Cretaceous Sea

'Do you know if she's up?' asked Rick.

'Ask Pandit. I avoid that pavilion like the plague.'

'Miss Greighton has indeed risen,' said Pandit, 'with a full appetite and a pleasant disposition. For that, we are all grateful.'

'You're our man,' said Joe.

Rick tried to smile at Joe's praise, while he sorted out his feelings about the man. It was hard not to like him. Still, Rick now knew that beneath that seemingly open friendliness was much that was hidden. Surely, Joe knew about the alien words beneath the labels on the controls. He had discouraged all Rick's questions. Yet he told me about the rooms. Why had he done that? Was it a slipup? A warning? A threat? One thing's certain, whatever Green's up to, Joe's in on it.

'You look distracted,' said Joe.

'It was a late night.'

'Have a cup of James's mud. It'd wake a stone.'

BREAKFAST WAS ENDING at the pavilion when Rick ar-rived. The mood of the diners, in contrast to the previous evening, seemed relaxed. John Greighton sipped cham-pagne, looking totally content.

'Hey, Rick,' he called in a friendly voice, 'I hear you're taking Constance sight-seeing.' Con looked up from her second omelet at the mention of her name. She flashed Rick an excited smile.

'We're going to explore the inland sea,' replied Rick. 'Would you and Sara like to come along?'

'Maybe some other time,' replied John. 'We're just fine here.' He reached out and playfully squeezed Sara's breast. She let out a surprised screech that transformed into a giggle. Con flushed and abruptly stood up. 'I'm ready,' she told Rick.

'Then we'll head out,' he said. 'Everything is all set.' As they walked down the path, they heard Sara call out, 'Have a good time!' Then she screeched again. Con's expression betrayed her irritation, and Rick feared the return of her moodiness of the previous day. They walked in silence until they reached the plane, where Joe was waiting for them. There, to Rick's relief, Con immediately brightened as she was taken by the air-craft's appearance. 'It's like a Brancusi!' she exclaimed.

'A what?' asked Joe.

'Constantin Brancusi,' replied Con, 'a twentieth-century sculptor. You know, Bird in Space.'

'I'll take your word for it,' said Joe. 'But I agree, it is a work of art.'

'You must tell me all about it!' said Con.

'I'd like to, but dozens of patents are still pending on this baby. Mr. Green's very security conscious. A touch paranoid, if you ask me.'

'That's Joe's polite way of saying 'Shut up and enjoy the view.' You'll get more answers from a clam,' said Rick. 'At least,' he added for Joe's benefit, 'more direct answers.'

'You wound me,' replied Joe in mock sorrow.

The three of them entered the airplane and took their seats. 'Joe, I'd like to show Con the beaches around the island. Could you slowly circle it a few times as we climb?'

'Sure thing. You're the guide.'

Con peered intently into the clear water as they rose, looking for sea turtles and also the mosasaur that still lurked darkly in her thoughts. She spotted neither. Rick's attention was elsewhere. While trying not to appear too obvious, he scrutinized the island for signs of the time machine's creators. From the air, Pandit's 'wild toma-toes' were clearly part of a cultivated plot. That and the two landing sites, a few paths, the protected beach, and the three stone structures carved into the cliff seemed to be the only alterations to the island. Joe kept the plane's altitude below the top of the mesa, and Rick felt he could not ask him to fly higher without arousing suspicion. They were over a mile beyond the island before Joe took the aircraft into a climb. When Rick looked back at the island for the last time, a flash of light momentarily caught his eye. It seemed as if the sun had reflected off something atop the mesa. He strained to see what it might be, but they were too far away for him to see anything. The sea was unusually calm, and its flat surface made a perfect window to the world beneath. They were over the shallower western portion of the sea, filled with the eroded runoff of mountains and carved by drowned riv-ers. The seafloor was usually visible, in shades varying from pale turquoise to deep blue, according to the water's depth. Its inhabitants appeared to fly through the crystal medium rather than swim.