"Con."
"All I want is a scientific opinion. After all, you've seen mine. I know you've seen hers. Everyone has."
"My scientific opinion is you've had too much to drink. Maybe you should lie down."
"Yeah," said Con, collapsing on the sand.
"Not here!" said Rick. "In your quarters. Here, take my hand. You can show me that thing on your wall."
"Eduardo's mysterious decoration. Yeah. We could do that. Did you see my shoes?" Rick helped Con up, then found her shoes. He offered Con his arm to steady her, but she refused it. As they walked, she seemed to stumble less as her sped-up meta-bolism broke down the alcohol. When they reached her quarters, Con groaned. "My head hurts."
"How much did you drink?"
"I don't know. Four . . . maybe five glasses. Daddy was toasting me. Toasting me!" she said with fierce satisfac-tion.
"He should have. That was quite a gift."
"Yeah," said Con proudly.
"So let's see this thing."
Con lead Rick into the storeroom and moved the large cycad frond she had placed on her dresser and propped against the wall. The yellow design gleamed in the dim room:
"Whaddaya think?" asked Con.
"I don't know yet, but it seems to be a line of symbols of some sort." Rick silently studied the symbols for a couple of minutes. "There's a pattern here. The symbols always change in the same order. They've got to be num-bers."
"Numbers?"
"Yes. Some of them even look like our numbers—the zero, the one, the seven, and the eight. The upside-down 'V is two; the equilateral triangle is three ..."
"Three sides," said Con. "Bet the square's four."
"Pretty sharp for a drunk."
"I'm not drunk. Just a little tipsy. The square with the line, that's gotta be five." Con emphasized her certainty by sticking out her tongue.
"Okay, then—what's six?"
"The pointy down triangle?"
"That's nine," said Rick. "Six is the pie-shaped one."
"I was gonna say that. So ... what is it?"
"Beats me," said Rick. "It's counting something."
"Daddy's credit limit."
Rick laughed. "The zeroes are in the wrong places." He studied the numbers some more. "The numbers to the left don't seem to change."
"Yeah," said Con. "No, wait. Maybe the number before all the zeroes was different yesterday. I'm not sure. I can't remember."
"Maybe it's a clock."
"It doesn't look like a clock."
"The numbers at the right could be counting seconds."
Con looked at the numbers. "No, silly. There aren't eighty-seven seconds in a minute."
"Different numbers, maybe it's a different system. A metric clock."
"No ... no ..." said Con sleepily. "It's all wrong. The numbers are counting down, not up." She yawned. "I gotta go to bed."
Con walked out of the storeroom and flopped down on her bed without waiting for Rick to leave. Rick carefully placed the cycad frond over the numbers. Con was snor-ing as he left. 13
WHEN RICK AWOKE, HE TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT THE
strange numbers or the other mysteries surrounding Montana Isle. The advice I gave Con was good, he thought. / should follow it myself and simply enjoy my stay. It was not hard for him to do, when he had a day of exploration ahead. He decided a leisurely air tour of the less wooded part of the coastal plain would be perfect. They could visit the water hole and the nesting site, then locate the huge migrating herd of ceratopsids. That was just the planned itinerary, they were bound to encounter a few interesting surprises along the way.
Rick imagined future trips of a more ambitious nature. An aircraft that did not require fuel made all sorts of destinations possible. There was the eastern continent, where the young Appalachian Mountains rivaled the Alps. Up north lay the former bed of the Pierre Seaway, high and dry and yet un-touched by the coming ice ages. Perhaps they could even visit the mysterious forests of the North Pole. That would be a trip! Nothing remotely like that environment had existed since the Cretaceous. It promised the possibility of all sorts of strange plants and animals.
On this third day, camp life was beginning to establish a routine. James rose, made his camp coffee, and shared a cup with Rick before checking on the guests. He returned to wake Pandit, who started cooking immediately. First, he made a simple meal for Rick, James, and himself. Then he cooked those items of the guests' lavish breakfast that could be pre-pared in advance. Once that was done, Pandit prepared lunch for Rick's excursion. Joe, whose breakfast consisted only of coffee, rose last among the staff. He was usually loading the plane before Rick had finished eating. Pandit served breakfast to the guests, so Rick's workday began with helping Joe load. Then he went through the formality of lining up his tour. Passing the ammonite shell, Rick entered the pavilion where John, Sara, and Con were eating crepes, which Pandit cooked at the tableside.
"Good morning, Rick," called out John jovially. "Where are you taking my young adventuress today?"
"I thought we might go inland to see some dinosaurs." . "That would be great! Won't it, Constance?" Constance looked up from her sixth crepe. She seemed a little subdued. "Sure," she said. "That sounds exciting."
"Would you and Miss Boyton like to come?"
"Oh, dinosaurs are more a kid's taste," said John. "I'll find all the adventure I need on our private beach."
"Well, Con," said Rick, "whenever you want to go, we can leave."
"On second thought, I'll spend the day watching the wild-life here on our private beach." She laughed at her father's annoyed expression. "Just kidding. You're lucky, Daddy, I have more juvenile tastes." Rick did his best not to react to the exchange. "I'll wait by your quarters." CON SHOWED UP about ten minutes later, put on some shoes, then headed to the plane with Rick. As they walked up the path, Rick said, "I see last night's spell is already broken."
"What do you mean?"
"Between you and your father. You're already pushing his buttons."
"How's that your business?"
"For some reason. Green holds me responsible when your dad gets upset."
"So you're my baby-sitter? Look, I don't have to go anywhere with you."
"Con..."
"Did it ever occur to you that he pushes my buttons? That is, when he bothers to pay attention to me at all!" Con halted on the path, her eyes beginning to well with tears.
"I don't blame you," said Rick gently. "I've seen how he behaves toward you. It's just that Green's business involves your father in some way. He wants your dad to be in-a good mood."
"So? I thought you said to ignore Green."
"I want him to ignore us also."
"You mean ignore you."
"Yeah," said Rick, "I suppose you're right. I was sort of hoping you'd help me out. Green can be a real jerk."
"And I'm supposed to just bite my tongue."
"I think it would help."
Con mulled over Rick's request. "Green's like a lot of Daddy's friends. I didn't trust him even before you told me that stuff."
"So, will you help me?"
Con made a face. "You don't ask much!" She paused, then sighed. "I'll try. I really will."
"Thanks, Con. I know it's not a little thing. Now, let's fly away and forget Green and your dad."
"Sounds good to me."
ONCE THEY WERE in the air, Con's and Rick's moods lifted as the spirit of adventure took hold of them. Joe, also, seemed to be happy to be away from camp. Soon he was regaling Con with a humorous telling of his and Rick's first trip. "Invisible?" he said, imitating his terror at seeing the Dromaeosauruses.
"I'm looking at my shak-ing hand and thinking, this sure doesn't look invisible to me! Some fine guide!
First day out, and I'm dinosaur shit." Con was laughing so hard she had to catch her breath. "Yessir, if that thing took one more step in my direction, I'd be needing a diaper!"