by Will Hubbell
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.
Con immediately became suspicious of the plaster wall before her. It covered up the symbols, what else does it hide! She began tapping the plaster with her fist. It sounded solid until she tapped behind the dresser. There, the wall sounded hollow. Con thought she could probably smash a hole in the plaster with a large rock, but that would make too much noise. Cutting her way in quietly would allow her to keep any discovery secret. She de-cided a thin, pointed rock could serve as a tool and set out to find one. She soon discovered that it was easier to envision the perfect rock than to locate one. All the stones along the shore were worn smooth. It wasn't until she reached the slope Rick and she had climbed earlier, that she found something suitable. Stone tool in hand, she returned to camp. Con briefly considered enlisting Rick's help before deciding it would be less obtrusive if she worked alone. Also, she liked the idea of surprising him with her dis-covery—if there was any discovery to be made. Drawing the curtains across the colonnade of her room, Con pulled the dresser from the plaster wall and set to work. She planned to make an opening near the floor, something big enough to crawl through, yet small enough to hide behind the dresser. The plaster was relatively soft, but when she scored it, she encountered wood beneath. The plaster was attached to a framework of lath made from tree branches. The work reminded her of the litter Joe constructed. It took a considerable amount of scrap-ing to expose enough of a branch to get a firm grip on it. Bracing her feet against the wall, Con tugged. The branch broke with a loud snap. Plaster went flying, and a large slab fell off the wooden framework. Con froze and lis-tened for the sound of someone's approach. After a min-ute or two, she concluded that no one had noticed the noise.
Con peered into the hole she had made, but could not see anything. Only one thing was certain—there was an empty cavity behind the plaster. Now that the lath was exposed, Con was able to enlarge the hole without mak-ing too much noise. As soon as the opening was large enough, Con crawled through it. She found she was able to stand. It occurred to her that, since this space was connected to her room, there might be lights that worked by voice command. "Lights on," she said. The ceiling immediately glowed to reveal a long corridor cut out of the stone. Behind her was the makeshift framework that supported the plaster that hid the doorway. There was a thick, continuous metallic band running around the walls, floor, and ceiling about a foot from the opening. Other than that, and the overhead light panels, the corridor was featureless.
The passageway curved, so Con could not see its end. She walked a short way down it and soon came to a junc-tion between corridors that led from the three guest rooms and a single passageway that led deeper into the cliff. She followed the latter for about fifty feet before she encountered a series of openings on either side. These led to rooms that appeared abandoned. Most contained a few bits of trash and perhaps a few simple chairs and tables, but were otherwise empty. One was filled with machinery from which a soft humming sound emanated. Con examined the unfamiliar machinery and, though she could not determine its precise function, she assumed it provided utilities for the complex. The corridor ended at a large chamber that sprang to life the moment Con entered it. Con's eye was immedi-ately drawn to the dozens of glowing viewscreens that had turned on to display a bewildering and fascinating collection of images. Many appeared to be complex graphs and charts. The writing on the charts was com-pletely alien, although Con recognized the numerals from the symbols on her wall. Many of the charts were geo-logical maps, and there were three charts of the solar system in differing degrees of detail. All appeared ho-lographic, although their realism and detail exceeded any hologram Con had ever seen. There were several screens displaying images of a rocky landscape. It took a moment for Con to realize that they were views of the mesa top. Oh no't she thought. We could have been watched!
Con hastily walked back to the junction of the corri-dors. Only when she examined each sealed doorway to the outer rooms did her panic subside. She made her way back to the chamber with the viewscreens to continue her exploration. Her attention focused on the several screens that displayed views of Earth as seen from the vantage point of satellites. These were particularly interesting be-cause the shapes and positions of the continents were dif-ferent from what Con was used to. She studied them for quite a while. Rick will love this! she thought excitedly. There was also a puzzling screen that showed a gray rock slowly tumbling against a background of stars. Finally, there was a screen that displayed the same cryptic ar-rangement of numbers Con had found on her wall:
Distracted by the viewscreens, it was a while before Con remembered that she was looking for a means to reach the mesa top. This room, like all the others, had no stairway or elevator. "I want to go up!" she said aloud in frustration. Immediately, an opening appeared in the wall where none had been before. It revealed a small room with metallic walls. An elevator! Con entered it and the opening closed behind her.
