How could I be so dumb? Rick asked himself. None of this is twenty-first-century technology! It seemed so plain to him now, he was dismayed that he had ever been fooled. No wonder Tom found no mention of Peter Green. On further introspection, Rick saw why he had been so easily deceived. His only concern had been whether time travel was real. He hadn't truly cared where the technology came from. Should I care now? That was, indeed, the question. Regardless of how he had gotten there, he was in die Cretaceous. He had seen living dinosaurs. He would see more. Isn't that enough? Rick carefully pushed the corner of the label back down on the panel. / should return to camp and see if Con is up. There were still details to check to ensure her first trip ran smoothly. Stick to my job, he told himself. Rick walked back to camp trying to focus his thoughts on the day's explora-tions. Again and again, he reminded himself that the time machine was Green's business, not his. By the time he reached camp, he was almost convinced that it was true.
JOE LOOKED UP from his coffee and flashed Rick a broad smile. "I hear you've arranged for a passenger. Good job!"
"Do you know if she's up?" asked Rick.
"Ask Pandit. I avoid that pavilion like the plague."
"Miss Greighton has indeed risen," said Pandit, "with a full appetite and a pleasant disposition. For that, we are all grateful."
"You're our man," said Joe.
Rick tried to smile at Joe's praise, while he sorted out his feelings about the man. It was hard not to like him. Still, Rick now knew that beneath that seemingly open friendliness was much that was hidden. Surely, Joe knew about the alien words beneath the labels on the controls. He had discouraged all Rick's questions. Yet he told me about the rooms. Why had he done that? Was it a slipup? A warning? A threat? One thing's certain, whatever Green's up to, Joe's in on it.
"You look distracted," said Joe.
"It was a late night."
"Have a cup of James's mud. It'd wake a stone."
BREAKFAST WAS ENDING at the pavilion when Rick ar-rived. The mood of the diners, in contrast to the previous evening, seemed relaxed. John Greighton sipped cham-pagne, looking totally content.
"Hey, Rick," he called in a friendly voice, "I hear you're taking Constance sight-seeing." Con looked up from her second omelet at the mention of her name. She flashed Rick an excited smile.
"We're going to explore the inland sea," replied Rick. "Would you and Sara like to come along?"
"Maybe some other time," replied John. "We're just fine here." He reached out and playfully squeezed Sara's breast. She let out a surprised screech that transformed into a giggle. Con flushed and abruptly stood up. "I'm ready," she told Rick.
"Then we'll head out," he said. "Everything is all set." As they walked down the path, they heard Sara call out, "Have a good time!" Then she screeched again. Con's expression betrayed her irritation, and Rick feared the return of her moodiness of the previous day. They walked in silence until they reached the plane, where Joe was waiting for them. There, to Rick's relief, Con immediately brightened as she was taken by the air-craft's appearance. "It's like a Brancusi!" she exclaimed.
"A what?" asked Joe.
"Constantin Brancusi," replied Con, "a twentieth-century sculptor. You know, Bird in Space."
"I'll take your word for it," said Joe. "But I agree, it is a work of art."
"You must tell me all about it!" said Con.
"I'd like to, but dozens of patents are still pending on this baby. Mr. Green's very security conscious. A touch paranoid, if you ask me."
"That's Joe's polite way of saying 'Shut up and enjoy the view.' You'll get more answers from a clam," said Rick. "At least," he added for Joe's benefit, "more direct answers."
"You wound me," replied Joe in mock sorrow.
The three of them entered the airplane and took their seats. "Joe, I'd like to show Con the beaches around the island. Could you slowly circle it a few times as we climb?"
"Sure thing. You're the guide."
Con peered intently into the clear water as they rose, looking for sea turtles and also the mosasaur that still lurked darkly in her thoughts. She spotted neither. Rick's attention was elsewhere. While trying not to appear too obvious, he scrutinized the island for signs of the time machine's creators. From the air, Pandit's "wild toma-toes" were clearly part of a cultivated plot. That and the two landing sites, a few paths, the protected beach, and the three stone structures carved into the cliff seemed to be the only alterations to the island. Joe kept the plane's altitude below the top of the mesa, and Rick felt he could not ask him to fly higher without arousing suspicion. They were over a mile beyond the island before Joe took the aircraft into a climb. When Rick looked back at the island for the last time, a flash of light momentarily caught his eye. It seemed as if the sun had reflected off something atop the mesa. He strained to see what it might be, but they were too far away for him to see anything. The sea was unusually calm, and its flat surface made a perfect window to the world beneath. They were over the shallower western portion of the sea, filled with the eroded runoff of mountains and carved by drowned riv-ers. The seafloor was usually visible, in shades varying from pale turquoise to deep blue, according to the water's depth. Its inhabitants appeared to fly through the crystal medium rather than swim.
Con was particularly charmed by the graceful swim-ming of the plesiosaurs. They found several kinds. The long-necked Elasmosaurs swam slowly while their heads snatched fish with the quickness of a snake's strike. A short-necked plesiosaur with a long head cruised swiftly through the depths searching for prey. They saw it chase down a small mosasaur and sever it in two with a single bite. They spotted a huge mosasaur swimming leisurely near the surface. Because it was close to forty feet long, Rick thought it was probably a Tylosaurus. Con insisted that they follow it. The creature terrified and fascinated her, in the way a traffic accident does. Viewed from above, it looked somewhat like a smooth-skinned crocodile, with flippers instead of feet and a flattened tail topped with a ridge-like fin. In a way, it's a beautiful creature, she thought. Wavy, dark blue stripes contrasted with its light olive skin. They were too high for her to see its fright-ening green eye.
Rick conscientiously watched Con for signs of lagging interest, but could detect none. She was animated by all she saw and filled with questions about everything. Even-tually, it was he who suggested that they do something different. Con agreed, and Rick told Joe to head for the sand bar where they had seen the basking plesiosaurs. It took them almost an hour to reach it.
The tide was low, and a portion of the sand bar was above water, forming a thirty-yard-long white comma in the turquoise sea. Over a dozen Elasmosaurs of varying sizes basked in the shallows, resting on the sandy bottom while exposing their backs to the air and sun. Rick turned to Con. "Would you like to picnic here?"
Con's eyes lit up. "Could we?"
"Joe, can you set her down?"