat on the sand away from the surf. The sand was still warm, and the air was mild. Everything was peaceful.
"Nobody has experienced the world like this for thousands of years," said Rick in a hushed voice. They watched the waves for a while; then, Rick pointed to the surf. "Here they come." Con started as she saw something moving in the water. Rick gently touched her shoulder, and in a calm voice said, "It's okay. The mother sea turtles are coming to lay their eggs." As if by some secret signal, the surf became filled with dark, flat domes, moving like living stones through the foam. Soon pale, dark-eyed heads and long, curved front flippers became visible. Con watched in fascination as the turtles struggled up onto the beach. Their shells were about two feet long and leathery-appearing. Despite their ungainly motion on the land, the creatures' streamlined forms gave them a certain grace.
"Will we scare them away if we move?" asked Con.
"They'll ignore us," assured Rick.
Con got up and approached a turtle. The animal kept up her relentless struggle against the sand even when Con touched her. She found something noble in the creature's dedication to bring its young into the world. Soon, she was surrounded by turtles. "This is so incredible!" she exclaimed. "Nothing seems to stop them."
"Sea turtles survived into the beginning of our cen-tury," said Rick with a touch of melancholy. "There might even be a few left, ancient ones still searching for vanished beaches." Con picked her way among the moving turtles back to Rick. "How did you know they'd be here?" she asked.
"I saw their trails this morning. I've seen fossilized tracks just like them." Con felt Rick's infectious excitement. "This place is really special to you," she said.
"Let me show it to you! Joe can fly us all over. We'll keep you safe. Just don't let this opportunity pass by."
"What about the others?"
Rick made a face. "They act as if this place is just a hotel. They don't seem to give a damn."
"So, you noticed," said Con.
"But you're different."
A turtle stopped just inches from Con's foot and started digging a hole in the sand with her rear flippers. It was slow work. "Can we stay here until she lays her eggs?"
Rick smiled to himself. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
IT WAS LATE when Con returned to her quarters. While the turtles had labored, she and Rick had talked. Gradu-ally Con had let her guard down as Rick provided the sympathetic ear she so desperately needed. Now, she felt unburdened and pleasantly sleepy. Tomorrow beckoned with a promise of adventure and escape. Daddy and Sara can rot, I'll be soaring over a new world!
Con had pulled open the curtains, so she left the lights off and entered the small storeroom to change. In the darkness, a thin yellow light caught her eye. There seemed to be something glowing beneath a crack in the plaster. Con's curiosity got the better of her sleepiness. She climbed onto the wooden dresser and dug her nails into the crack. A small slab of plaster flaked off to reveal what appeared to be a portion of a symbol. It glowed brightly on a glassy black surface.
Con got off the dresser, found her nail file, and climbed back up. She slipped the point of the file between the plaster and the smooth surface beneath. The plaster fell away easily. Con pried away the plaster to expose a glassy black rectangle inset into a stone wall. Within it, a strange design glowed in the dark: Con climbed down and looked at it. Some of the elements in the design changed. The rightmost pair changed rap-idly, while the third from the right changed more slowly, and the remaining ones did not change at all. The purpose of the design eluded Con. She was too tired to dwell on the puzzle for long. She went to bed and soon was peace-fully asleep.
11
RICK WOKE UP FEELING VERY PLEASED WITH HIMSELF. HE
had managed to pull it off and win Con over. He was still a little amazed by his feat. Apparently, he possessed hidden charms he wasn't aware of. Now Green would get off his case. He could remain on Montana Isle and explore the world around it.
The previous night had improved his opinion of Con. She might be a little screwed up, but he figured that was to be expected. John Greighton didn't seem like much of a father. Rick didn't understand why she gave a damn about what he thought; yet in a perverse way, she did. That's her problem, he thought. At least she's not a snob like him. It wouldn't be too hard to put up with her, especially since she was his passport to the Cretaceous. Rick figured that as long as he kept Con busy, Green would let him do anything he wanted. He planned to keep her very busy.
