“The rendezvous site! Over that way! We’ll get home, after all!”
His wrist watch said one o’clock.
They had traveled until dusk and then stopped for the night, because they did not want to lose their way by wandering hopelessly in the darkness. On the morning of the seventh day they had started their trek again — and now it was one o’clock.
Chuck glanced at his watch briefly. One o’clock. If they did not reach the relay area by two o’clock...
Doggedly, he led the party forward.
He tried not to think of the time limit imposed on the party. Instead, he tried to formulate the nature of the report he would make to the authorities. Somehow, though, the report did not seem very important. Someone named Masterson had paid for the expedition. But Masterson was dead.
He found it difficult to remember much about the man, although he knew that he should, because he did, after all, have to make a report. Somewhat vaguely, his mind struggled with the concept of Masterson’s and Gardel’s deaths. He knew he had thought over this very same problem not too long ago — but he didn’t know why. He understood clearly that Masterson and Gardel had ceased to exist long before they had been born — and he knew that the time stream would therefore make adjustments to account for their nonexistence. He knew, too, that eventually he would completely forget that either of the two men had existed. He knew this with a dead certainty. Yet he did not know why he knew it. He accepted it calmly as a fact. His store of experience told him that he had encountered this very same situation — or a parallel one — sometime not too long ago. He could not remember what that situation had been. He knew, though, that the memory of Masterson would fade, that he and his gaunt assistant would slowly slide into oblivion, leaving a completely adjusted set of circumstances, a set of circumstances that discounted the existence of the two men, that substituted a completely new train of events.
The idea was a strange one, but a familiar one. That he could not account for its familiarity did not disturb him.
He did wonder, however, how the time stream would adjust to Masterson’s absence. It would have to go all the way back, back to the beginnings, back to long before Chuck had even met the man. All traces of Masterson and Gardel would be erased, all contacts with any other men, all influences he may have had on the shaping of their characters or lives.
It was an elementary law. A thing cannot be and not be at the same time. Masterson had either existed or he had not existed. If he had died in the Jurassic, he could not have existed in modern times. And if he had not existed in modern times, then someone else had financed the expedition, someone else had hired Chuck.
Chuck did not know who that someone else could be.
Pete drew up alongside him and shook his head. “Chuck, I got a problem.”
Chuck glanced at his watch again. 1:10. Time was running out. Sifting through his hands like so many tiny particles of sand. At 2:00 p.m. the mechanism of the Time Slip would whir into operation. If they were within the white square, they would be jolted back to their own time. If they were not, the Slip would bring back nothing.
“What is it, Pete?” he asked.
“I keep feeling that somebody is missing from the party. That’s screwy, I know, because we’re all here. But something keeps tickling my mind. It says, ‘Master gone,’ or something like that. You know what I mean? I keep trying to remember clearly, but I can’t. It’s like something is slipping out of my mind and I can’t stop it.”
“I know what you mean, Pete.”
It was already happening. Masterson was sliding out of Pete’s memory, soon to be forgotten completely. And even as Chuck thought of the dead man, he found it difficult to remember what he’d worn, what he’d smoked-pipe, cigarette, cigar? What kind of voice did he have? He vaguely sensed that the man had caused a great deal of trouble, but all he could remember was the incident with Allosaurus. Even that was only an indistinct impression. Masterson in the beast’s jaws, Chuck firing wildly, blood spurting, death.
“I guess it’s nothing to worry about,” Pete said halfheartedly. “But still, it’s a funny feeling. Like I’m maybe losing my marbles.”
“You’re perfectly sane, Pete,” Chuck said. “I’d forget all about it if I were you.”
Pete laughed a little. “Looks like I’m going to forget all about it whether I want to or not. The darnedest part is that I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be forgetting!”
1:15.
1:20.
Time was a living thing. It slithered across the face of Chuck’s watch like a Jurassic reptile. It was just as deadly. It had no regard for Chuck or anyone in the group. It moved swiftly, blindly, oblivious to the torturous pace the party was keeping. It was not easy, this pace. It had never been easy. With time hovering over their heads like a deadly guillotine, it was more difficult.
They did not stop to rest.
They kept moving, the breath raging in their lungs. Their clothes were soaked with perspiration. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes sunken, flickering with doubt.
Chuck spoke to each of them briefly. He did not offer encouragement, did not bother with pep talks. He simply prodded them, kept them moving when they would have stopped, needled them the way a man would shove his cattle along a dusty road. In his brief talks he learned that Masterson had all but faded from their minds. He still did not know how the time stream had adjusted to Masterson’s nonexistence. If Masterson had not financed the expedition, someone had. Someone with a great deal of money. Who?
He didn’t know, and in a little while Masterson became a faint blur in his memory.
By 1:30 he could not remember Masterson at all.
1:30.
There was not much time now. There was not much time at all. He began to worry in earnest. The worry hung around him like a plague of insects nibbling at his mind, gnawing, biting, never letting him rest.
The white square. Where was it?
1:35.
The relay area. When?
1:40.
The rendezvous site. Please, please, please.
1:45.
At first they saw only the stegosaurs. Two of them. The creatures sat in the middle of a wide clearing. Their haunches squatted on the ground, their bony backs jutting up like mountain ranges, their spiked tails curled dangerously behind them.
He was almost ready to lead the party around them. That would be the safest thing to do, considering the fact that there wasn’t much time left. He looked at his watch. 1:50.
Something screamed danger in his mind. They had tangled with stegosaurs once before, he knew. He could not remember the exact incident. He only knew that the stegosaurs had been dangerous.
He was about to turn away when he saw plainly the area in which the stegosaurs were squatting. One of the beasts raised its head, but Chuck wasn’t looking at that. He was looking at the creature’s rump and at what the rump was partially covering.
A thick white line.
Realization came with a jolting shock!
The armor-plated dinosaurs were sitting in the relay area!
“Chuck, for the love of...”
“I know,” Chuck shouted. He looked at his watch. 1:53.
“They’re right inside the white square,” Pete said. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He gulped hard. “I... I don’t know. We can’t get inside it as long as they’re in it.”
“What time is it?” Dr. Perry asked.
Chuck looked at his watch again, noticing that his arm was trembling. “One fifty-four,” he said.