Cretaceous Sea

'I'm impressed,' said John Greighton.

'I'm glad you're pleased,' returned James. Then he turned to Rick. 'Get Joe to help you with the linens, I want Pandit to start on dinner.'

Rick headed back to the time machine feeling frus-trated. Here I am back in the Cretaceous, and, instead of exploring, I'm running around like a damn servant, he thought irritably. He found Joe sitting in the time ma-chine control booth relaxing and having a drink. 'James says you and I are to make the beds.'

'To hell with that,' snapped Joe. 'I'm a pilot, not a damn maid.'

'Look, I'm only repeating what he said. No one told me about this extra crap either.'

'Who does he think he is,' said Joe angrily.

'Take it up with Green,' Rick suggested. 'You know him better than I do.' That remark effected an immediate change in Joe's at-titude. 'Hell,' he said with resignation, 'Green knows about this. Probably his idea. I guess I am a damned maid.' Joe helped Rick with the beds. Next, they hung mos-quito netting in the dining pavilion and set up the table for dinner. The latter task was done under the watchful eye of James, since neither Joe nor Rick understood the proper way to do it. Before he sent them off to help in the kitchen, he gave them a quick lesson in the formali-ties of serving.

One of the aftereffects of time travel was a ravenous appetite. Fortunately, Pandit had prepared cold entrees in advance, so it did not take long to serve dinner. The meal provided Rick's first introduction to safari camp life. Used to the easy camaraderie of camps at fossil digs, he found the atmosphere at dinner appalling. He disliked the stuffy formality of the tablecloth, the elaborately folded napkins, and the fancy table setting, complete with china and crystal. He hated the class distinctions far more. On a safari, there were the guests and below them, in every way, was the staff.

JAMES NEVILLE PRESIDED over the meal like a ship's captain, the junction of the separate universes of staff and guests. He had dressed for the occasion. Indeed, everyone at the table was dressed as if they were at an elegant restaurant. Con had worn a dress at the insistence of her father, who dined in a white dinner jacket. To Con, it felt silly and pretentious. Am I the only one who thinks we look ridiculous? thought Con. No, the guide does, too. I can see it in his face. Although Con had acquiesced to her father about the dress, she went barefoot in quiet defiance. He hadn't no-ticed. Indeed, John Greighton scarcely noticed his daugh-ter at all. He spent most of the dinner discussing vintage wines and investments with Peter Green, who seemed very knowledgeable in both areas. Con thought they were strange expertises for a research scientist. She turned to Sara for conversation, but soon tired of her monologue about the upcoming wedding. Nothing else seemed to in-terest Sara, neither their journey nor the island. All the other diners, with the exception of Mr. Neville, seemed completely blase about their surroundings. They behaved as if nothing wondrous had happened, as if they had voy-aged 65 million years merely for exotic decor.

Con finished dinner in silence. By then, she had begun to sense the return of a familiar pattern. Her father, having purchased a symbol of parental affection, had as-sumed it would substitute for the genuine article. His claim to Constance renewed, he had turned his attention to other matters. Con was not surprised it had happened; she had been through it before. What surprised her was that it still hurt. ONLY WHEN THE after-dinner cognac was served, did Rick, Joe, and Pandit sit down on rocks to wolf down leftovers. Then there was the cleanup, followed by setting up the staff compound. The compound was put up out of sight from the guests and consisted of three tents—a kitchen tent, a sleeping tent, and a latrine tent. In contrast with the carved stone guest quarters with voice-activated lights, the staff compound was basic, even primitive. It was like the camps in the desert that Rick was accus-tomed to. There was no electricity and no bathing facil-ities beyond a plastic tub. The sole convenience was a water hose.

Throughout the work of setting up camp, James pushed himself harder than anyone. He was an exacting task- master, but he obviously knew his trade. Under his direction, the process of setting up camp went quickly and smoothly. The resentment Rick felt toward James abated. Joe's probably right, he thought. My extra duties

were Green's idea. James is just doing his job.

Once camp was set up, James allowed everyone, except himself, the rest of the evening off. 'I'll tend to any of our guests' requests,' he said. 'Just get a good night's rest, tomorrow will be busy.' Rick discovered that an additional aftereffect of time travel was exhaustion. The work had not been that stren-uous—he was used to much harder— but it had left him bone tired. It was dusk, and the thought of sleep was almost irresistible. Almost. The lure of this unexplored world was even stronger than his fatigue. He wandered toward the shore.

A path led him to a cove. Its rocky walls enclosed a sandy beach. The water glowed silver against the dark rocks, and its waves painted the sand with the colors of the evening sky.

'Pretty sight. Especially this time of day.'

Rick turned to see Joe sitting on a rock, watching the water. 'I'm finishing that drink you so rudely inter-rupted,' said Joe with a friendly tone. 'Care to join me?'

'Thanks, but I only drink beer.'

'Beer weighs too much when you're counting every gram of cargo. Though, I figure if Greighton was a beer drinker, we'd have packed a dozen cases.'