The aroma of James's camp coffee wafted through the mesh of the sleeping tent's window. Rick rose and quickly dressed. James was pouring himself a cup when Rick emerged from the tent.
"You seem chipper for keeping such late hours," remarked James.
"Con's going on a tour. I need to set up lunch. I plan to have her out most of the day." James's lips formed a slight smile. "So Miss Greighton is 'Con' now?"
"We worked things out last night."
"I suspected you had the makings of a guide. It seems that I was right." Rick beamed and poured himself a mug of coffee. He took a sip and was glad it was strong.
"I trust 'Con' will not be wandering off this morning?"
"I'm sure she'll sleep in. We were up late watching sea turtles lay their eggs."
'Turtle eggs? You should inform Pandit. I'm sure he would welcome the challenge." Rick shook his head. "Everything's a potential meal to him."
"The man's an artist," replied James. "He's not going to be happy until you bring him a dinosaur to cook."
"I suspect you're right."
"I am," said James with assurance.
Rick finished his coffee and stood up. "I thought I'd carry that bottled water Con drinks up to the plane."
"I'll rouse Pandit and get him started on your lunch," said James. "Then you can leave whenever Miss Greighton de-sires."
"That would be great," said Rick. "Please be sure he makes a lot. She's a big eater." Rick grabbed a small cooler and walked over to the camp's refrigerator. He removed two bottles of water. As he did, he couldn't help think what a waste of energy and cargo space these bottles of lemon-flavored water represented. He shut the top of the cooler and headed up the path to the plane. That was easy, Rick thought. He expected James to ques-tion his errand, since the bottles could have just as easily accompanied the lunch. Probably he's so relieved we're go-ing, he doesn't care. When he reached the plane, a door formed in its side for him, just as Joe had set it to do. Rick deposited the cooler inside the plane, then turned to the real purpose of his visit.
Fishing out a hand lens from his pocket, Rick walked over to the boulder Joe had sliced with the gun the day before. He carefully examined the newly cut surface through the magnifier. It bore scoring that precisely matched that on the walls of the stone rooms. Rick was certain the technology employed in the guns had also been used to make the rooms in the cliff. Yet, by solving this mystery, Rick had uncovered a far greater one.
Joe's statement that Green had found, not built, the stone rooms made even less sense now. Why would he say that? wondered Rick. Green clearly had the means to construct them. There was only one logical answer—it had not oc-curred to Joe that guns had carved the stone rooms. Yet how could that be, if Green had invented the guns? Rick pondered the implications of that question. All the technology on Mon-tana Isle was interconnected. The guns were charged by the same black solar panels on the plane, the same panels on the time machine. Green must have invented the guns, other-wise—a disconcerting thought came to Rick— He hadn't in-vented anything!
Rick was taken aback by where his logic was leading. It's just a hypothesis, he reminded himself. The cut boulder is no proof. Perhaps, once Green invented the guns, other peo-ple developed the technology for different uses. Such people could have made the rooms for Green to find. With time travel, chronology was flexible; the future could affect the past.
Rick was begi
nning to take comfort in this new line of thinking when he looked into the clear portion of the plane. The bits of plastic tape on the control panel caught his eye. Instantly, he realized that the tape labels might provide a clue to the plane's origin. He entered the plane and, with a grow-ing sense of apprehension, approached the control panel. The makeshift labels seemed particularly incongruous on its fin-ished surface. With a trembling finger, Rick lifted up a corner of a label. As he feared, there was something underneath, integral to the panel's surface. It was probably a word, al-though Rick recognized neither the language nor the alpha-bet.
How could I be so dumb? Rick asked himself. None of this is twenty-first-century technology! It seemed so plain to him now, he was dismayed that he had ever been fooled. No wonder Tom found no mention of Peter Green. On further introspection, Rick saw why he had been so easily deceived. His only concern had been whether time travel was real. He hadn't truly cared where the technology came from. Should I care now? That was, indeed, the question. Regardless of how he had gotten there, he was in die Cretaceous. He had seen living dinosaurs. He would see more. Isn't that enough? Rick carefully pushed the corner of the label back down on the panel. / should return to camp and see if Con is up. There were still details to check to ensure her first trip ran smoothly. Stick to my job, he told himself. Rick walked back to camp trying to focus his thoughts on the day's explora-tions. Again and again, he reminded himself that the time machine was Green's business, not his. By the time he reached camp, he was almost convinced that it was true.
