Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  James poked his head in the colonnade. "Don't look for light switches," he called out. "They work by com-mand. Lights on." The ceiling, which previously had seemed featureless, began to glow. "You can tell them to get brighter or dimmer, too."

  "What do you have to say?" asked Sara.

  "Long as you don't get too poetic, they'll understand," replied James. "The water fixtures in the bathroom work the same way."

  "I'm impressed," said John Greighton.

  "I'm glad you're pleased," returned James. Then he turned to Rick. "Get Joe to help you with the linens, I want Pandit to start on dinner."

  Rick headed back to the time machine feeling frus-trated. Here I am back in the Cretaceous, and, instead of exploring, I'm running around like a damn servant, he thought irritably. He found Joe sitting in the time ma-chine control booth relaxing and having a drink. "James says you and I are to make the beds."

  "To hell with that," snapped Joe. "I'm a pilot, not a damn maid."

  "Look, I'm only repeating what he said. No one told me about this extra crap either."

  "Who does he think he is," said Joe angrily.

  "Take it up with Green," Rick suggested. "You know him better than I do." That remark effected an immediate change in Joe's at-titude. "Hell," he said with resignation, "Green knows about this. Probably his idea. I guess I am a damned maid." Joe helped Rick with the beds. Next, they hung mos-quito netting in the dining pavilion and set up the table for dinner. The latter task was done under the watchful eye of James, since neither Joe nor Rick understood the proper way to do it. Before he sent them off to help in the kitchen, he gave them a quick lesson in the formali-ties of serving.

  One of the aftereffects of time travel was a ravenous appetite. Fortunately, Pandit had prepared cold entrees in advance, so it did not take long to serve dinner. The meal provided Rick's first introduction to safari camp life. Used to the easy camaraderie of camps at fossil digs, he found the atmosphere at dinner appalling. He disliked the stuffy formality of the tablecloth, the elaborately folded napkins, and the fancy table setting, complete with china and crystal. He hated the class distinctions far more. On a safari, there were the guests and below them, in every way, was the staff.

  JAMES NEVILLE PRESIDED over the meal like a ship's captain, the junction of the separate universes of staff and guests. He had dressed for the occasion. Indeed, everyone at the table was dressed as if they were at an elegant restaurant. Con had worn a dress at the insistence of her father, who dined in a white dinner jacket. To Con, it felt silly and pretentious. Am I the only one who thinks we look ridiculous? thought Con. No, the guide does, too. I can see it in his face. Although Con had acquiesced to her father about the dress, she went barefoot in quiet defiance. He hadn't no-ticed. Indeed, John Greighton scarcely noticed his daugh-ter at all. He spent most of the dinner discussing vintage wines and investments with Peter Green, who seemed very knowledgeable in both areas. Con thought they were strange expertises for a research scientist. She turned to Sara for conversation, but soon tired of her monologue about the upcoming wedding. Nothing else seemed to in-terest Sara, neither their journey nor the island. All the other diners, with the exception of Mr. Neville, seemed completely blase about their surroundings. They behaved as if nothing wondrous had happened, as if they had voy-aged 65 million years merely for exotic decor.

  Con finished dinner in silence. By then, she had begun to sense the return of a familiar pattern. Her father, having purchased a symbol of parental affection, had as-sumed it would substitute for the genuine article. His claim to Constance renewed, he had turned his attention to other matters. Con was not surprised it had happened; she had been through it before. What surprised her was that it still hurt. ONLY WHEN THE after-dinner cognac was served, did Rick, Joe, and Pandit sit down on rocks to wolf down leftovers. Then there was the cleanup, followed by setting up the staff compound. The compound was put up out of sight from the guests and consisted of three tents—a kitchen tent, a sleeping tent, and a latrine tent. In contrast with the carved stone guest quarters with voice-activated lights, the staff compound was basic, even primitive. It was like the camps in the desert that Rick was accus-tomed to. There was no electricity and no bathing facil-ities beyond a plastic tub. The sole convenience was a water hose.

