Cretaceous Sea

Afterward, they went fishing. Not since the Europeans discovered the New World had anyone caught fish so eas-ily. Con squealed with excitement as she pulled one fish after another from the generous waters. All of them had an unfamiliar, exotic look. One two-foot-long fish, which Rick identified as a Bananogamius, had a huge sail-like fin along its back. Another long fish with thin, pointed fins had a toothy protruding lower jaw that ended with a short sword. Once, a thirteen-foot fish swallowed another that was already hooked. It nearly pulled Con off the rocks before it snapped the line. Before long, the cooler overflowed with fish. Still, they were reluctant to return to camp.

It was late afternoon before they presented their catch to a delighted Pandit. Rick was not surprised to discover that it would be his job to clean it. It was a chore Con was happy to leave to him.

'When a woman will clean your fish,' said Pandit, as Con walked away, 'that is when you know she loves you.'

'How about when she feeds you strawberries using her teeth, like Sara does?'

'That may be a sign,' admitted Pandit, 'but cleaning fish is the true test.' He got a twinkle in his eye. 'I see you are cleaning Miss Greighton's fish.'

'I'm cleaning everyone's fish,' said Rick.

16

THE EVENING MEAL IN THE PAVILION WAS THE PART OF THE

day Con liked least. She felt diminished in the presence of her father and Sara, transformed back into a little girl. De-spite that, she dutifully bathed and dressed for the occasion. She rationalized that she was helping Rick, not caving in to her father's dictates. It made her feel better to think so. During this dinner, Con felt particularly neglected. Her one consolation was that Sara seemed to be feeling the same way. Peter Green and her father were deep into a conversation about, of all things, history. Con was surprised that Green seemed quite knowledgeable about eighteenth-century Eu-ropean politics. He did most of the talking. She was even more surprised that her father displayed any interest in what Green said. It was completely out of character. Business was his only passion, outside wine and women.

'They've been yakking all day,' Sara said to Con, with obvious annoyance. When Con seemed more amused than sympathetic, Sara redirected her irritation. 'Don't you wash your hair?'

'I do,' replied Con, 'but I've stopped using shampoo.'

'It certainly shows. Why would you do something like that?'

'I want to smell like myself.'

'I would think you'd rather smell clean.'

Before Con could reply, James Neville injected himself into the conversation. 'Constance, I'm dying to hear about your fishing. You're the first person ever to try these waters.' Of all the diners, only James ever showed more than the most superficial interest in her activities. This evening, Con's ac-count of her day was greatly abbreviated. The most exciting part, the discovery on the mesa top, was her and Rick's se-cret.

As Con finished her story, Rick and Joe arrived with the main courses. The evening's fare was better received than the stir-fried dinosaur. Pandit had prepared seven fish dishes; spiced baked fish, grilled fish on skewers, fish stir- fried with vegetables, fish curry, fish steamed in leaves, crispy fried fish Hunan style, and a fish soup. Conversation dwindled as the diners savored their first fish from completely unpolluted wa-ters. Con ate silently and voraciously. She had healthy por-tions of everything and seconds of the grilled fish, the curry, and the crispy fried fish. As good as the food was, she would have enjoyed it more if Rick had not been required to wait on her. She would have preferred him to join her at the table or, better still, to eat with her on the beach—just the two of them, like they had that afternoon. We had a good time, she reflected.

Eventually, dinner was over. Rick cleared the dishes, then left to eat with the rest of the staff. Sara wandered off to her quarters, carrying a bottle of wine. Peter Green continued to expound on the wealth of the British and French aristocracies while Con's father paid rapt attention. James excused himself and went to join the staff at their dinner. Con thought that he looked relieved to be going. She gladly left also. Con went back to her quarters to change. As she entered the room with the dresser, the cycad leaf caught her eye. She pulled it aside to reveal the symbols hidden beneath. She was intrigued to discover that they were now red, not yellow as before. She couldn't remember what the numbers had been the last time she looked at them, but she was sure they had changed. There seemed to be a longer row of zeroes. Con studied the numbers. They read:

They still made no sense. Now there were two myster-ies about the place, the strange symbols and the time ma- chine on top of the mesa. Con remembered her-harrowing descent from the mesa with a sudden chill. It was her second brush with death on the island. It was a stupid thing to do, she told herself. Yet it had been thrilling also, especially when it was over. Even better, Rick treated her differently afterward. She felt he no longer saw her as a girl to baby-sit, but as a young woman who was his equal. She liked the change.

Con's thoughts returned to the people who had left the time machine on the mesa. On the machine's control panel were symbols like those on the wall before her. The two were linked. If these were the time travelers' rooms, she reasoned, they must have had a way to reach the mesa top. Con recalled how the openings appeared in the seem-ingly solid fuselage of the airplane and the floor of the other time machine. Was there a door hidden in the black sides of the landing site ? Could we have been standing next to stairs or an elevator the whole time'] It seemed possible, even logical, but there was one problem—there was no trace of stairs or an elevator in the rooms.