Cretaceous Sea

by Will Hubbell

  "I think I can climb this crack," Rick called back.

  When Con reached him, she looked up the fissure. Its rough walls appeared devoid of holds. "How could you possibly climb that?" she asked.

  "There's a technique called 'stemming' that works for cracks. I've practiced it for years." Rick entered the fissure and leaned his back against one of its walls. He then raised his left foot and placed it on the opposite wall at hip height. He pressed his left foot against the rock wall to wedge his body in place as he swung his right foot so that it touched the rock beneath his buttocks. Rick was wedged in the crack a few feet above the floor.

  "I thought you were going to climb up," teased Con.

  Rick didn't answer, but placed his palms as high as he could on the rock behind his back. He suddenly pressed his body away from the wall as he pushed up with both legs. His torso rose, and he quickly swung his right leg upward to the opposite wall at hip height. Both legs pressed his lower back against the wall, wedging him in place a foot higher than he had been before. Then he swung his left foot so it pressed the wall beneath his buttock, assuming his original position, only with his legs reversed. Rick did the maneuver so quickly it looked like he was walking up the fissure. Con had to watch several repeti-tions before she understood exactly what he did. When he was about eight feet above the floor of the crack, he left both feet against the opposite wall and locked his knees. Wedged in place, he rested.

  "It's been a while since I've done this," he said. "When I get to the top, I'll you tell what's up there."

  "I'm coming, too," said Con.

  "I was roped in when I learned to do this," said Rick. "I fell several times before I caught on. Without a rope, you might. .."

  "I get your point," said Con.

  She stood and watched as Rick raised himself in in-crements until he was a small figure five stories above her. Then, with a quick motion, he disappeared. A mo-ment later, his head peered over the edge of the crack.

  "There's something up here all right," he called down with excitement. "It looks like some kind of aircraft or a ..." Rick's head disappeared.

  "Rick, what is it?" No answer. "Rick!" His head did not reappear over the edge. "Rick, damn you, what did you find?"

  Con waited impatiently for an answer. When she could bear it no longer, she kicked off her rubber thongs and entered the fissure.

  RICK STOOD AT the top of the mesa and stared in amaze-ment at the craft twenty yards in front of him. It rested in a large circular depression cut in the rock of the mesa. It looked like a flying saucer twenty feet in diameter, with a fuselage made entirely of crystal. Its transparent shell was crammed with strange machinery and devices. He had been calling down to Con when he spotted the col-umn in the center of the craft. Within the column was a strangely immaterial cylinder. He recognized it immedi-ately. The craft was a time machine.

  Rick forgot all about Con as the implications of his discovery hit him. Apparently, Green had more than one time machine already, and its existence contradicted Joe's version of their situation. Joe's calming assur-ances—that Green's scheme was impossible and he was as good as caught—were most likely fabrications to keep Rick in line while the plot proceeded. He found it hard to see it any other way. Joe lied to me! thought Rick angrily and, for a moment, he wished he had pulled the trigger when Joe had confronted him on the path. Once again, Rick felt that the world had been pulled out from under him like a rug, leaving him spinning.

  Rick approached the time machine to examine it more closely. The sloping sides of the depression where it stood were covered with the same black panels found on the plane and on the other time machine. They were im-maculately clean, as was the transparent craft they sur-rounded. Everything appeared brand-new, as if they had been placed there only moments before.

  The interior of the time machine was filled with exotic machinery and what appeared to be instruments. Rick recognized a large telescope and numerous instruments with lenses. These, he assumed, were cameras. One fol-lowed his every movement. It gave him the uncomfort-able feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps by the time we reach camp, Green will know I was here, he thought. If that's the case, I might as well finish inves-tigating.