  Throughout the work of setting up camp, James pushed himself harder than anyone. He was an exacting task-master, but he obviously knew his trade. Under his direction, the process of setting up camp went quickly and smoothly. The resentment Rick felt toward James abated. Joe's probably right, he thought. My extra duties

  were Green's idea. James is just doing his job.

  Once camp was set up, James allowed everyone, except himself, the rest of the evening off. "I'll tend to any of our guests' requests," he said. "Just get a good night's rest, tomorrow will be busy." Rick discovered that an additional aftereffect of time travel was exhaustion. The work had not been that stren-uous—he was used to much harder—but it had left him bone tired. It was dusk, and the thought of sleep was almost irresistible. Almost. The lure of this unexplored world was even stronger than his fatigue. He wandered toward the shore.

  A path led him to a cove. Its rocky walls enclosed a sandy beach. The water glowed silver against the dark rocks, and its waves painted the sand with the colors of the evening sky.

  "Pretty sight. Especially this time of day."

  Rick turned to see Joe sitting on a rock, watching the water. "I'm finishing that drink you so rudely inter-rupted," said Joe with a friendly tone. "Care to join me?"

  "Thanks, but I only drink beer."

  "Beer weighs too much when you're counting every gram of cargo. Though, I figure if Greighton was a beer drinker, we'd have packed a dozen cases."

  "Somehow," said Rick, "he doesn't seem the type."

  "Good thing, or you and I would get to bring only one change of underwear."

  "I believe you," said Rick. "I waited on those people at dinner. Fancy china . . . champagne . . ."

  "Green has a thing about champagne."

  "The daughter was wearing a dress, for God's sake. A dress, out here. Who was she trying to impress?"

  "The rich, if you haven't noticed, are different from you and me," said Joe. "Hell, they even look different now."

  "I thought the girl might have been okay. I mean, she wasn't redone."

  "Bet she's souped, though."

  "Genetically enhanced?"

  "Sure," said Joe. "All rich kids are. You served to-night, bet she ate like a pig."

  "Five helpings."

  "Yep," said Joe. "Probably has the metabolism of a hummingbird. That's how she keeps that nice slim fig-ure."

  "Then she's probably smart, too," said Rick.

  " And sassy." Joe chuckled. "Just you remember what 'rich' rhymes with. It begins with a 'B.' "

  "I'm afraid you're right."

  Joe and Rick silently watched the waves, each caught up in his own thoughts.

  "I don't get this setup," said Rick after a while. "Some of it's the height of technology and the rest is downright primitive. Why don't we have a power hookup? The guests' quarters have voice-controlled lighting while our kitchen has only a small propane-powered refrigerator. We're washing dishes in cold water. A lot of the basic stuff is missing. It doesn't make sense."

  Joe looked down and shook his head. "Green was wor-ried about you. I can see why."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Look, I don't speak for the man. Don't want to. But I know him, and I know he doesn't like questions. That's why you're our naturalist. He wanted a college kid rather than some scientist."

  "You don't need a degree to be a scientist, just curi-osity."

  "Curiosity's exactly what Green wants to avoid. He wants this place kept secret."

  "Then why build a resort?"

  "He has his reasons," said Joe, "and you don't want to know them."

  "Why even pretend you can keep this place secret? Those guest quarters must have involved a massive
con-struction crew. Surely, some of those people have talked by now. It's pointless to be so hush-hush."

  "There was no construction crew."

  "Are you telling me Green built this place without help? That's absurd."

  "Green didn't build this place," replied Joe, "he found it." He looked at the stunned, puzzled expression on Rick's face. "There, now you know too much already."

  "But..."

  "I told you so you'd keep your mouth shut. I'm not going to tell you more, and, if you have any sense, you won't ask any more questions. Focus your curiosity on this place"—Joe swept his hand over the sea and the land beyond—"not on Green's business. Trust me, it's safer."

  Rick sensed that Joe's warning was earnest, and he tried to suppress the questions that bubbled inside his head. He watched the waves roll into the cove, hoping they would calm him and wash his mind clear. As it grew darker, he spotted something strange about the water. "Joe, are my eyes playing tricks, or is that stretch of wa-ter glowing?"

  "It's some kind of field that protects the beach. Don't ask me what it is, it was already here when we came."

