Cretaceous Sea

With an unsteady hand, he held the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. Peter Green remained in his quarters. He already regretted the gift of the cognac. He would have enjoyed a celebratory drink at the moment. Reaching into a pocket of his dinner jacket, he extracted a small pistol. It had not been necessary. He placed the pistol under his pillow and prepared for bed. 14

RICK HEADED FOR THE SEA, HIS MIND IN TURMOIL. ON ONE

hand, Green's scheme seemed unreal and absurd—a single man proposing to alter the destiny of humanity to satisfy his greed. It was hard to comprehend such a pathological am-bition, much less see how it could come to pass. Still, the idea of standing on the shores of the Interior Seaway had seemed equally absurd and unreal only a week ago. Rick was no student of history, but he knew that all evil needed to flourish was acquiescence. Green had a time machine, and with it, he could wreak havoc. It was a fact Rick could not dare to ignore.

The sea glowed like molten metal against the darkening sky, but it did not calm Rick. Its unceasing motion dredged up disturbing echoes of the journey through time. An unquiet feeling that nothing was stable or permanent seized Rick's imagination. His very existence seemed tenuous. He might dissolve in an instant, along with everyone and everything dear to him.

/ must calmly decide what to do, Rick told himself. It was not easy advice to follow. There seemed little chance of re-solving matters peacefully. As Rick walked along the shore, he played out scenarios of confrontation, sabotage, and mu-tiny in his mind. Each ended in violence, and each increased his agitation. He was stabbing the air with Tom's knife, when Joe called out his name. Joe was sitting on a rock, flask in hand, watching the waves. Rick hadn't even noticed him.

'Hope you didn't mind my joking at dinner,' Joe said good-naturedly. 'I gotta admit it, that girl's one spunky kid!'

'Yeah, sure.' said Rick tersely.

'Something buggin' you? You're looking at me weird. Like I crawled from under this rock.'

'I'm just tired, that's all.'

'You don't look tired. You look jumpy. Those Tyranno-saurs get to you?'

'Them?'

'Yeah. You were a little damp after our encounter. Not that I blame you, if it was up to me, I'd have blown them away.'

'I'm sure you would,' said Rick angrily. 'That's where we're different. Blowing stuff away doesn't bother you.'

Joe stared out to sea, saying nothing. Rick strode away, following the shore. RICK LAY ON his cot, listening to the easy breathing of James, Pandit and Joe. He looked at his watch. No one had stirred for half an hour. Assured everyone was asleep, he pulled off his covers and rose from his bunk, fully dressed except for his shoes. These he grabbed to put on outside the tent. Rick walked quietly to the door flap and slipped into the night.

The full moon made the path easy to see. It took Rick only a few minutes to reach the plane. The doorway opened as he approached. Rick reached inside and grabbed a gun. He pressed a button and the rows of lights appeared on the barrel. He adjusted the power level to its highest setting and then set the firing spread to maximum. These were 'kick-ass levels,' as Joe would put it— messy, but effective. Rick turned off the safety and the firing trigger appeared.

Rick's hands trembled as he held the deadly instru-ment. He stood immobile in the moonlight, reluctant to start his trek to Peter Green's quarters. This isn't murder, he told himself. I'll be saving lives. Murder is something different. Rick wondered if anyone would believe that. He doubted that he believed it himself.

Shadows of trees lay across the path so Rick walked alternately in moonlight and in darkness. His thoughts, however, were always on the darkness. He would have to turn on the lights for a clear shot. What if Green wakes up? Rick was convinced he would. Should I say some-thing to him? Do I owe him an explanation? What if he pleads with me? The idea of killing a man begging for his life was profoundly depressing. Rick wished he could be angry, but the only passion he could muster was sor-row.

'Going hunting?' asked Joe as he stepped out of the shadows to block Rick's path. Rick gave a start, then quickly raised his gun and aimed it at Joe's chest. Joe stood still, his hands clasped in front of his waist. 'It seems,' he said calmly, 'I'm not the only one who doesn't mind blowing stuff away.'

'I know what Green's up to. He's got to be stopped.'

'And you're the one to do it?'

'Yes,' said Rick. 'Now out of my way.'

Joe sighed deeply. 'You're not a killer, Rick.'