Half a minute later, she was standing next to the crystal time machine. The light of sunset gave it the appearance of a jewel. Con walked to the edge of the mesa to watch the sun disappear behind the mountains. They appeared completely black against the glowing sky. Long shadows trailed from them, caressing the coastal plains like loving fingers. When the sun winked out behind the peaks, Con's eyes adjusted, and the mountains were no longer black. Instead, they were delicate shades of blue-gray. They reminded her of the mountains of Chinese land-scapes painted on rice paper so every stroke blurs into softness. Never had she seen a vision so peaceful or beau-tiful. She only wished that Rick were there to see it too. Tomorrow, she thought, we'll watch it together.
Con lingered on the mesa top, watching the colors of the land and sea change as the sky darkened. She was torn between her desire to savor the moment and her urge to share the discovery with Rick. When the land was ob-scured by shadow, and the dark blues of sea and the sky merged, the latter urge took over. Con entered the ele-vator compartment, which projected out of the sloping side of the landing site like a small shack. "Take me down," she commanded. The opening closed, and she de-scended. Con exited from the hole in the plaster a few minutes later. She shoved the dresser back in place and hastily pushed the chunks of plaster and lath beneath. She planned to do a neater job later, but, at the moment, she was anxious to find Rick. She was hurrying toward the staff tent when her father called from the dark dining pavilion. "Constance! Come here, honey."
"What is it Daddy?"
"I want your advice."
Con walked over to the pavilion. John Greighton was seated with Peter Green. They were drinking champagne. Judging from her father's voice, he had consumed quite a bit.
"She studies all that artsy stuff," he said to Green. "She'll know." He turned toward Con. "Honey, what should I do with my big shell? Pete thinks I should stick it in a vault."
"I'm just saying . . ." injected Green.
"I know. I know," interrupted Con's father. "I'll keep it hush-hush till you-know-when."
"John, I don't think you should be discussing . . ."
"She's my daughter for Christ's sake! It's only a god damned shell! Now, honey, whaddaya think?"
"About what, Daddy?"
"My shell! I was talking about my shell. I want to show it off. How should I do it?"
"I'd treat it like a sculpture and put it on a pedestal."
"Yeah, a fancy marble column," said her father.
&nbs
p; "Actually," said Con, "a simple stone rectangle would show it better. Something rough to contrast with the shell's smoothness. Perhaps, stone with fossils in it."
"Damn, you're clever!" said Con's father, pouring her a glass of champagne. "Isn't she clever, Pete? She's gonna study art history."
"Then she's fortunate to have a wealthy father," said Green sardonically.
"Oh it'll be useful, Pete. Very useful when I make my acquisitions. I don't want any crap. Only the best stuff."
"What acquisitions, Daddy?"
Green shot Greighton a hard, cautionary glance. "Oh, you'll find out later, honey." He turned his attention back to Green. "I named her 'Constance' to keep the money rolling in. There's a family legend. Constance Cle . .."
"Oh, don't start on Great-great-great-grandmother," said Con, eager to leave. "You'll bore him to tears." John Greighton gave his daughter an irritated look, but he stopped his story. Refilling his glass, he held it up. "A toast! To generations of good fortune and to my future in the past." Con simply looked at her glass. "Daddy, I don't..."
"Drink!" bellowed her father. "And stop calling me 'Daddy,' it sounds babyish. You'll be eighteen in a month."
Con made a point of gulping down the champagne. Setting her empty glass on the table, she said in a con-trolled voice, "Then what should I call you?"