  Rick could now make out a dimly glowing band of shifting colors that stretched through the water at the en-trance to the cove. As he watched, a portion of the band glowed briefly brighter. It silhouetted a huge eel-shaped creature under the water. It turned sharply, flaring out its flippers and twisting into a "C" shape when it contacted the band. Then, with a powerful thrust of its tail, it sped off into deeper water.

  "What the hell was that!" asked Joe in astonishment. "It looked thirty feet long!"

  "A mosasaur," replied Rick, "From its size, I'd say a Tylosaurus."

  "A what?"

  "A marine reptile, related to the monitor lizards. A car-nivore."

  "Damn!" said Joe. "I don't care if this beach's pro-tected, I'm not going in the water."

  "Heck, there was—or I guess I should say—there is a crocodile around here called Deinosuchus that's fifty feet long."

  "Double damn! That thing out there was big enough!"

  Rick stared into the darkening sea, hoping to catch an-other glimpse of the mosasaur, but it did not return.

  7

  CON WOKE TO THE TOUCH OF A COOL BREEZE FLOWING

  over her bare legs and feet. She remained still, enjoying the sensation. She had drawn aside the curtains strung across the colonnade of her room the previous evening so she could view the grove beyond. It made her feel like she was out-doors. Brought up in a high-rise amid a sprawling city, it was the first time she had ever been close to nature. The expe-rience was well worth any loss of privacy. Besides, privacy wasn't much of a concern on a world that contained only eight people.

  Despite the impression that the colonnade was completely open, there was some sort of imperceptible barrier that kept insects and even dust from passing between the columns. Con had discovered it yesterday by noting its trace on the floor. Inside the barrier, the floor was immaculate, while be-yond it, dirt and dead mosquitoes clearly marked, its bound-ary. Fortunately, the invisible protection did not shut out the breeze.

  Now, as predawn twilight slowly illuminated the world, Con listened to the rustling of leaves and savored the air that moved them. Its richness made her realize that she had lived her entire life smelling millions of chemicals and pollutants. Here, they were gone, and the very experience of breathing was altered. The pristine air had cleansed the taints of civi-lization from her nose while she slept, revitalizing her sense of smell. She became aware of the rich mixture of fragrances that, wafted in with the breeze. There was the tang of the sea, the herbal scents of spring and hundreds of other smells her mind could not wrap in words, but only experience on a deeper, more primal, level.

  There was one puzzling scent that was both new and vaguely familiar. Con breathed in deeply, seeking it out. Eventually she recognized it. It was her own body. How strange I don't know my own smell, she thought. On further reflection, she decided it wasn't strange after all. Mingled with her own scent were the obscuring perfumes of shampoo, soap, and deodorant. Con breathed deeply searching for her essence. She liked the concept of her uniqueness borne on the wind. No more perfumes, she resolved. I'll wash in pure water and smell like myself.

  The trees, which had been but shadowy shapes earlier, assumed form and detail as the light grew. For the most part, they looked ordinary. They were predominantly conifers mixed with a few small broadleaf trees. Except for the ab-sence of grasses and the profusion of cycads, plants that re-sembled crosses between giant pineapples and palm trees, the woods outside could have been an unkempt city arboretum.

  Flying among the branches were pale creatures which Con at first assumed were birds. Only when one flew close did she recognize it was a small pterosaur. It veered away with a flap of its sickle-shaped wings and landed outside the din-ing pavilion. As it alighted, the pterosaur leaned forward so the paws in the middle of its wings rested on the ground. The tips of its folded wings were held upwards, out of the way. It entered the pavilion through a gap in the netting and began searching the floor for scraps. Soon it was joined by several of its fellows. They scampered about on all fours, wingtips waving comically. Con got out of bed, pulled on a pair of shorts, and walked very slowly toward the pavilion for a closer look. The pter-osaurs ignored her. Utterly alien to them, she represented neither a threat nor an opportunity. Just when she was near enough to see that the animals were covered with fur, one of them found something edible. A second pterosaur tried to steal the morsel away, and the group soon erupted in a ca-cophony of cries that sounded somewhat like a cross between a squeal and a hiss. After a brief tussle, the victor flew off with its prize, pursued by the others. Con wandered away from the deserted pavilion.

