Rick picked up one of the tomatoes and examined it. It resembled the tiny tomatilloes Tom used to make salsa verde. This fruit was much larger than those; it was big even for a tomato. He peeled back the husk to reveal a deep red skin. "Pandit, tomatoes are cultivated plants, they don't grow wild."
"They do here," said Pandit. "There are several tomato trees growing on the other side of the island. They pro-duce the finest tomatoes I have ever tasted. There are fruits and berries also. Mr. Neville is correct, this place is truly Eden."
Rick peeled away the husk from the tomato and bit into it. Pandit was right—the flavor was exquisite. Then he examined the tomato as a scientist. Although the fruit seemed perfectly ripe, the seeds were immature—in fact—they appeared vestigial. This is no wild plant. He suspected it was genetically engineered. Another artifact from the builders of the stone rooms?
Rick made himself as useful as he could, while Pandit cooked with efficient artistry. Before long, the first course was ready to serve. Pandit sent Rick to inform James. Once Rick accomplished that task, he returned to the kitchen tent to help serve the meal.
The dinner guests arrived and seated themselves. Green and Greighton were formally attired, as was James. To Pandit's disappointment, Sara wore a modest evening dress. The girl showed up barefoot in a tee shirt and shorts. That caused the first scene of the evening. Her father seemed provoked by her outfit, for he angrily or-dered her to change. Wordlessly, but with a slouch that spoke volumes, she left the pavilion. John Greighton stabbed his salmon spring roll in gingered balsamic vin-egar sauce as if he were trying to kill it. "Some vacation!" he muttered. Upon hearing this remark, Green glared at Rick. The spring rolls were cold, and John Greighton had consumed most of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc before his daughter returned to the table. She was wearing a dress, but was still barefoot. "Better?" she asked with a sarcas-tic edge. Her father ignored her question and her lack of shoes. The meal proceeded with an undercurrent of tension. Both James and Green tried to lighten the mood with cheerful conversation, but to little effect. After a while, they, too, lapsed into silence. The girl had succeeded in setting the tone for the evening. She sat sullen and quiet as she wolfed down her food. Rick observed this with discomfort increased by the knowledge that he was expected to placate this girl. His continued employment clearly depended on his success. He had no idea how he would manage. CON LAY ON her bed in her darkening room, still wearing the dress her father had forced her to wear.
/ should go swimming in this damn thing, she thought, then wear it to dinner. Yet the idea of swimming brought up memo-ries of the cold, deadly eye. Despite the warmth of the evening air, she shivered. Thirteen more days of this place! How will I ever make it?
The guide's voice came from outside the drawn cur-tain. "Constance?"
"Go away."
"I can't."
"I'm not dressed, so don't come in."
"I'll wait here."
"I'm not coming out."
"I'll still wait."
Con lay on her bed and waited to hear retreating foot-steps. She heard the wind in the leaves and the distant surf, but nothing else. Minutes passed without a sound from him.
"Are you still there?"
"Yes."
"What do you want?"
"Just to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about. Now go away."
"I can't."
"You're a real pest, do you know that?"
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be."
"Well, I'm not coming out. You can stay there all night."
"That's okay, I brought a blanket."
Con could hear the soft sounds of a blanket being un-rolled. He's bluffing, she thought. She found herself straining to hear him. His silence made her all the more aware of his presence. Ten, maybe twenty minutes passed, it was hard to tell.
"What are you doing out there?"
"Watching the stars come out. Even in the desert, they were never as clear as this. I can't make out any con-stellations, though. The sky's all different."
Con didn't answer, resolved to ignore him. She found that she couldn't. It both irritated her that he was there and piqued her curiosity. After another ten minutes of silence, she changed into her tee shirt and shorts and drew aside the curtain. The guide was lying on a blanket, gazing at the stars.
"How can the sky be different?" asked Con testily.
Rick sat up and flashed her a smile. "I'm glad you asked."
Con looked up at the stars. "There are so many!" she exclaimed, amazed despite herself. Then she hardened her tone. "Why are you bothering me?"
"I just need to talk."
"About what?"
Rick sighed. "I shouldn't have walked away this morn-ing. I feel like a jerk."
"I forgive you. Now will you go away?"
"I was almost killed as a kid. It shakes you up bad. The world becomes a different, a scarier place."
"It does," agreed Con in a small voice.
"I had to talk to someone about it before it got better. I pulled you from the sea this morning, I'd like to help you the rest of the way."
Con slumped down on the stone step of her quarters. Rick moved to sit on the step a few feet away. "I can't talk about it," she mumbled. "It's too ... too ..." Con sniffled.
"It's all right," said Rick gently. "You can cry. It was a terrible experience." Con seemed about to melt into tears when she abruptly stiffened and glared at Rick accusingly. "You were watching me!"
"No... honest!" said Rick. "James sent me to check on you. You were already in the water when I spotted you."
"God! I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be. I've seen lots of women undressed," lied Rick. "I mean ... everyone bathes in the river on fossil digs. You get used to it."
Con found herself wanting to believe him. "You must think I'm a real pain."
"Not at all. You were just enjoying yourself. I feel I let you down."
"You saved me! I should have thanked you instead of... of..."
"Don't worry about it. You were in shock. I only hope this place isn't ruined for you."
"I'm afraid it is. I just want to go home."
"Could you give it... give me ... another chance?" pleaded Rick. "There's something I want to show you."
"What?"
"It's on the beach. This time, I promise it'll be safe."
Con sensed Rick's desire to make things good after the morning's disaster. He seemed so disarmingly earnest and humble, she couldn't remain mad at him.
"Please, Constance."
"All right," she said. "If you're sure it's safe."
"Guaranteed," Rick said buoyantly.
"Call me 'Con.' That's what my friends do."
Rick led Con along a path to the beach. A nearly full moon was rising, and the way was easy to see. When they reached the cliff over the beach, the moon had cleared the horizon. Con gazed at the moonlight sparkling on the sea and felt the return of the wonder she had experienced at the beginning of the day.
"The moon's so big," she said.
"It's closer to the Earth than it is in our time."
"Is that what you wanted to show me?"
"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.