'I suppose you're right,' said Rick. 'It's just no one told me about the . . . the price, as you put it.'
'It won't always be like this. We're just starting. Even-tually, we'll staff up. You'll be a proper guide by then.'
'I hope so.'
'First lesson—a proper guide protects his clients from themselves. Find that young lady and make sure she's safe.'
Rick gave one longing look at the steaming coffee, then wordlessly walked toward the guest quarters. CON STOOD ATOP the low cliff above the beach, watch-ing the rising sun paint the sea with opalescent fire. Com-ing from an era where the rising oceans were barricaded behind massive seawalls, it was Con's first experience of a seashore's elemental pleasures. Everything was imbued with the thrill of discovery. Con closed her eyes and felt the sun's warmth on her face. She breathed deeply, rel-ishing the scents of the seashore. The air was full and rich, moist with salt spray and laden with the essence of countless living things. Her eyes still closed, Con HS7
tened. The ever-present din of civilization was gone, leaving pure, unpolluted sound. She concentrated on the gentle rhythm of the waves until she imagined she could make out the sound of each drop, of each pebble and shell as it was rolled about. Con opened her eyes again and climbed down to the dancing water. As she walked across the cool, soft sand, the sea seemed to rush up to greet her. This world was so completely different from her gray, artificial home that she could not contain her astonish-ment and joy. She trembled before its awe-inspiring beauty.
RICK WENT TO Con's quarters to make sure she hadn't returned. They appeared empty. 'Miss Greighton?' he called out softly. 'Constance?' No answer.
Rick scanned the area with eyes sharpened by years of hunting fossils. One set of footprints diverged from the rest. Rick walked over to examine them more closely. He felt certain they were the girl's. She was barefoot and walked where the ground was soft, making a clear trail. It led toward the shore, but away from the protected beach.
THE MOSASAUR ROSE slowly to the surface of the sea. The thirty-foot-long reptile resembled a massive eel with a huge, pointed head. Breaking surface, it gulped air, then angled its exposed back to catch the first rays of the sun. It held its four flippers motionless and swam by sculling its powerful tail. The mosasaur's blood warmed and, as the night's sluggishness fell away, its hunger returned. The creature knew through age-old instinct that the sea turtles were returning to the island to lay their eggs. Each morning, female turtles could be found near the shore. Exhausted from their nocturnal labors, they were easy prey. The mosasaur's massive jaws and three- inch teeth could easily crush a turtle's shell, exposing the soft meat inside. Egg season was a time of plenty. With a deft movement of its flippers, the mosasaur changed direction and headed for the island to feed.
FROM THE CLIFF, the beach had appeared to be littered with cobblestones, but when Con had reached the sand she discovered the 'stones' were actually shells. They were like none she had ever seen. Many were large—the sizes of apples and grapefruit, and some were bigger than dinner plates. There were neat symmetrical coils and wildly twisted tubes. Some were smooth, while others were ruffled like petticoats. Con vaguely remembered a name from her biology book.
Con gathered up shells as she walked until there were too many to carry. She deposited her collection on the sand and went off to get more. There was such an abun-dance of choices, it was difficult to make selections. Within a short time, she had gathered a sizable pile of shells. She sat down to examine them. The sand about her was marked by the tracks of sea turtles, but, intent on her treasures, she didn't notice them.
The shells' hues ranged from warm earth tones to stark white and black to iridescent shades of pink and blue. Many of the shells were banded with elaborate, contrast-ing designs. Even worn and broken ones were beautiful, revealing an intricate pattern of inner partitions. Con had decided that the three-inch pink shells were her favorites when she spotted the same shade in the middle of a small wave. She rose for a closer look and saw a small flotilla of pink shells suspended in the clear water. They moved together in a coordinated manner, like a school of fish.
Con waded out for a closer look. The first thing she noticed was the animals' large eyes, which resembled those of cats. In front of the eyes was a mass of short tentacles. Occasionally, a pair of longer tentacles would flash out from this mass to seize some swimming prey. Just as quickly, the long tentacles would contract back to the shorter ones, which would writhe briefly as the animal fed. The ammonites did not scatter at Con's approach, but maintained their distance. Con waded deeper until a wave splashed her shorts and shirt. She looked at her dripping clothes—another civilized convention, like per-fumed soap-—then at the empty beach. 'This is ridicu-lous,' she said out loud, returning to shore. Impulsively, she shed her wet clothes, then reentered the water.
Con had never been skinny-dipping, and, as she waded toward the shellfish, she felt daring and free. The wind and water caressed her bare body. It was a mildly erotic sensation, yet one that seemed completely appropriate. The last barrier between her and nature was gone. The ammonites retreated toward deeper water in pace with her advance. When the water reached her breasts, Con gently pushed off the sandy bottom and drifted. She floated where the waves pushed her, lifting her head only to gulp air. She watched the ammonites, blurred by her under- water vision into pink planets. They seemed to accept her and swam closer.
