"Will we scare them away if we move?" asked Con.
"They'll ignore us," assured Rick.
Con got up and approached a turtle. The animal kept up her relentless struggle against the sand even when Con touched her. She found something noble in the creature's dedication to bring its young into the world. Soon, she was surrounded by turtles. "This is so incredible!" she exclaimed. "Nothing seems to stop them."
"Sea turtles survived into the beginning of our cen-tury," said Rick with a touch of melancholy. "There might even be a few left, ancient ones still searching for vanished beaches." Con picked her way among the moving turtles back to Rick. "How did you know they'd be here?" she asked.
"I saw their trails this morning. I've seen fossilized tracks just like them." Con felt Rick's infectious excitement. "This place is really special to you," she said.
"Let me show it to you! Joe can fly us all over. We'll keep you safe. Just don't let this opportunity pass by."
"What about the others?"
Rick made a face. "They act as if this place is just a hotel. They don't seem to give a damn."
"So, you noticed," said Con.
"But you're different."
A turtle stopped just inches from Con's foot and started digging a hole in the sand with her rear flippers. It was slow work. "Can we stay here until she lays her eggs?"
Rick smiled to himself. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
IT WAS LATE when Con returned to her quarters. While the turtles had labored, she and Rick had talked. Gradu-ally Con had let her guard down as Rick provided the sympathetic ear she so desperately needed. Now, she felt unburdened and pleasantly sleepy. Tomorrow beckoned with a promise of adventure and escape. Daddy and Sara can rot, I'll be soaring over a new world!
Con had pulled open the curtains, so she left the lights off and entered the small storeroom to change. In the darkness, a thin yellow light caught her eye. There seemed to be something glowing beneath a crack in the plaster. Con's curiosity got the better of her sleepiness. She climbed onto the wooden dresser and dug her nails into the crack. A small slab of plaster flaked off to reveal what appeared to be a portion of a symbol. It glowed brightly on a glassy black surface.
Con got off the dresser, found her nail file, and climbed back up. She slipped the point of the file between the plaster and the smooth surface beneath. The plaster fell away easily. Con pried away the plaster to expose a glassy black rectangle inset into a stone wall. Within it, a strange design glowed in the dark: Con climbed down and looked at it. Some of the elements in the design changed. The rightmost pair changed rap-idly, while the third from the right changed more slowly, and the remaining ones did not change at all. The purpose of the design eluded Con. She was too tired to dwell on the puzzle for long. She went to bed and soon was peace-fully asleep.
11
RICK WOKE UP FEELING VERY PLEASED WITH HIMSELF. HE
had managed to pull it off and win Con over. He was still a little amazed by his feat. Apparently, he possessed hidden charms he wasn't aware of. Now Green would get off his case. He could remain on Montana Isle and explore the world around it.
The previous night had improved his opinion of Con. She might be a little screwed up, but he figured that was to be expected. John Greighton didn't seem like much of a father. Rick didn't understand why she gave a damn about what he thought; yet in a perverse way, she did. That's her problem, he thought. At least she's not a snob like him. It wouldn't be too hard to put up with her, especially since she was his passport to the Cretaceous. Rick figured that as long as he kept Con busy, Green would let him do anything he wanted. He planned to keep her very busy.
The aroma of James's camp coffee wafted through the mesh of the sleeping tent's window. Rick rose and quickly dressed. James was pouring himself a cup when Rick emerged from the tent.
"You seem chipper for keeping such late hours," remarked James.
"Con's going on a tour. I need to set up lunch. I plan to have her out most of the day." James's lips formed a slight smile. "So Miss Greighton is 'Con' now?"
"We worked things out last night."
"I suspected you had the makings of a guide. It seems that I was right." Rick beamed and poured himself a mug of coffee. He took a sip and was glad it was strong.
"I trust 'Con' will not be wandering off this morning?"
"I'm sure she'll sleep in. We were up late watching sea turtles lay their eggs."
'Turtle eggs? You should inform Pandit. I'm sure he would welcome the challenge." Rick shook his head. "Everything's a potential meal to him."
"The man's an artist," replied James. "He's not going to be happy until you bring him a dinosaur to cook."
"I suspect you're right."
"I am," said James with assurance.
Rick finished his coffee and stood up. "I thought I'd carry that bottled water Con drinks up to the plane."
"I'll rouse Pandit and get him started on your lunch," said James. "Then you can leave whenever Miss Greighton de-sires."
"That would be great," said Rick. "Please be sure he makes a lot. She's a big eater." Rick grabbed a small cooler and walked over to the camp's refrigerator. He removed two bottles of water. As he did, he couldn't help think what a waste of energy and cargo space these bottles of lemon-flavored water represented. He shut the top of the cooler and headed up the path to the plane. That was easy, Rick thought. He expected James to ques-tion his errand, since the bottles could have just as easily accompanied the lunch. Probably he's so relieved we're go-ing, he doesn't care. When he reached the plane, a door formed in its side for him, just as Joe had set it to do. Rick deposited the cooler inside the plane, then turned to the real purpose of his visit.
Fishing out a hand lens from his pocket, Rick walked over to the boulder Joe had sliced with the gun the day before. He carefully examined the newly cut surface through the magnifier. It bore scoring that precisely matched that on the walls of the stone rooms. Rick was certain the technology employed in the guns had also been used to make the rooms in the cliff. Yet, by solving this mystery, Rick had uncovered a far greater one.
Joe's statement that Green had found, not built, the stone rooms made even less sense now. Why would he say that? wondered Rick. Green clearly had the means to construct them. There was only one logical answer—it had not oc-curred to Joe that guns had carved the stone rooms. Yet how could that be, if Green had invented the guns? Rick pondered the implications of that question. All the technology on Mon-tana Isle was interconnected. The guns were charged by the same black solar panels on the plane, the same panels on the time machine. Green must have invented the guns, other-wise—a disconcerting thought came to Rick— He hadn't in-vented anything!
Rick was taken aback by where his logic was leading. It's just a hypothesis, he reminded himself. The cut boulder is no proof. Perhaps, once Green invented the guns, other peo-ple developed the technology for different uses. Such people could have made the rooms for Green to find. With time travel, chronology was flexible; the future could affect the past.
Rick was beginning to take comfort in this new line of thinking when he looked into the clear portion of the plane. The bits of plastic tape on the control panel caught his eye. Instantly, he realized that the tape labels might provide a clue to the plane's origin. He entered the plane and, with a grow-ing sense of apprehension, approached the control panel. The makeshift labels seemed particularly incongruous on its fin-ished surface. With a trembling finger, Rick lifted up a corner of a label. As he feared, there was something underneath, integral to the panel's surface. It was probably a word, al-though Rick recognized neither the language nor the alpha-bet.