"Two reasons. First, it would be a preemptive strike against the future. The people trying to recover the time ma-chine would no longer exist. That brings me to the second reason—the real reason. They wouldn't exist because we'll have completely changed the world. We'll have conquered it!"
"Conquer the world?" said Greighton in an almost mock-ing tone. "Come on, that sounds crazy!"
"You can object to my wording, but listen to my plan. We arrive in colonial America in a fleet of time machines. We have modern medicine, weaponry, and communications, we have a complete library of technology, we know where every undiscovered natural resource is located, and, best of all, we own a map of history. The people speak English, they're literate, and they're used to rule by kings. They will flock to us!"
"What if they don't? There was an American Revolution after all."
"Smallpox ... cholera... Ebola virus. We'll be vacci-nated, they won't. Who needs armies with that?"
"It'd look like the hand of God," said Greighton.
"It would be the hand of God! We'll found a state that will overwhelm the world!"
"And what would I get for my help?"
"The vineyards of France ... the treasures of Italy ...
whatever you want. I'm not a greedy man. My gratitude would be generously shown."
"And if I refuse?" said Greighton.
"I'll find someone else. He help me rewrite history. Then, one day, you and your world will cease to exist."
"You don't seem to offer me a choice."
"Only opportunities, John. Only opportunities."
Rick had heard enough. Whether Greighton accepted Green's offer was ultimately irrelevant, and to listen further increased his risk of getting caught. He had an idea of how dangerous that might be. Quickly, but cautiously, he sneaked away.
John Greighton left Green's quarters about a half an hour later. The sunset had painted the sky a brilliant orange, but he was oblivious to it. In his hand was the bottle of cognac, a parting gift. He removed its cut crystal stopper. With an unsteady hand, he held the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. Peter Green remained in his quarters. He already regretted the gift of the cognac. He would have enjoyed a celebratory drink at the moment. Reaching into a pocket of his dinner jacket, he extracted a small pistol. It had not been necessary. He placed the pistol under his pillow and prepared for bed. 14
RICK HEADED FOR THE SEA, HIS MIND IN TURMOIL. ON ONE
hand, Green's scheme seemed unreal and absurd—a single man proposing to alter the destiny of humanity to satisfy his greed. It was hard to comprehend such a pathological am-bition, much less see how it could come to pass. Still, the idea of standing on the shores of the Interior Seaway had seemed equally absurd and unreal only a week ago. Rick was no student of history, but he knew that all evil needed to flourish was acquiescence. Green had a time machine, and with it, he could wreak havoc. It was a fact Rick could not dare to ignore.
The sea glowed like molten metal against the darkening sky, but it did not calm Rick. Its unceasing motion dredged up disturbing echoes of the journey through time. An unquiet feeling that nothing was stable or permanent seized Rick's imagination. His very existence seemed tenuous. He might dissolve in an instant, along with everyone and everything dear to him.
/ must calmly decide what to do, Rick told himself. It was not easy advice to follow. There seemed little chance of re-solving matters peacefully. As Rick walked along the shore, he played out scenarios of confrontation, sabotage, and mu-tiny in his mind. Each ended in violence, and each increased his agitation. He was stabbing the air with Tom's knife, when Joe called out his name. Joe was sitting on a rock, flask in hand, watching the waves. Rick hadn't even noticed him.
"Hope you didn't mind my joking at dinner," Joe said good-naturedly. "I gotta admit it, that girl's one spunky kid!"
"Yeah, sure." said Rick tersely.
"Something buggin' you? You're looking at me weird. Like I crawled from under this rock."
"I'm just tired, that's all."
"You don't look tired. You look jumpy. Those Tyranno-saurs get to you?"
"Them?"
"Yeah. You were a little damp after our encounter. Not that I blame you, if it was up to me, I'd have blown them away."
"I'm sure you would," said Rick angrily. "That's where we're different. Blowing stuff away doesn't bother you."
Joe stared out to sea, saying nothing. Rick strode away, following the shore. RICK LAY ON his cot, listening to the easy breathing of James, Pandit and Joe. He looked at his watch. No one had stirred for half an hour. Assured everyone was asleep, he pulled off his covers and rose from his bunk, fully dressed except for his shoes. These he grabbed to put on outside the tent. Rick walked quietly to the door flap and slipped into the night.
The full moon made the path easy to see. It took Rick only a few minutes to reach the plane. The doorway opened as he approached. Rick reached inside and grabbed a gun. He pressed a button and the rows of lights appeared on the barrel. He adjusted the power level to its highest setting and then set the firing spread to maximum. These were "kick-ass levels," as Joe would put it— messy, but effective. Rick turned off the safety and the firing trigger appeared.
Rick's hands trembled as he held the deadly instru-ment. He stood immobile in the moonlight, reluctant to start his trek to Peter Green's quarters. This isn't murder, he told himself. I'll be saving lives. Murder is something different. Rick wondered if anyone would believe that. He doubted that he believed it himself.
Shadows of trees lay across the path so Rick walked alternately in moonlight and in darkness. His thoughts, however, were always on the darkness. He would have to turn on the lights for a clear shot. What if Green wakes up? Rick was convinced he would. Should I say some-thing to him? Do I owe him an explanation? What if he pleads with me? The idea of killing a man begging for his life was profoundly depressing. Rick wished he could be angry, but the only passion he could muster was sor-row.
"Going hunting?" asked Joe as he stepped out of the shadows to block Rick's path. Rick gave a start, then quickly raised his gun and aimed it at Joe's chest. Joe stood still, his hands clasped in front of his waist. "It seems," he said calmly, "I'm not the only one who doesn't mind blowing stuff away."
"I know what Green's up to. He's got to be stopped."
"And you're the one to do it?"
"Yes," said Rick. "Now out of my way."
Joe sighed deeply. "You're not a killer, Rick."
Rick watched Joe through the targeting scope. "I'll do what I have to. Move!"
"You'll have to kill me first. If you're going to take on Green, you're gonna need practice." Rick tried to pull the trigger, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He lowered the gun. "Damn you, Joe!
Damn you!"
"Green would've killed me in a nanosecond," said Joe. "He's the real thing. If you go down there, you're gonna die."
"Is that a threat?" asked Rick, raising the gun again.
"No," said Joe, "more a statement of fact. He's always armed, and he doesn't flinch. Besides, it's not necessary to kill him."
"I'm confused," said Rick. "Whose side are you on?"
"Not Green's, if that's what you think. My own, I guess. I'm just trying to survive."
"How can you stand by and let Green pull it off?"
"I don't know what 'it' is." replied Joe. "Green doesn't confide in the help."
"You know Green's a fake. Don't pretend you don't."
"I won't," said Joe. "I also know that this 'resort' is only a means to get to Greighton."
"But you claim you don't know Green's plans?"
"Nope, though I have no doubt they're illegal and im-moral."