"What was that?" asked Rick.
"Some luminous symbols on the wall. They had been covered over with plaster." Joe turned quickly around, paused for a moment, then said casually, "Oh that's just one of Eduardo's things."
"Who?" said Con.
"He was the decorator, before he got canned. Wanted everything to look high-tech. You know, sort of a
'time travel motif.' It looked god-awful."
"You mean that thing is just a decoration?" asked Con.
"Yep. An expensive one, too. Mr. Green had me plaster it over when he went for the rustic look."
"Oh," said Con.
A few minutes later, Joe brought up the subject again. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my lousy plas-tering job. Especially to Mr. Green."
"Sure," said Con. "In fact, I'll cover it with a leaf from one of those short, fat palm trees. I like the rustic look, too."
"Thanks," said Joe.
Rick sensed Con's waning interest in sight-seeing and suggested that they head back. "Tomorrow, if you like, we can see some dinosaurs."
"That would be great."
The trip back was uneventful. The late hours of the previous night before caught up with Con, and she dozed off. Rick was feeling tired, too, but nagging questions kept him awake. Something was going on. It bothered him he didn't know what it was.
12
WHEN THEY LANDED BACK ON THE ISLAND, CON WANTED
to take the ammonite shell back to camp. Joe said he could make a litter to carry it more easily. He grabbed a gun and adjusted the settings, saying, "I'll cut some poles and rig up the litter while you two go back to camp to recruit some litter bearers."
Rick and Con headed back to camp. Once they were out of Joe's hearing, Rick said, "I'd like to see that decoration you found."
"It's no decoration," replied Con matter-of-factly.
"Why do you say that?"
"There was the same pattern on the control panel of the plane."
"So you think Joe was lying?" said Rick, attempting to sound disinterested.
"Of course. I just played dumb," replied Con. "Just like you are." Rick turned to face Con. She looked him squarely in the eye and said, "You knew he was lying, too." Rick glanced away and remained silent as he tried to think of how to respond. Finally, he said weakly,
"How'd you know?"
"I could see it on your face. Back then, and just now," she said.
"I'm not in on some conspiracy, if that's what you're thinking."
"So, what are you hiding?"
Rick hesitated again, then sighed. "Will you keep this to yourself?"
"Why should I?"
"I have a feeling that if it got out, there'd be trouble. I won't tell you anything unless you swear not to talk."
"Okay, I promise."
"I've stumbled onto some stuff. This place is more than a resort, but I'm not sure what." Con looked disappointed. "Is that all?"
"No. One more thing—one big thing—Green didn't build this resort or invent the time machine." Con had stopped walking. "Wow! Then who did?"
"Joe probably knows, but besides Green, I think he's the only one. He's not talking. He seems afraid of Green."
"That's creepy."
"Glad you asked now?"
"I wasn't expecting that] What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," said Rick. "Nothing, I guess. That's prob-ably the safest thing."
"Safest?"
"If Joe's afraid of Green, he must have a reason. I think we should simply enjoy our stay and leave Green alone."
Con gave Rick a dubious look, but said, "Maybe you're right."
"Come on, let's get to camp and find some litter bearers."
BY THE TIME Con and Rick returned to the plane with Pandit and James, Joe had constructed a litter for the shell. The poles were as deftly cut and trimmed as if he had used a fine-toothed saw. The crosspieces of the litter were precisely notched and held in place by pegs.
"You should have been a carpenter, Joe," said Rick.
"Once an engineer, always an engineer," he replied.
"How'd you get the pegs in?"
"Just drilled a hole with the gun and popped in a piece of a branch. If you fool with the settings, these guns are precision instruments."
"Joe did most of the work on the pavilion," said James. "He's very handy." Rick was annoyed when Con took charge of the am-monite shell, automatically assuming it was hers. She had the men carry the shell back to camp and hide it near the pavilion. "Don't tell anyone about it," she told them. "I want it to be a surprise."
When he finished helping with the ammonite, Rick headed to the kitchen tent to help Pandit. James caught up with him. "Capital job, Rick," he said. "I'm very pleased, and so, I'm sure, will be Mr. Green."
"Thanks."
"Why don't you relax until it's time to serve dinner?" Rick was happy for the break and pleased with his ap-parent rise in status. He bathed standing in the small plas-tic tub in the sleeping tent and changed into fresh clothes. Afterward, he wandered off to the shore. He had fallen in love with the sea. He found its beauty and its vitality irresistible. For the first time, he truly understood why old people missed the beaches so. Watching the light on the moving water, it seemed strange and sad that one day this would become the Great Plains and the Dust Bowl.
A silver bell announced dinner, and Rick hastened to the pavilion to help serve. Con appeared wearing a dress and shoes.
"You look nice this evening," said her father.
Con smiled. "I brought you a present, Daddy."
"What?"
"A seashell"
"Oh," he said, sounding somewhat annoyed.
Con rang the silver bell and Joe and Pandit bore the ammonite from its hiding place. By the time they set it down in front of the pavilion, John Greighton was on his feet, staring in amazement.
"Your daughter's bagged you quite a trophy," said James.
"How sweet," said Sara.
John walked over to his present and appreciatively ran his hand over its glossy, smooth surface. "This will look great in my office."
"It'll be unique ... priceless," said Peter Green.
Rick envisioned the publicity photographs—John Greighton with a hammy smile, showing off his latest possession. So much for secrecy, he thought. Strangely, Green seemed unperturbed, even pleased, with Greigh-ton's plans for the ammonite. A rich man's trophy— what a waste! Rick thought of Tom and how he might use such a gift. I'm merely the help, he reflected with an edge of bitterness. That shell was never mine to give.
Pandit brought out a tray of filled champagne flutes. "A toast!" cried out James, lifting a glass high. Con's father took a glass, handed it to Con, then took one for himself.
"To the conquering huntress!" said James.
"To Constance!" said John Greighton. Beaming, he clinked Con's glass. "Thank you, honey." John Greighton's excitement set an upbeat tone for the meal. Only Sara seemed unaffected by his mood. She ap-peared miffed by the praise he lavished on Con, but held her tongue. Con basked in her father's attention, her eyes shining. Both Green and James bore the satisfied look of hosts whose party was going well. Once, Green lifted his glass in Rick's direction and gave him a silent nod. After Rick had his dinner with the staff, he walked out to the protected beach. He found Con there, still in her dinner dress. The wine had obviously gone to her head. She had thrown off her shoes and was whirling about the sand in a tipsy dance.
"Rick," she cried. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"Sure," he replied, uncertain what she was referring to.
"I finally did it! I got 'em something he couldn't buy."
"You sure did."
"Sara Big-Tits-Boyton can't match that. All she gives him is ... well, you know what she gives him."
"Yes," said Rick dryly.
"I could get tits like Sara's. Think I should?"