  As he walked down the sloping sides of the landing site, an opening formed in the machine's fuselage. Be-hind it was a tiny chamber empty of instruments. It con-tained a small control panel and a simple transparent bench that served as the only seat. Rick was leery of entering the machine, so he examined the chamber from outside. It was so small only two, or possibly three, peo-ple could fit inside. The control panel lacked the tape labels of the other machine and seemed less complex. Rick noted that the glowing yellow symbols Con found on her wall were also on the panel.

  Rick had turned his attention to the more mysterious-looking mechanisms, when he heard Con call out his name. She was standing barefoot at the edge of the cliff with an exultant expression on her face. It reminded him of the look she had after they encountered the Tyranno-saurs.

  "Wow!" she said. "What's that?"

  "Con!" yelled Rick. He did not know whether he felt more startled, annoyed, worried, or impressed, and his voice reflected his uncertainty. "What are you doing here?"

  Con walked over to the rim of the circular depression. "Never keep a woman waiting," she said by way of ex-planation. Then she turned her attention back to the ma-chine. "This is really incredible!"

  "Your foot's bleeding," said Rick with as much au-thority as he could muster.

  "Just a scrape. Stop being my nursemaid."

  "You could have been killed!"

  "But I wasn't," said Con with a note of finality. "Now . . . What do you think this is?" Rick started to say something, but stopped. After a mo-ment's silence he said, "It's a time machine. I'm sure of it. See the cylinder in the column?"

  Con stepped on the black-paneled slope to walk down to the machine. She quickly pulled back her foot.

  "It's cold!" she said with surprise. As she watched, her dusty footprint blurred, then flowed off the black surface like water, leaving it perfectly clean.

  "The black stuff is some form of energy collector, like a solar panel," said Rick. "It won't hurt you." Con walked quickly down to the machine. "Look at my footprints," she told Rick. "This place cleans itself."

  Rick watched the prints disappear. "Everything only looks new. This machine could have been here for years."

  Con circled the saucer, peering inside with excited fas-cination. A lensed device swiveled as she passed. Con made a short hop backward. "It's watching me!"

  "Yeah. Let's hope Joe isn't also."

  "You still worrying about him?"

  "How can't I?" asked Rick. "He said there was only one time machine. What else did he lie about?

  Every-thing?"

  Con looked concerned. "You're not planning some-thing crazy?"

  "What do you mean by 'crazy'?"

  "You know perfectly well," replied Con. "You were talking about killing and sabotage earlier. Don't do any-thing drastic. Promise you won't."

  "What if my suspicions are true?"

  "If they are, I'll help you stop them. I will. Just don't be hasty. We have time to figure things out."

  "I won't do anything rash," said Rick.

  Con appeared satisfied by Rick's promise, for she turned her attention back to the time machine. She walked around it slowly, minutely examining each part. After several minutes of silence, she pronounced,

  "I think it's an observatory, but not just for the stars. It seems to observe everything."

  "Maybe it's one of those probes Joe told me about," said Rick.

  "See?" said Con triumphantly. "He wasn't lying. You were worried about nothing." She turned and began making faces at a lens, while Rick watched in amusement. In a mechanical voice he said, "This probe reports it found no intelligent life." Con stuck out her tongue at him. The time machine did not yield any further informa-tion, and Rick wandered off to explore the rest of the mesa top. Con joined
him. The view from the cliff top was spectacular, but Rick scarcely noticed it. He had a more pressing concern—he hoped to find a different route down. Descending a chimney was considerably more difficult than ascending one, and he was concerned that Con would not be up to it. He said nothing about this to her. It was too late for that. Besides, he wanted her to remain confident; panicked climbers make mis-takes.

  Rick's search for an easier route off the mesa proved fruitless. Con, enchanted by the scenery, did not seem to be aware of the true purpose of his inspection. As they walked about the cliff edge she was in a happy, playful mood. "We simply must picnic here. Guide," she said imperiously, "go fetch the hamper and the cooler."

  "Yes, miss," answered Rick in mock subservience. "Soon as I evolve two more arms."

  "Shall it take long?"