"I think 'sir' would be good," said Greighton, as he refilled his daughter's glass. Con drained it also.
" ' Sir?' That's more than a little old-fashioned," re-plied Con.
"Eighteenth century to be exact," said her father, who seemed to think he was being witty. "You'll find out why soon enough."
"Can't you tell me now, sir?"
Greighton didn't seem to notice the sarcasm in Con's voice. "No, no, that wouldn't do. Would it, Pete?" Con looked at Peter Green. He did not seem intoxi-cated at all. His cold pale eyes stared back, studying her and making her uneasy. As Con felt the first effects of the wine, she regretted drinking it. She sensed it was im-portant to remain in control of herself.
"You looked like you were going somewhere," Green said evenly, as he refilled her glass.
"No," she replied quickly. "I was just out for some air."
"You had a very purposeful stride."
"I did? I hadn't noticed."
"I notice things like that," replied Green. "I'm very observant." The glass trembled in Con's hand. When she set it down untouched, he said, "You mustn't waste that wine, it's the 2047 vintage." Con took a dutiful sip.
"Finish it," said Green in a quiet, but commanding, voice. He had a faint smile as Con drank the wine.
"Sit down," he said. "Relax. We're not keeping you from something?"
"No," said Con, as she took a seat.
For a while, they were silent. "So, what do you think of our guide?" Green finally asked. "Should I keep him on?"
"Oh, Rick? He's okay."
"He keeping you safe? There are things around here that are dangerous to see."
"You mean dinosaurs?"
"What else could I mean?"
"I wouldn't know," said Con quietly.
"You're John's daughter, I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
"Rick will keep me safe."
"I certainly hope so."
17
AFTER WASHING THE DINNER DISHES AND SCRUBBING THE
pans, Rick strolled to the seashore. He hoped to encounter Con, but he watched the sunset alone. He was still walking the beach when he ran into Joe, sitting on a rock.
"How you doing, Rick?" asked Joe.
"Okay," said Rick. They had barely spoken since the morning. "Enjoy your day off?" he asked for small talk.
"There's not much to do here," replied Joe. "I mostly stayed out of people's way. I hope you have something planned for tomorrow."
"I was thinking about heading south. South America was, I mean is, sauropod country. How far can that plane go?"
"She can cruise forever, as far as I know," replied Joe. "But she's not built for speed. A trip like that would take several days."
"Maybe we could camp."
"Camp? Aren't you getting carried away? You don't need to disappear altogether. Anyway, we don't have camping gear. This is supposed to be a resort."
'It was just a thought," said Rick. "We'll follow the coast south, but keep it to a day trip."
"Sounds good to me."
Rick looked at the darkening sea and sighed. "I'm going to miss this place."
"Speak for yourself," replied Joe.
Joe wandered back to camp, leaving Rick on the beach. He lingered there to watch the moon rise. Con never ap-peared.
CON ATE HER breakfast, eagerly awaiting Rick. Her fa-ther had yet to make an appearance. Probably hangover, she thought. Naturally, Sara was absent, too. Only James was at the table.
"You don't have to hang around for my sake," she told him. "I don't think Daddy will be up for a while."
"I do have some things to take care of," said James. "If you truly don't mind . .."
"Not at all," said Con. "If you see Rick, tell him I'd like to speak to him. About today's trip, that is."
"Certainly."
When Rick appeared a few minutes later, Con grinned and said in an excited whisper, "Come to my room, I've got something to show you! I wanted to show you last night, but I got waylaid by Daddy and Green. Daddy's definitely in with Green. He wants me to help him pick his plunder."
"Slow down, slow down," whispered Rick. "They let you in on their plan?"
"Of course not," said Con. "But Daddy was drunk, and he let stuff out. God, Green's a creep. Scary too. But that's not my news. You've got to come to my room!"
