"Last night, I was going to stop Green . . ."
"Stop him?"
"Kill him," said Rick.
Con gave him an astonished look, which grew as she saw he was serious.
"Joe intervened," continued Rick, "and said it wasn't necessary to do anything, that people from the future will stop Green."
"I'm glad he stopped you. I can't imagine you killing anyone."
"Neither could he," said Rick. "He said Green would have killed me first."
"This is too weird," said Con.
"That's my problem, too," said Rick. "Everything's so unbelievable. Should I buy Joe's story? I can see all sorts of alternatives."
"Well, he didn't tell Green."
"True," said Rick. "He could have easily shot me, too. I had no idea he was following me."
"I think he's telling the truth," said Con. "There's nothing to worry about."
"You're probably right," said Rick.
Con looked at him and knew he did not believe her. She picked up the fishing gear and started walking.
"Then let's go fishing. This is supposed to be my vacation!"
They walked in silence, while Con tried to think of something to distract Rick from his brooding. "I'll have a birthday in four days," she said. "When we return to our time three seconds after we left, will I be eighteen or not?"
"Eighteen," said Rick. "That instant vacation stuff was bull."
"What do you mean?"
"It was a lie. We'll arrive two weeks after we left. Joe told me last night."
"Daddy will be pissed."
"He probably doesn't know yet."
"I was planning to give him two chances to remember my birthday—one here and one when we got back. He usually forgets."
"Here, he has an excuse," said Rick. "How can you have a birthday when you won't be born for 65
million years?"
"Maybe I should stay here and remain young forever."
"You almost had your chance," said Rick. "Last night, I considered sabotaging the time machine."
"Oh God!" exclaimed Con. "Marooned with Sara and Daddy! What a thought!"
"Maybe she'd see him differently when he wasn't a billionaire."
Con laughed wickedly. "I'm sure she'd stop feeding him fruit. She might stop giving him other things as well."
"Maybe Pandit would have his chance," said Rick. "I know he's smitten. He's more her age, and he can cook."
"Perhaps she'd prefer a jungle guide," teased Con.
"No way!"
"I might claim you for myself. Are you a good pro-vider?"
"I could keep even you fed."
"Really?" answered Con. "Could you satisfy all my appetites?" She was amused when he blushed.
"We'll return to our time," said Rick, trying to change the conversation. "If Joe's right, we'll never see this place again."
"That bothers you, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," said Rick with a note of dejection. "What a waste. Only you and James appreciate what's here."
"Maybe the people who built the time machine will let you come back."
"I doubt it. Joe says they might not even know this place is here."
"How's that possible?" asked Con.
"It has something to do with history being altered."
"That's so mysterious!" said Con. "Don't you find it exciting? I wonder what this place is for."
"I have no idea," admitted Rick.
"Aren't you the least bit curious? Maybe there's more to this island than we've seen. Like the symbols on my wall."
"I did see something ... a reflection on the top of the mesa."
"Let's go there and investigate!" said Con excitedly. "We can fish later."
"I don't know . . ."
"Where's your sense of adventure? You're supposed to be a guide. Guide me!"
"I'm supposed to keep you safe."
"Come on! I'm going, whether you do or not!"
Rick put down the cooler and the picnic hamper. "Are you always this headstrong?" he asked.
"Always."
Although the walls of the mesa rose precipitously where the stone rooms were located, on this end of the island they sloped, albeit steeply. The way was difficult, and much of the rock was loose. Con, who was wearing flimsy rubber beach thongs, had a difficult time.
"Maybe we should turn around," suggested Rick. "James would kill me if he knew I was taking you up here."
"Stop worrying about James," retorted Con. "How are we going to get up that cliff?" Above the rocky slope, the last forty feet of the mesa rose as a vertical wall. As they approached the cliff, Rick looked for a route to the top. When they reached its base, it still appeared unclimbable. "Why don't you rest here," said Rick, "while I look for a way up." Con said nothing, but sat down on a rock. Rick scrambled along the base of the cliff, examining it with the eyes of a seasoned climber. He found a number of routes to the top he might attempt if he were properly equipped with climbing shoes, a rope, carabiners, and pitons, but nothing he felt secure freeclimbing in street shoes. Finally, about fifty yards from where Con sat, he discovered a fissure in the cliff. He stepped inside it. Its parallel sides were about three feet apart and rose straight up, forming what climb-ers call a "chimney." When he exited the fissure, he saw Con walking toward him. "Any luck?" she called out.
"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.