  RICK AWOKE WHEN the first rays of sunlight hit the wall of his tent. Rising with the sun was a habit he had ac-quired from hunting fossils in the desert. It took a groggy moment before he remembered that he wasn't in the de-sert and that the quarry he would seek still had meat on its bones. Once he realized where he was, his thoughts returned to the mystery that troubled him as he had drifted off to sleep—who, or what, had built the stone rooms in the cliff?

  Rick reviewed all his possible answers to that question. Each seemed improbable. Perhaps some unknown civi-lization had risen in the Mesozoic. He recalled the spec-ulative drawings of intelligent dinosaurs, bulbous-headed and looking remarkably like humans. Yet these hypo-thetical images envisioned a world where the dinosaurs had never become extinct and had, instead, evolved to fill mankind's role on the planet. So far, the fossil record showed that the cleverest animal in the Cretaceous was as smart as an ostrich.

  Alternatively, the rooms might have been constructed by extraterrestrials. Yet, if they were made by aliens or intelligent dinosaurs, why did the rooms respond to En-glish commands? Maybe they respond to thoughts, not words, Rick speculated. He wished he remembered enough Spanish to test that theory out. Perhaps, he rea-soned, they were built by other time travelers. Yet con-sidering the nearly infinite possible locations for the structures in space and time, it seemed an extraordinary coincidence that Green would have stumbled upon them. Perhaps, thought Rick, a future Peter Green constructed the rooms to help his earlier self. Rick wondered if it was possible to go back into the past to alter one's own life. The paradoxes associated with that idea set his brain spinning.

  Rick did not have the temperament to lie in his bunk for long. He had always preferred fieldwork to theorizing. Problems and puzzles made him restless, eager to search for hard evidence. Besides, direct investigation seemed the most promising approach. Certainly, asking questions was out. Joe was not going to provide any answers. Rick was unsure why it was risky to speak to Green about the matter, yet that seemed to be the case, if Joe were to be believed. Can I believe him? wondered Rick. But if he's lying about Green, he might be lying about the rooms also.

  Rick was up when he heard a noise outside the tent. There was the soft clanking of pots, then the sound of running
water. He looked about and noticed that James's bunk was empty. Rick dressed and left the tent. He found James heating some water on the stove.

  "Good morning, Rick. Care for some coffee?"

  "You've read my mind."

  James tossed a handful of grounds into the water and waited for it to boil. "It's camp coffee, I'm afraid. Pandit finds it appalling."

  "Camp coffee's fine with me," replied Rick, "I grew up on it."

  "So did I," said James. "We'll make a more civilized brew for our guests."

  "Are they up yet?" asked Rick.

  "Why don't you check," said James. "Mr. Green will want his breakfast in bed. The coffee should be ready when you get back."

  RICK RETURNED TO the aroma of coffee. It seemed es-pecially intense and made him think of camping with Tom.

  "Should I wake Pandit?" asked James.

  "Everyone's asleep, except the girl," answered Rick. "Her room's empty."

  "She's not here," said James. "That means she's wan-dered off."

  "She'll be all right," said Rick.

  "You don't know that. As the guide, you're responsible if she stubs her bloody toe. Maybe you should skip coffee and find her," said James in a tone that made it clear it wasn't a suggestion. Rick sighed as he rose.

  James understood the cause for the sigh, and said, "That's the price we pay."

  "What price?"

  "Being nursemaids. Serving high tea to rich twits. Put-ting up. It lets us live in the bush. Maybe it's a devil's bargain, but. . ." James looked about. "I think it's worth it."

  "That's why you're here?" asked Rick.

  "I grew up on the Serengeti when it was still wild," replied James. "It was fading even then, but the animals were real." James paused, caught up in the memory. "Li-ons. Elephants. Antelope. They were something to see. There's nothing as magnificent as a wild animal. God's creatures, they are. I stayed until they were completely gone . . . had to ... but even at its height, the Serengeti was nothing compared to this! This is Eden before the Fall! Perfect. Unspoiled."

  "I suppose you're right," said Rick. "It's just no one told me about the . . . the price, as you put it."