JOE LOOKED UP from his coffee and flashed Rick a broad smile. "I hear you've arranged for a passenger. Good job!"
"Do you know if she's up?" asked Rick.
"Ask Pandit. I avoid that pavilion like the plague."
"Miss Greighton has indeed risen," said Pandit, "with a full appetite and a pleasant disposition. For that, we are all grateful."
"You're our man," said Joe.
Rick tried to smile at Joe's praise, while he sorted out his feelings about the man. It was hard not to like him. Still, Rick now knew that beneath that seemingly open friendliness was much that was hidden. Surely, Joe knew about the alien words beneath the labels on the controls. He had discouraged all Rick's questions. Yet he told me about the rooms. Why had he done that? Was it a slipup? A warning? A threat? One thing's certain, whatever Green's up to, Joe's in on it.
"You look distracted," said Joe.
"It was a late night."
"Have a cup of James's mud. It'd wake a stone."
BREAKFAST WAS ENDING at the pavilion when Rick ar-rived. The mood of the diners, in contrast to the previous evening, seemed relaxed. John Greighton sipped cham-pagne, looking totally content.
"Hey, Rick," he called in a friendly voice, "I hear you're taking Constance sight-seeing." Con looked up from her second omelet at the mention of her name. She flashed Rick an excited smile.
"We're going to explore the inland sea," replied Rick. "Would you and Sara like to come along?"
"Maybe some other time," replied John. "We're just fine here." He reached out and playfully squeezed Sara's breast. She let out a surprised screech that transformed into a giggle. Con flushed and abruptly stood up. "I'm ready," she told Rick.
"Then we'll head out," he said. "Everything is all set." As they walked down the path, they heard Sara call out, "Have a good time!" Then she screeched again. Con's expression betrayed her irritation, and Rick feared the return of her moodiness of the previous day. They walked in silence until they reached the plane, where Joe was waiting for them. There, to Rick's relief, Con immediately brightened as she was taken by the air-craft's appearance. "It's like a Brancusi!" she exclaimed.
"A what?" asked Joe.
"Constantin Brancusi," replied Con, "a twentieth-century sculptor. You know, Bird in Space."
"I'll take your word for it," said Joe. "But I agree, it is a work of art."
"You must tell me all about it!" said Con.
"I'd like to, but dozens of patents are still pending on this baby. Mr. Green's very security conscious. A touch paranoid, if you ask me."
"That's Joe's polite way of saying 'Shut up and enjoy the view.' You'll get more answers from a clam," said Rick. "At least," he added for Joe's benefit, "more direct answers."
"You wound me," replied Joe in mock sorrow.
The three of them entered the airplane and took their seats. "Joe, I'd like to show Con the beaches around the island. Could you slowly circle it a few times as we climb?"
"Sure thing. You're the guide."
Con peered intently into the clear water as they rose, looking for sea turtles and also the mosasaur that still lurked darkly in her thoughts. She spotted neither. Rick's attention was elsewhere. While trying not to appear too obvious, he scrutinized the island for signs of the time machine's creators. From the air, Pandit's "wild toma-toes" were clearly part of a cultivated plot. That and the two landing sites, a few paths, the protected beach, and the three stone structures carved into the cliff seemed to be the only alterations to the island. Joe kept the plane's altitude below the top of the mesa, and Rick felt he could not ask him to fly higher without arousing suspicion. They were over a mile beyond the island before Joe took the aircraft into a climb. When Rick looked back at the island for the last time, a flash of light momentarily caught his eye. It seemed as if the sun had reflected off something atop the mesa. He strained to see what it might be, but they were too far away for him to see anything. The sea was unusually calm, and its flat surface made a perfect window to the world beneath. They were over the shallower western portion of the sea, filled with the eroded runoff of mountains and carved by drowned riv-ers. The seafloor was usually visible, in shades varying from pale turquoise to deep blue, according to the water's depth. Its inhabitants appeared to fly through the crystal medium rather than swim.