Rick looked around, but spotted no one. "Okay," he whispered.
They walked rapidly to Con's chambers. Con pulled the curtains across the colonnade. "That will give us pri-vacy," she said.
"Doesn't this look suspicious?" asked Rick. "I mean, both of us gone and the curtains pulled?"
"Then they definitely won't peek inside," replied Con with a giggle. While Rick tried to recover his composure, Con walked into the back room. She pulled the dresser from the wall to reveal the hole in the plaster. "Ta da!" she said. "A secret passageway."
"Where does it go?"
"It's so neat!" said Con excitedly. "You're going to love it!" Without further ado, she got on her hands and knees and disappeared into the hole.
Rick followed and found her standing in the lighted corridor. "Will you please tell me what's this about?"
"I found an elevator to the top of the mesa," she said, already walking down the passageway. "And there's a room . . . wait till you see it!"
Rick followed Con until they arrived at the room with the viewscreens. "You're right, Con. This is fantastic! A paleogeologist's dream!"
Con beamed. "I knew you'd like it. It must be some kind of observatory." Rick walked over to one of the images of Earth. "This is so clear!" He pointed to an area where a huge bay entered the interior of the continent. "We're located here, near the northern coast. This is where I thought we'd go today," he said, tracing their journey south.
"It doesn't look much like America."
"Well, a lot of it's underwater in this time. That pen-insula there will someday be Mexico." Rick's attention turned to a chart next to the satellite image. "This is cool," he said. "Here's the same view shown as a geo-logical map. It shows the sea depth and . . ." He paused, looking perplexed. "That's strange."
"What's strange."
Rick pointed to red lines on the chart that formed a series of concentric circles similar to those of a target.
"That's the location of the Chicxulub Crater."
"The what?"
"Something that hasn't. . ." Rick's face grew grave. He stared at the top of the chart where there were num-bers arranged like those on Con's wall. They glowed red and pulsated:
"Oh God!" said Rick in horror.
"Rick?"
Rick ran over to one of the holographic displays of the solar sys
tem. He looked at it, searching for something. "Shit!" he exclaimed.
"What's the matter?" asked Con, her voice filled with concern. "Did we set off an alarm? Is it Green?" Rick whirled around, then froze when he spotted the image of the slowly tumbling rock. He stared at it with a dumbfounded expression. Con looked at it, too, and noticed that the rock had craters like a small planet. "Those symbols on your wall... on these charts ... on that screen .. ." Rick said in a shocked, quiet voice. "They are clocks. They're counting backward."
"Backward? To what?"
"The K-T event." Rick's agitation exploded into frantic activity. He dashed from the room, calling as he ran. "Come on, we've got to find Joe! There isn't much time!"
"Rick, what's the . . ."
Rick was already in the passageway. His voice echoed from it. "Hurry, Con! Follow me." Puzzled and frightened, Con rushed after him. She saw him smash through the plaster-and-wood barrier to her quarters. Rick ran over the debris without pausing and, jerking the curtain aside, dashed out into the morning. Con, who was barefoot, had to pick her way over the splintered barrier before chasing after Rick. She spotted him at the dining pavilion. James had returned, and Rick was questioning him in a loud, anxious voice while Con's father and Sara looked on with bleary expressions. She heard Rick say, "It's a matter of life and death."
James said something Con couldn't hear. Rick turned toward her and yelled, "Come on, Con!" before dashing toward the path to the plane. Con ran after him, ignoring her father's calls. When the path got stony, she found it was too hard on her feet to run and slowed down to a brisk walk. When she saw Rick again, he was talking to Joe, who was holding the picnic hamper.
"We can leave as soon as the plane's loaded," said Joe. "There's only the cooler left."
"No, no," said Rick. "Leave this time, not this place. We all have to go now."
"That's impossible," replied Joe.
"Don't you know what this island's for?" asked Rick incredulously. "Don't you know where you are?"