"Been in any tight spots?"
Joe smiled ruefully. "Plenty." Then he added, "But none here." Joe demonstrated how to adjust the force and the width of the blast, how to fire single shots, controlled bursts, or con-tinuously, and how to use the targeting system. Rick was amazed to learn that the gun could also track a moving target. Joe answered all of Rick's questions except those about the weapon's technology. Those he tersely rebuffed by saying, "proprietary information." The instruction and following practice lasted much longer than Rick wished. He was impatient to be off. Eventually, Joe was satisfied with Rick's marksmanship and took his gun. Joe entered the plane, followed by Rick. Joe set the guns in their charging stations before taking his seat behind the control panel. Rick looked at the panel. The controls, like those in the time machine, were labeled with plastic tape. Another prototype, Rick thought.
"Grab any seat," said Joe.
Rick sat behind Joe so they could talk easily. Except for floating in air, the seat was identical to the ones in the time machine. Joe flicked a switch, and the control panel lit up. Simultaneously, Rick's seat grasped him. "Here we go," said Joe.
There was no sound of engines revving, just a noise like wind. Dust and bits of gravel flew up from the landing plat-form as if blasted by jets. Rick noticed that any debris that landed on the plane flowed off like water on greased metal. The sound of the wind increased, and the plane began to rise straight up. The clear fuselage offered a perfect view of the beach and the sea beyond. As they gained altitude, the view expanded. Rick could see the drowned landscape of the sea's depths and shallows. Its larger denizens were visible also. A plesi-osaur gracefully glided through a submerged ravine. Three immense ammonites, probably several feet in diameter, hung suspended in the clear water. They rose just below the top of the island's mesa; then, Joe touched the controls, and the plane halted its ascent. For a moment, it remained still while the silver tips at the end of the plane's stubby wings expanded outwards until they formed the long, graceful wings of a glider. With another touch of Joe's hand on the panel, the plane soared forward. The floating seats compensated for the plane's every move-ment.
This technological marvel was lost on Rick. His thoughts were elsewhere. He was in a state of absolute bliss, barely able to contain his excitement. He was about to live his wild-est fantasy. He was going to explore the past.
Joe had to shake him to get his attention. "Where to, Mr. Guide?"
CON LAY ON her bed, paralyzed by the tumult within. She wished the drawn curtains could black out every-thing, obliterate even the sounds and smells from outside. She had just experienced the most traumatic event in her life, and she felt sure no one here would really care. Why bother telling Daddy?
He'll barely listen before giving me a lecture. This trip was her father's idea, and Con knew he wouldn't accept responsibility if something went wrong. That wasn't his style. It would be all my fault. Or maybe he'll blame the guide, thought Con. That would serve him right! The Peeping Tom! Yet, even in her dark mood, Con realized that wasn't completely fair. He had saved her life. Still, she didn't have to like him. It was more than his spying that bothered her. He's like so many people. People who judged her without knowing her. People who assumed, because she was Constance Greighton, she was spoiled and snobbish. They're the real snobs! Even though the guide hadn't said anything, he had given her that look at dinnertime. Con was all too familiar with it. Forget the guide . .. forget Daddy . . . and then there's Sara. Con wrinkled her nose at the very idea of confiding in her. Sara's already acting like she's my stepmother. Con suspected the closeness in their ages drove Sara to treat her like a kid. In her relations with Con, Sara would take her cues from Con's father. There would be no sym-pathy from her.
The rest of the people were strangers. James, Pandit, and Joe, like the guide, were merely help. They would be polite and guarded in their responses, that's all. As for Peter Green . . . The very idea of talking to him made Con uneasy. He reminded her of too many of her father's friends—polished on the outside, but cold and calculat-ing.
That was everybody. How strange, thought Con. Only seven other people in the world. She felt very lonely. She missed her friends, people she could talk to. Con was desperate to talk and express her fears
. . . her relief. . . her embarrassment... to someone who would listen and care. That would be impossible for two weeks.
Con remained in her quarters, melancholy and lethar-gic, until lunchtime. The smell of food lured her out. Regardless of her mood, Con always kept her appetite. Sometimes, it seemed like she was constantly hungry.
The fresh air bore the tantalizing aroma of Indian spices. As Con arrived at the dining pavilion, Pandit opened a covered dish to reveal several kinds of warm pastries. Her father and Sara helped themselves. Sara looked up at Con. "Done moping?" she asked in a perky voice.
Con flashed Sara a saccharine smile, grabbed a pastry, and wolfed it down.
THE AIRPLANE FLEW slowly, following the river. Rick stared at the riverbank with rapt attention. Despite their low speed and altitude, it was difficult to spot animals. The trees grew right to the bank, hiding the creatures almost as soon as they were sighted. They had mostly seen crocodiles. Some of those had been immense, well over thirty feet long. The high point, so far, had been a small group of hadrosaurs, duckbill dinosaurs, drinking at the river's edge. By the time they had circled back to see the animals again, they were gone.
"If we're going to see much, we'll have to find some open ground," said Rick. "Were you flying when they recorded the ceratopids?"
"The what?"
"That herd of horned dinosaurs, you know, like Tri-ceratops."
"Oh sure," replied Joe. "We're headed there now. Far-ther upriver, the trees thin out." Joe guided the plane higher and increased its speed. Gradually the trees below became sparser. They flew un-til they spied a herd of gray dinosaurs approaching the river. Joe descended to just above tree top level as they neared the herd.
The view was breathtaking. Over a hundred animals moved together in a loosely defined group. They were massively built quadrupeds with medium-sized tails held above the ground and the bizarre heads of the ceratopids. The largest individuals were twice the height of a man, with heads that measured, from the tips of their beaks to the edges of their frills, over eight feet long. Two long, wicked-looking horns rose behind their eyes, and behind the horns extended a broad, long frill, like a rigid cape covering almost half the animals' backs. A third, stubby horn grew behind their nostrils.
"What are those?" asked Joe. "Triceratops?"
"No," answered Rick, "although they're related. Judg-ing from the size of the frill, I'd say they were a species of Torosaurus."
"Is that frill some kind of shield?"
"Maybe," answered Rick. "It's not solid bone, though.
More like skin stretched over a bone framework. Until now, we could only guess its purpose." They circled back for a second look. Rick discerned a pattern in the herd's formation. Most of the larger ani-mals walked at the perimeter of the group, encircling its smaller members. "Look," he said to Joe,
"they protect their young."
Even flying at its lowest speed, the plane quickly passed over the herd. Rick sighed in frustration. "Joe, this is driving me nuts! I've got to see them from the ground."
"You mean land? Are you crazy?"