RICK GREW INCREASINGLY ANXIOUS DURING HIS TRIP TO
the rendezvous point. The closer he got to his destination, the more Tom's arguments on the improbability of time travel weighed on his mind. By the time his flight landed, Rick almost expected disappointment. Still, he could not fig-ure out what anyone had to gain by fooling him. Only that slim rationale sustained his hope that the trip was not point-less.
The man who met Rick when he disembarked did not iden-tify himself. He drove Rick in silence to the outskirts of Chicago. "Here's your stop," the stranger finally said. As the car drove away, Rick found himself outside a small, one-story brick building in an industrial zone. The building and the surrounding area looked run-down and late-twentieth-century. A small sign taped to the inside of the glass door to the building read p.g. enterprises. It seemed an unlikely site for the greatest scientific breakthrough of the twenty-first century.
The door was locked, and Rick had to pound on it loudly before anyone came to open it. Eventually, a burly, dark-haired man appeared. He looked Rick over thoroughly before entering a code on a keypad next to the door. The bolts snapped open.
"You Clements?" the man asked.
"Yes," replied Rick.
"I'm Nick," said the man without offering his hand, "I work for Mr. Green. Come on." He turned and walked down a corridor. As Rick followed him, he heard the bolts in the door automatically snap shut. Nick led him to a door and opened it. "In here." Rick passed through the doorway; then Nick, who had remained in the corridor, closed the door. Rick stood and glanced at the three other occupants of the room.
A dark, tall black man in his late thirties smiled sympa-thetically at Rick's confusion. "I see you've met the ever-charming Nick Zhukovsky," he said. "I'm Joe Burns, the pilot for this little junket." Rick shook his hand. "I'm Rick Clements."
"Our naturalist," said Joe. "So you're the guy I'll fly around when we get downwhen."
"Downwind?"
Joe laughed. "That's downwhen, short for 'back in the past.' I fly in all four dimensions."
"You've done it before?" asked Rick. "What's it like?"
"Ever fall down? Like from a ladder or something?"
"I walked off a twelve-foot ledge one night."
"Well, remember the instant you started to fall? Stretch that feeling out over an eternity and you have time travel."
"It doesn't sound pleasant," said Rick.
"It isn't," said Joe with a grin, "but I guess the trip's worth it."
'To see living dinosaurs? I'll say!" said Rick.
"An enthusiast," said Joe wryly. "Let me introduce the others." Joe turned to a man in his sixties whose leathery, sun-darkened face contrasted with his blue eyes and white hair. "James Neville, meet Rick Clements."
"Pleased to meet you," said James with an exotic accent that blended British with African. "As the camp guide, you'll be working for me."
"James ran a safari camp in the Serengeti Park. He goes back to when the animals were still real," said Joe.
"No bloody poachers where we're going," said James with satisfaction. He turned to a short, slightly plump dark-eyed man in his twenties, and said, "This is Pandit Jahan. Hasn't been downwhen, but he was with me in Uganda. Damned good chef, in or out of the bush." Pandit smiled modestly at James's praise and shook Rick's hand. James continued, "We'll run this just like a safari camp. Hear you've done your share of camping."
"Entire summers," replied Rick, "some winter trips, too."
"Good. Main difference between your camping and a sa-fari is we have guests. They don't rough it. For them, it's a fine hotel, only alfresco. You'll be the camp guide, but you'll pitch in on the other work, too—washing dishes, tending the guests, whatever's required. We're shorthanded. In Uganda, I'd have a staff of twelve for four guests."
As James detailed Rick's duties, Rick was chagrined to discover how much Ann Smythe had left out. He began to feel he had been conned into becoming a glorified busboy. Yet, already, he sensed it was useless to protest. James did not give the impression of flexibility. Rick considered ap-proaching Peter Green on the matter.
As if on cue, Green entered the room. James instantly fell silent. One look at Green and Rick abandoned all ideas of complaining. Green's expensively sculpted face bore an in-timidating look. His cold eyes fixed on Pandit and Rick, siz-ing them up. "I'm Peter Green, CEO of Temporal Transport. Welcome aboard." With those minimal pleasantries aside, Green addressed die group. "This evening, we will leave on our first paying excursion downwhen. All of you need to know how impor-tant this trip is. It's much more than a maiden voyage. The future of time travel and the future of mankind are at stake. This is no exaggeration.
"If this trip seems shrouded in secrecy and hurried, it is because of our situation. Consider for a moment how truly dangerous time travel is. I'm not referring to any danger to the traveler—that's negligible. But think of the effects such travel could have on history itself. It does not take much imagination to conceive how even a minor alteration of the past could cause unpredictable changes to the present. If those alterations were motivated by greed or a political agenda, catastrophe could result. I feel so strongly about this, I would halt all development in this technology if it were in my power. Unfortunately, it is not. Others, without my scru-ples, are also working on time travel.
"One of the paradoxes of this technology is that, even though I am far ahead of my competitors, being first means nothing. If they ever succeed in discovering its secrets, they can go back in time, destroy my research, and gain sole con-trol over the technology. With additional capital and re-search, I believe that I can prevent that. I am working on a system for Temporal Field Stabilization. To put it simply, it will prevent anyone from altering the time continuum. The future will unfold without interference.
"At the present, this field is not in place. This is the reason why your nondisclosure agreements are so important. Up-when, people are researching history to pinpoint our precise location in time. Talk to your grandchildren years from now about this trip, and these people may find out. With that information, they might travel downwhen to kill your mother."
Green paused to let the implications sink in. Already, Rick regretted his talk with Tom. Have 1 already said something that might be traced in the future? he wondered. Was that the real cause of Mom and Dad's auto accident? I was in that car. Was someone trying to get me? This convoluted chain of causation was as confusing as it was ominous. It meant that there would have been an unaltered past where the accident did not occur. Yet somehow, Rick would have spoken to his brother in that time line also. But why? puzzled Rick. My life would have been completely different. Rick became aware that Peter Green was staring at him. He hoped he did not look guilty and was relieved when Green continued his talk. "The real purpose of this trip is to gain money to fund my research into temporal stabilization. I chose our destination, aside from its obvious appeal, be-cause it's far enough downwhen to prevent us from affecting the present. Our first client will be the billionaire John Greighton, along with his fiance'e and daughter. I hope to demonstrate the potential of time travel to him, both for good and ill, and obtain his backing for my research."
"Your jobs are to make "this trip as enjoyable as possible for Greighton and his party. That's all you need to do, noth-ing more and nothing less. Everything I just said stays in this room. Remember, they're on vacation. I'll broach die fund-ing matters with Greighton myself. That's my job. Just do your parts and it will be easier."
As Green finished talking, Nick entered the room pushing a cart laden with food and a huge bottle of champagne. "That's enough of business," said Green as his expression softened. He popped a cork and started filling glasses. "We have something to celebrate." He handed out glasses to everyone, then raised his own in a toast. "To Montana Isle!"