Cretaceous Sea

looking for a tour guide, not a researcher. Someone with personality. Professor Harrington assures me you have one ... when your nose isn't in a rock.'

Rick smiled at her remark. 'Assuming that I don't wake up and find I've been dreaming, what kind of tours are you talking about? Aren't you afraid of having your clients eaten?'

'Of course, that's why we have a special aircraft for sight-seeing and our base is on an island. You'll be point-ing out the sights from a safe distance.'

'Can I see that disk again?'

I've got him, thought Ann. 'On one condition,' she said, knowing she had gained the upper hand. 'My client insists on strict confidentiality.'

'Sure,' said Rick, reaching for the disk.

'I'll need that agreement in writing. You must keep our discussion strictly confidential, regardless of whether you accept our offer or not.' Ann produced some legal documents from her suit pocket.

'Where do I sign?' asked Rick.

'Read them first,' insisted Ann. 'There are severe sanctions for violating its provisions. This is a serious document.'

Rick took the document and quickly skimmed through text specifying the damages should he ever mention someplace called Montana Isle, its physical or temporal location, or the means of traveling there without the ex- plicit permission of... Rick stopped reading and quickly scrawled his signature on the page. There was a faraway, eager look in his eyes as he said, 'Okay, show me the dinosaurs again.' PETER GREEN HAD listened to Ann's report about her meeting with Rick Clements and grudgingly conceded that he would do. Afterward, he had abruptly terminated the call. He did not wish Ann to feel comfortable about the situation. He certainly was not. He was already upset about that girl, Greighton's daughter. Now this naturalist, Clements, added another factor to his plans. Still another person he would have to include in his calculations.

Green paced about with an anxious restlessness. Then, for the third time that day, he left his office and entered the fenced area behind the building to check the time machine. It stood there looking almost exactly like the twentieth-century conception of a flying saucer. Just as in the old movies, the saucer stood on three legs with an open panel on its underside, which functioned both as door and staircase. Only the black solar panels on the saucer's upper surface marred its resemblance to the fic-tional spacecraft.

It was these panels that were Green's concern. The short, overcast winter days and the high fence cut down on their input. He climbed the stairs into the machine and went to the controls to check the charge. Little had changed; the machine would not be fully powered for another week. Damn! he cursed to himself, another week of exposure. If Greighton comes in on this, that's the first thing I want to change.

At least, Green thought, a* soon as the machine's ready, we can go. Part of the sales pitch for the resort was that, from the perspective of the present, a trip there would seem almost instantaneous. 'Just think,' ran the sales script, 'you'll leave for a two-week vacation and return, rested and relaxed, only a few seconds after you departed.' Such a getaway was easy to fit into anyone's busy schedule. It was a great selling point, and Ann had used it very effectively, all the more so, because she didn't know it was a lie. Green believed in telling the truth only when it was useful. By the time it was neces-sary to tell Greighton the truth, Green hoped that Greigh-ton would be on his side. As for the others, he would find new lies for them.

The idea of an instantaneous vacation had another ben-efit—no one would feel the need to explain where they were going. Everyone involved with the trip had agreed not to talk about it and probably wouldn't—for a while. It was the long term that bothered Green. He had little faith in nondisclosure agreements. It was his experience that people talked; a piece of paper wouldn't stop that. In the end, there was only one way to assure silence.

3

CON FULFILLED THE NONDISCLOSURE AGREEMENT UNTIL

it came time to pack. There were strict weight limitations on what she could bring, and her frequent trips to the bathroom scales caught her mother's attention. She looked into Con's room and saw small piles of clothing spread over her bed next to a duffel bag.

'Con, what's going on?'

'Nothing, Mom.' Con put the stack of underwear she was about to weigh down on the bed.

'It looks like you're going somewhere.'

'I'm just sorting through my things.'

'I don't believe you. You're up to something.'