The trees, which had been but shadowy shapes earlier, assumed form and detail as the light grew. For the most part, they looked ordinary. They were predominantly conifers mixed with a few small broadleaf trees. Except for the ab-sence of grasses and the profusion of cycads, plants that re-sembled crosses between giant pineapples and palm trees, the woods outside could have been an unkempt city arboretum.
Flying among the branches were pale creatures which Con at first assumed were birds. Only when one flew close did she recognize it was a small pterosaur. It veered away with a flap of its sickle-shaped wings and landed outside the din-ing pavilion. As it alighted, the pterosaur leaned forward so the paws in the middle of its wings rested on the ground. The tips of its folded wings were held upwards, out of the way. It entered the pavilion through a gap in the netting and began searching the floor for scraps. Soon it was joined by several of its fellows. They scampered about on all fours, wingtips waving comically. Con got out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and walked very slowly toward the pavilion for a closer look. The pter-osaurs ignored her. Utterly alien to them, she represented neither a threat nor an opportunity. Just when she was near enough to see that the animals were covered with fur, one of them found something edible. A second pterosaur tried to steal the morsel away, and the group soon erupted in a ca-cophony of cries that sounded somewhat like a cross between a squeal and a hiss. After a brief tussle, the victor flew off with its prize, pursued by the others. Con wandered away from the deserted pavilion.
RICK AWOKE WHEN the first rays of sunlight hit the wall of his tent. Rising with the sun was a habit he had ac-quired from hunting fossils in the desert. It took a groggy moment before he remembered that he wasn't in the de-sert and that the quarry he would seek still had meat on its bones. Once he realized where he was, his thoughts returned to the mystery that troubled him as he had drifted off to sleep—who, or what, had built the stone rooms in the cliff?
Rick reviewed all his possible answers to that question. Each seemed improbable. Perhaps some unknown civi-lization had risen in the Mesozoic. He recalled the spec-ulative drawings of intelligent dinosaurs, bulbous-headed and looking remarkably like humans. Yet these hypo-thetical images envisioned a world where the dinosaurs had never become extinct and had, instead, evolved to fill mankind's role on the planet. So far, the fossil record showed that the cleverest animal in the Cretaceous was as smart as an ostrich.
Alternatively, the rooms might have been constructed by extraterrestrials. Yet, if they were made by aliens or intelligent dinosaurs, why did the rooms respond to En-glish commands? Maybe they respond to thoughts, not words, Rick speculated. He wished he remembered enough Spanish to test that theory out. Perhaps, he rea-soned, they were built by other time travelers. Yet con-sidering the nearly infinite possible locations for the structures in space and time, it seemed an extraordinary coincidence that Green would have stumbled upon them. Perhaps, thought Rick, a future Peter Green constructed the rooms to help his earlier self. Rick wondered if it was possible to go back into the past to alter one's own life. The paradoxes associated with that idea set his brain spinning.
Rick did not have the temperament to lie in his bunk for long. He had always preferred fieldwork to theorizing. Problems and puzzles made him restless, eager to search for hard evidence. Besides, direct investigation seemed the most promising approach. Certainly, asking questions was out. Joe was not going to provide any answers. Rick was unsure why it was risky to speak to Green about the matter, yet that seemed to be the case, if Joe were to be believed. Can I believe him? wondered Rick. But if he's lying about Green, he might be lying about the rooms also.
Rick was up when he heard a noise outside the tent. There was the soft clanking of pots, then the sound of running water. He looked about and noticed that James's bunk was empty. Rick dressed and left the tent. He found James heating some water on the stove.
"Good morning, Rick. Care for some coffee?"
"You've read my mind."
James tossed a handful of grounds into the water and waited for it to boil. "It's camp coffee, I'm afraid. Pandit finds it appalling."
"Camp coffee's fine with me," replied Rick, "I grew up on it."
"So did I," said James. "We'll make a more civilized brew for our guests."
"Are they up yet?" asked Rick.
"Why don't you check," said James. "Mr. Green will want his breakfast in bed. The coffee should be ready when you get back."
RICK RETURNED TO the aroma of coffee. It seemed es-pecially intense and made him think of camping with Tom.
"Should I wake Pandit?" asked James.
"Everyone's asleep, except the girl," answered Rick. "Her room's empty."
"She's not here," said James. "That means she's wan-dered off."
"She'll be all right," said Rick.
"You don't know that. As the guide, you're responsible if she stubs her bloody toe. Maybe you should skip coffee and find her," said James in a tone that made it clear it wasn't a suggestion. Rick sighed as he rose.
James understood the cause for the sigh, and said, "That's the price we pay."
"What price?"
"Being nursemaids. Serving high tea to rich twits. Put-ting up. It lets us live in the bush. Maybe it's a devil's bargain, but. . ." James looked about. "I think it's worth it."
"That's why you're here?" asked Rick.
"I grew up on the Serengeti when it was still wild," replied James. "It was fading even then, but the animals were real." James paused, caught up in the memory. "Li-ons. Elephants. Antelope. They were something to see. There's nothing as magnificent as a wild animal. God's creatures, they are. I stayed until they were completely gone . . . had to ... but even at its height, the Serengeti was nothing compared to this! This is Eden before the Fall! Perfect. Unspoiled."
"I suppose you're right," said Rick. "It's just no one told me about the . . . the price, as you put it."
"It won't always be like this. We're just starting. Even-tually, we'll staff up. You'll be a proper guide by then."
"I hope so."
"First lesson—a proper guide protects his clients from themselves. Find that young lady and make sure she's safe."
Rick gave one longing look at the steaming coffee, then wordlessly walked toward the guest quarters. CON STOOD ATOP the low cliff above the beach, watch-ing the rising sun paint the sea with opalescent fire. Com-ing from an era where the rising oceans were barricaded behind massive seawalls, it was Con's first experience of a seashore's elemental pleasures. Everything was imbued with the thrill of discovery. Con closed her eyes and felt the sun's warmth on her face. She breathed deeply, rel-ishing the scents of the seashore. The air was full and rich, moist with salt spray and laden with the essence of countless living things. Her eyes still closed, Con HS7
tened. The ever-present din of civilization was gone, leaving pure, unpolluted sound. She concentrated on the gentle rhythm of the waves until she imagined she could make out the sound of each drop, of each pebble and shell as it was rolled about. Con opened her eyes again and climbed down to the dancing water. As she walked across the cool, soft sand, the sea seemed to rush up to greet her. This world was so completely different from her gray, artificial home that she could not contain her astonish-ment and joy. She trembled before its awe-inspiring beauty. How long has it been since anyone experienced this? she wondered. Centuries? She gazed at this newly found world, trying to absorb every detail. "I claim all this!" she called out. "I claim it for Con Greighton." She smiled at her conceit. / can't claim this world. It's claimed me.