... and filled with wonders. A startling scientific breakthrough allows Temporal Transport to offer the ultimate travel experience." The music began to swell as an island became visible in the distance, the early-morning sun glowing on its rocky sides. "... Montana Isle, set in the pristine beauty of America's ancient Montana Sea. The most exclusive destination in history ... enjoy absolute privacy amidst the untouched splendor of nature." Con's seat seemed to fly over the island, then circle back. The island was small and mostly rocky. In its center, a mesa of dark rock rose from a grove of trees. For an instant, Con thought she spotted some structures clustered at the base of the spire, but her perspective changed before she could be sure. Her seat dipped toward low rocky cliffs above sandy beaches. Now the gently rolling waves appeared inches beneath her feet. Instinctively, she lifted her legs. A haze, tinted gold by the morning light, gave the view a dreamlike quality. "Montana Isle ... as close as your back door and millions of years from everything." The music swelled to a crescendo as Con's seat seemed to soar higher and higher above the island until it was a tiny fleck of gold in a sapphire blue sea. The mainland was now visible, covered with greenery and cut by rivers flowing from the nearby mountains. The unpolluted air was so clear she could see for miles. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty. The vision faded, and they were once again looking at the silver walls of the holotheater. Con's father grinned like a kid discovering an exotic new toy. Sara glanced at him, then formed her expression into a demure imitation of his. Con's reaction was more complicated. She was enchanted, even dazzled, yet dubious that the holovision was genuine. While part of her hoped it was, she also found that prospect unset-tling.
As the seats floated back to their starting places, the doors parted to reveal Ann Smythe waiting for them. Next to her was a small table with champagne in a silver ice bucket and four glasses. "You're the first to see it," she said, popping the cork. "I thought we'd celebrate. Dom Perignon, vintage 2047." By the time they were out of their seats, Ann had filled three glasses. She hesitated and looked to John Greighton before filling the fourth. "I know your daughter's not quite eighteen, but perhaps you'd..."
"I don't drink," said Con before her father could answer.
Ann gave John and Sara their glasses. They were made from hand-cut crystal. "A toast!" she said. 'To the ultimate travel experience ... time travel!"
2
ANN SMYTHE WENT TO HER OFFICE AND SHUT THE DOOR
before entering Peter Green's code in her computer. When the link was established, she submitted to a retinal scan and entered her password before Green's face appeared on the viewscreen. His features had been redone by a well-known designer, but his handsome face had a harsh cast. Ann was convinced that his somewhat sinister appearance was inten-tional. The cold, pale eyes, however, were beyond artifice. They bore into her. "Well?" Green said.
"I sold him," said Ann. Tell him the good news first, she thought.
"He didn't balk at the price?"
"He didn't blink. Convincing him the offer was genuine was the hard part, even with the holovision. Once he believed he would actually go back in time, the privacy won him over. He's been hounded ever since he got engaged again. I told him that only he and Sara would ever know if they packed their swimsuits." Green smirked. "You're good."
"The best," agreed Ann. "Three million Euros in one af-ternoon."
" Three million?"
"He's taking his daughter, too."
"I didn't know he had a daughter," said Green.
"I thoroughly research my prospects. That's why I'm worth my commission," replied Ann. "She's from his first marriage. Doesn't live with him. When he brought her to the showing, I knew she was the key to the sale. They're not close, and that's why he wants her on this vacation."
"What for?" asked Green. "Having a kid hanging around would be the last thing I'd want."
"I believe he wants to resurrect his family," said Ann.
"Only with a younger wife," said Green cynically.
"Yes," agreed Ann, "that's his pattern." She saw her op-portunity to break the bad news and took it. "But you're right about him. He doesn't really want the kid hanging around. That's why I told him our staff naturalist would keep her busy."
"You told him what?" said Green angrily. "I don't want anyone else in on this! Too many know already. Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm a salesperson, the best. I trust my instincts, and I felt it was necessary to close the sale. If you disagree with my judgment, I'll call Greighton up and tell him I was mistaken about the naturalist. But I guarantee he'll cancel."
"I don't want a scientist snooping around. You know that!"
"He'll be a naturalist, for heaven's sake. I said he'd be young, too. How much trouble could he cause?"
"You didn't listen to me," said Green coldly.
"Look, I think Greighton's more to you than a customer. If you need a big investor, he's as rich as they come. I de-livered him. I'd think you'd be grateful."
"You think too much," replied Green. He glared from the screen while he thought. "Okay," he said finally,
" you find the naturalist. Research him like you would a prospect. Someone to keep the girl out of Greighton's hair and some-one who'll keep his nose out of my business. I'm holding you responsible. Don't screw up!" The screen went blank as Green broke the connection.
Ann Smythe found her hands were shaking as she sat at her computer to begin her research. As a freelance marketer, she was used to demanding clients, even abusive ones. It came with the territory. Yet, Green unnerved her. She relied on her instincts, and she trusted them. They told her to be cautious; there was something going on.
THREE DAYS LATER, Ann Smythe was picking her way through the cluttered basement of Horner Hall on the campus of the University of Montana. She was annoyed with Rick Clements already, and they hadn't even met. They were supposed to have met an hour ago, but he hadn't shown up. She had been forced to track him down. A series of inquiries had led her first to the paleontology department, then to the preparation lab in the basement. She was not pleased to be there. Disorder irritated her, and the ubiquitous rock dust had soiled her expensive suit. There, amid cartons of specimens and scattered tools, she located a muscular, sandy-haired young man staring intently through a stereo macroscope. Despite his youth, he had a weathered look, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun. He was using a needlelike tool to deli-cately remove the rocky matrix from a fossil, grain by grain.
"Rick Clements?"
"Yeah?" said Rick, not removing his eyes from the ma-croscope.
"I'm Ann Smythe, we had an appointment."
Rick suddenly started back from the macroscope, glanced down at his watch, then looked up at Ann.
"I'm sorry. I lost track of the time." He rose and wiped his dusty hand on his pants before extending it to Ann. He had a disarming, guileless smile that made her decide to forgive him. "It's a Multituberculate from the Upper Cre-taceous," he said by way of explanation.
"What?"
"The fossil, it's ..."
"Never mind," said Ann. "I've come a long way to talk, but not here."
"Sure. Is the commons okay? Look, I'm really sorry about..."
"It must be someplace where we won't be overheard."
"There's my room, but it's a mess."
"Your room sounds fine."
Rick's dorm room resembled a more compressed ver-sion of the paleontology department's basement. Rick cleared some books and rocks off a chair, then offered Ann the seat. She decided to stand.
"Professor Harrington said you had some kind of job offer," said Rick, "but he didn't say much more than that."
"I didn't tell him more than that," said Ann. "The peo-ple I represent are starting a new venture and they're not ready to make it public yet. It's an opportunity for you to get in on the ground floor."