  "A thousand generations or so. 1 pray you're not hun-gry"

  "I'm always hungry," said Con. "If you're going to be pokey, I'll climb down myself."

  "You ready to leave?" asked Rick, hoping he sounded casual.

  "I guess so," replied Con reluctantly.

  "I'll go first so you can watch."

  "Can't we climb down together?"

  "It's safer if only one person is in the crack at a time," replied Rick. He hoped that he wouldn't have to explain how a person falling from above would take out the climber below. Con didn't press him for a reason, but a shadow of fear passed over her expression. "You'll do fine," said Rick, hoping he sounded convincing. "The trick is not to rush things. Move down in small incre-ments. Lock your knees to rest whenever you need to."

  That was all the instruction he could give. He walked over to the fissure and sat down on one side of the crack. Then he placed his feet on the side of the crack opposite him and, gripping the edge with his hands, pushed his torso out over the void and lowered it about sixteen inches. Pushing with his legs, he wedged his body be-tween the walls of the fissure. The rocks below were inches closer. Con studied Rick's descent. In purely mechanical terms, it was simply the reverse of ascending, but psy-chologically, it was utterly different. Ascending focuses the mind above, to the goal that gets ever closer. When the danger is the greatest, safety is closest at hand. De-scending is cousin to falling. The focus is downward, and every descent starts at the point of greatest peril.

  Watching Rick's climb downward, Con became op-pressed by the emptiness below—the five-story drop. She waited for her turn as Rick gradually got smaller and smaller. It seemed to take forever for him to reach the ground. By the time he called to her to start down, Con was gripped by a fear that approached terror.

  As Con sat on the edge of the fissure and placed her feet on the opposite wall, she tried to force herself to remain calm, to subdue the trembling in her legs. There's no other way down, I have to do this, she told herself. She became aware of her fatigue from the climb up. She began to worry that her muscles would betray her. She imagined a horrible moment when gravity snatched her . . . the rush of wind . . . the snap of cracking bones.

  "Con, are you okay?" Rick's voice sounded far away.

  "I think so," she called back.

  "It's okay to be scared. Take some slow breaths. There's no hurry." Con exhaled and breathed in slowly. / can do this. She pushed her torso away from the ledge and out over the yawning emptiness. A second later, she was wedged in the crack. Her instinct't'j survive took over, washing her mind clean of everythir, g not necessary to continue liv-ing. Her attention was focused by fear upon balance, fric-tion, and gravity until existence consisted only of these things, as—inch by inch-—she made her way downward.

  After an eternity, it was over. Rick lifted her from the wall before she could touch the floor of the fissure. He set her feet on the ground, but continued to hold her for a moment, as if to convince himself she was truly safe. When Rick eleased her, Con thought he was trying to hide the depths of his concern.

  "That was some climb," he said.

  "You didn't think I could make it," replied Con, as she slipped her thongs on her sore feet. Rick looked away and said nothing for a while. Even-tually he asked, "You getting hungry?"

  "Starved."

  As they walked down the slope, both felt the exhila-ration that follows a perilous climb. It heightened their senses so they more keenly appreciated the rugged beauty about them. The rocky landscape, brilliant beneath the cloudless sky, contrasted with the deep blues and soft turquoises of the surrounding sea. A gentle breeze dis-sipated the heat. The prospect of food seemed very in-viting. Rick carried the hamper and the cooler down to a rocky part of the shore. There, they ate their lunch while Con cooled her feet in the water.

  Rick fell under the spell of their idyllic setting and Con's exuberant mood, which had redoubled following the climb. He found her gaiety disarming and contagious. It was impossible to brood around her, and his forebod-ings about Green and Joe faded as they talked and joked. / was wrong about her, he decided. She isn't spoiled, just self-assured. Even Con's quick tongue, which Rick had found so sharp earlier, began to seem spunky and forth-right to him.

  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 m
ain 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.