Con was particularly charmed by the graceful swim-ming of the plesiosaurs. They found several kinds. The long-necked Elasmosaurs swam slowly while their heads snatched fish with the quickness of a snake's strike. A short-necked plesiosaur with a long head cruised swiftly through the depths searching for prey. They saw it chase down a small mosasaur and sever it in two with a single bite. They spotted a huge mosasaur swimming leisurely near the surface. Because it was close to forty feet long, Rick thought it was probably a Tylosaurus. Con insisted that they follow it. The creature terrified and fascinated her, in the way a traffic accident does. Viewed from above, it looked somewhat like a smooth-skinned crocodile, with flippers instead of feet and a flattened tail topped with a ridge-like fin. In a way, it's a beautiful creature, she thought. Wavy, dark blue stripes contrasted with its light olive skin. They were too high for her to see its fright-ening green eye.
Rick conscientiously watched Con for signs of lagging interest, but could detect none. She was animated by all she saw and filled with questions about everything. Even-tually, it was he who suggested that they do something different. Con agreed, and Rick told Joe to head for the sand bar where they had seen the basking plesiosaurs. It took them almost an hour to reach it.
The tide was low, and a portion of the sand bar was above water, forming a thirty-yard-long white comma in the turquoise sea. Over a dozen Elasmosaurs of varying sizes basked in the shallows, resting on the sandy bottom while exposing their backs to the air and sun. Rick turned to Con. "Would you like to picnic here?"
Con's eyes lit up. "Could we?"
"Joe, can you set her down?"
"Piece of cake."
The airplane slowed as it neared the sand bar until it hovered above it. The craft's long silver wings shrank until they were mere slivers at the ends of the stubby black ones. Then Joe guided the plane down in a gentle vertical descent. Once they were resting on dry sand, the seats released their passengers, and the door opened in the rear compartment. Con kicked off her shoes and was the first one out the door. The Elasmosaurs were bunched together near the opposite end of the sand bar. All their necks were raised, and they watch
ed her as she emerged from the plane. They were already losing interest by the time Rick and Joe climbed out. The animals' necks grad-ually went limp until they floated on the warm shallow water or draped over their neighbors' backs.
"They certainly look relaxed," commented Joe.
Con walked down the sand toward the basking animals with Rick close behind. She slowed down as they got near. "Will they bite?" she asked Rick.
"They're fish eaters, but that's all I know. They might bite."
One of the closest reptiles lifted its neck above the water and rapidly swung it in their direction. Both Con and Rick jumped back. The animal's head halted ten feet way. Sharp conical teeth projected up and down from its closed lips, making it look both fierce and comical. It cocked its head and studied them with its golden eye. The creature's stare gave no indication of what thoughts, if any, it had of the strange invaders. After a minute, the neck swung away.
"Is anybody hungry?" Joe called out.
"I'm starving," Con called back.
Joe went into the plane and brought out a large cooler covered with a beach blanket. They spread the blanket on the sand and sat down to eat. It was a perfect setting for a picnic. A slight breeze had picked up, cooling them as it created a soothing rhythm of gentle waves breaking on the sand. The basking plesiosaurs provided a languid note of interest in their tranquil surroundings. Pandit's lunch was delicious and ample. Soon Rick sat back, feel-ing full and perfectly content.
"Are you going to finish your sandwich?" asked Con, who had just eaten her second one.
"Have it. I'm stuffed," said Rick. "How can such a slender person eat so much?" Con bristled slightly. "Are you asking if I'm souped?"
"No ... no ... not at all," said Rick quickly, already regretting his comment.
"I'm not responsible for what happened before I was born."
"Look, I..."
"I don't know why people make such a big deal over it."
"Parents always want what's best for their kids," said Rick, trying to mollify her
"So you approve?" cha'ienged Con.
