"I remember," said Con in a small voice.
"Good. Would you care to eat something, Miss Greigh-ton? I fear the omelets and bacon are cold. I can have Pandit make some fresh."
"You needn't bother, this is fine. I'm famished."
"Nothing like a little adventure to whet the appetite," said James. He watched Con flush red.
"He told you?" said Con, with a flash of anger.
"I had some questions when I saw his face," replied James evenly. "I'd like to hear your version. I need to know if he acted properly."
"What did he tell you?"
"Only that you had a near miss with some sea creature, and you might be upset. Is there more I should know?"
Con blushed under James's intense gaze. "No," she muttered.
"I'm relieved to hear that," said James.
"Does . . . Does my father know?"
"I thought you might want to tell him yourself."
"Why bother?" said Con bitterly. "He has other things on his mind."
"Indeed," said James dryly.
"The guide ... uh ... Rick ... where's he?"
"I sent him with Joe on a reconnaissance. I think they just left. I don't expect him back until this afternoon. His face should look better by then."
"Would you ... Would you thank him for me? I... uh .. . forgot."
"Certainly." James rose. "If you don't mind, I have to go over today's menu with Pandit. If you want anything, just ring this bell." James placed a small silver bell in front of Con and departed. She finished breakfast alone. Afterward, she returned to her quarters, pulled the cur-tains and flopped down on her bed.
9
THE PATH JOE AND RICK FOLLOWED WAS LIKE THE ONE
leading from the time machine's landing site. It, too, was carved in places from solid stone and ended at a circular depression. Placed in the center of the circle was an object that Rick first thought was a sculpture. It appeared made from crystal and onyx. "That's our plane," said Joe. Rick realized that the graceful object before him was not an artist's expression of flight, but an engineer's means to achieve it. The "crystal" portion of the plane consisted of a clear bullet-shaped tube. Within the tube floated three pairs of seats, with a seventh single seat in the front. There was a sloping panel, no thicker than a pane of glass, in front of that seat. From the panel protruded switches leading Rick to as-sume it was the pilot's controls. Behind the transparent por-tion of the fuselage was the "onyx" portion of the plane. It was less the color black than the absolute absence of light, without highlights or shadows. This part of the plane in-cluded a stubby set of wings, tipped in silver, and a graceful V-shaped tail. Under the wings were swellings that Rick guessed were the plane's engines although it was hard to see them against the fuselage. The aircraft rested on a tripod of delicate-looking legs, which ended in broad, flat disks.
"Ain't she a beauty," said Joe.
"It looks like it's already flying," said Rick. "I've never seen anything like it."
"She's one of a kind," replied Joe.
"Why is it so black?" asked Rick.
'Touch it," answered Joe.
Rick walked over to the wing and placed his hand on it. "It's cold," he said in astonishment.
"Its surface is a kind of solar panel, a damn efficient one. It absorbs more than the visible spectrum. That's why it's cold"
"Do you mean this plane's solar-powered? What if we fly into clouds?"
"It runs on stored energy," answered Joe. "The panels just keep it charged."
"This is amazing technology!" said Rick. "Why doesn't Mr. Green ..."
"Do you want to fly or ask questions?" asked Joe sharply.
"Fly," said Rick meekly.
"Right answer." Joe walked over to the black part of the fuselage. An opening appeared, and a broad silver ribbon emerged. When the ribbon touched the ground, it changed shape and became a set of steps. Rick watched this in aston-ishment, but said nothing. Joe turned, and said, "She recog-nizes me. Before we leave, I'll set her to recognize you, too." Joe partly climbed the steps and reached in the plane to re-trieve two objects. He handed one to Rick. "Ever use a rifle?"
"No," replied Rick. "Couldn't afford a permit."
"No matter," said Joe. "These almost shoot themselves."
Rick examined the weapon in his hand. It felt light and only vaguely resembled a rifle. It was in the shape of a cyl-inder two inches in diameter and about thirty inches long. There was no muzzle, but one end of the cylinder was open. There were two pistol grips on the cylinder, one at the end opposite the opening and another in die middle. No triggers were visible. A second, shorter and thinner cylinder was mounted atop the rear of the larger one. Rick assumed this was a kind of scope. The grips and the scope were made from a dark gray plasticlike material, as were portions of the main cylinder. The rest of the weapon was the same shadowy black as the rear of the plane.
"This button turns on the gauges and the targeting mech-anism," said Joe, demonstrating. Three rows of different-colored lights appeared on the side of the weapon and a silver-colored trigger and trigger guard formed in front of the first grip. "You try it."
Rick pressed the button, and the trigger and the lights ap-peared.
"The line of red lights indicates your charge," continued Joe. "The yellow lights show the power setting, I'll explain that latter. The blue lights show your ammunition level. The fewer the lights, the lower the reading. Now look in the scope. See that yellow circle and a red dot in the center?" Rick looked and nodded.
"Fix that dot on something," said Joe, "and pull the trig-ger." Rick located the dot on a tree trunk and pulled the trigger. The dot started blinking and the gun immediately felt differ-ent in his hands. Rick looked up from the scope to see if Joe had gripped the gun's barrel. He hadn't.
'Try to move the gun," said Joe.
Rick complied. Some force kept the weapon pointed at the tree.
"Didn't I say it almost shoots itself?" said Joe, grinning at Rick's startled look. "Pull the trigger again." Rick did so and the force gripping his weapon relaxed instantly. "What does this thing shoot?" he asked.
"Laser beams?"
Joe pulled a lever on his gun. The rear cover of the cyl-inder popped open and a clear tube slid partly out. He re-moved the tube and handed it to Rick. It felt very heavy for its size. Rick examined it and saw it was filled with what appeared to be loose, metallic-colored sand.
"It shoots that silvery stuff," said Joe.
"Just sand?" said Rick incredulously.
"Just sand? You watch." Joe took the tube, inserted it into his gun, then flicked another lever. A trigger formed in front of the rear grip. "That was the safety," he explained. He sighted through the scope and aimed at a small pine tree. After pulling the trigger on the forward grip, he stopped aim-ing. The weapon remained pointed at a tree. Joe squeezed the rear trigger. The gun did not recoil, and the loud "crack" Rick heard seemed to come not from the barrel opening, but from several feet in front of it. The upper portion of the tree disintegrated into a powdery mist. The gun stopped pointing at its vaporized target.
"Damn!" exclaimed Rick.
"That's just one of its tricks," said Joe. He made some adjustments on the gun, then aimed at a boulder. This time, Joe kept his eye on the scope and moved the gun slightly as he pulled the rear trigger. There was a sharp hiss, and a thin, glowing line appeared near the top of the boulder. Rick ap-proached for a closer look.
"Don't touch it!" said Joe. "It's hot." He picked up a rock and used it as a hot pad to push the boulder. Its top slid back. The rock had been neatly sliced through. Rick immediately understood how the pathway had been carved.
"I'll show you the rest of the controls, then you can prac-tice a little before we head out," said Joe. "The hardest part is getting down which trigger's which. You don't want to confuse them in a tight spot."