"But the Model 94 didn't come out for a while, because Winchester had to buy manufacturing rights from the Browning Brothers, and they had to play with the design a little until it was as good as they could make it, then Winchester had to tool up their factory to accommodate the changes the 94 would require, that sort of thing-all the normal delays between prototype and commercial release."
Before she could say anything else-or any of the paleontologists could draw upon their courage to ask a question-the weapons-range door opened, admitting a cool draft, Malcolm, and closely following him, Kit Carson.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gasps went up from those who'd seen photographs. Margo just grinned, ignoring the sound, which set her heart beating so fast that cute young grad students might have never existed. Malcolm had a breathtaking smile that turned her insides-and occasionally her very bones-to melted marshmallow.
"So there you are!" Malcolm exclaimed, relief on his long, craggy , sun-and-wind scoured face. "I thought maybe you'd come down here to spar with Sven. We looked. He's miffed."
Margo said smugly, "I'm saving up for that. If he throws me twice, I'll fast for a whole day."
Kit grinned. "I'll make sure you honor that one, my girl."
She put her tongue out, then kissed Malcolm, just thoroughly enough to set him on fire, but not quite thoroughly enough to push him over the edge and carry her out of here. She finally broke the kiss, smiling up into his eyes with a promise of more to come later, then all but crushed Kit's ribcage. It startled him, but he didn't let go before she did. He did lower his head to kiss her hair several times, as though he couldn't believe this was happening.
When she looked up into his eyes, she saw joy and tremendous pain there. "I'll make it up," she whispered, "all of it. I'll even tell you my whole life's story. I should have a long time ago, but I was scared. After class, okay?"
Kit just closed his eyes.
"I'll--yes, please." Then he opened his eyes again, cleared his throat. "I believe you have a class to teach?"
She sighed, then commented wryly, "Yeah. Like everything else I do, it appears to be part of my training."
Kit and Malcolm nodded approvingly, Kit adding, "A fine lesson for you to learn-and all on your own, too." Margo wrinkled her nose at him, then turned back to the class of goggle-eyed scientists.
Margo took Malcolm's arm, wrapping it possessively around her waist so he all but surrounded her. Determined to do this right if her tongue shattered from all the gilding one was supposed to learn to master gracefully, she said, "This gentleman with his arm around me is Dr. Moore, Freelance Temporal Guide, sought out by members of the very oldest names and fortunes in the world, men and women who bear European titles of nobility, Americans of the greatest industrial and computer families in the nation, prestigious members of the press and the glittering stars of New Hollywood.
"They seek Dr. Moore for assistance with private tours away from the main Time Tours itineraries so they won't have to endure the endless chatter of the rift-raff who take the same tours. Dr. Moore is also a successful gemstone speculator," Malcolm squeezed warningly, "a doctor of philosophy in both anthropology and classics, and, to my greatest happiness, my fiancée."
A few faint groans reached them, bringing laughter to Malcolm's eyes when she glanced up.
Kit, however, was staring at her oddly.
"And this renowned hero," she said, slipping loose of Malcolm's grip just long enough to take her grandfather's callused hand, "is the most famous recluse on Earth. You are deeply privileged to meet one of the original time scouts who pushed the major gates the first time they began popping open and closed on a regular, stable schedule. Knowing the danger that he might shadow himself, he continued pushing gates until the odds were simply too great, then settled down as owner of one of the world's most prestigious hotels, the New Edo, right here in TT-86, where he pushed most of the tourist gates Shangri-La Station possesses. It is, indeed, my intense pleasure to introduce the legendary Time Scout of Shangri-La Station, Kit Carson." She deliberately left out the fact that he was her grandfather.
Round eyes stared back at Kit, with all the grad students looking as though they might faint in the presence of a living god.
Kit, moving very close to her, muttered, "Where the hell did you learn to speak all that flowery bullshit?"
Margo, eyes flashing, answered in an equally soft whisper, "At that moronic college you sent me to. Make me take etiquette, will you!"
Etiquette was another class she'd been forced to take, in place of the math class she'd needed-badly. Margo had desperately wanted to master her log and ATLS-Absolute Time Locator System-with greater skill, and that meant plowing through mathematics. So, when she could not argue, wheedle, or tempt her way into the class she really needed, above all others, she'd left the registrar's office in a storming rage, and made other plans, which included buying all the requisite books for the class she'd been denied and studying them until slow comprehension dawned for each and every formula or proof the books contained.
With her greater understanding, she performed the same ritual each night: she'd finish supper and rush from the cafeteria back to her room, where she studied until it was nice and dark. If the night sky was clear, as it often was in winter-she'd grab her ATLS and log and jog down to the courtyard which four dormitories completely enclosed. Margo then shot one star fix after another, recording her findings by whispering into her computer log.
She would then return to her room, ignoring the odd looks from other students who'd seen her in the courtyard, talking to herself and pointing a little box at the sky over and over, and the lustful looks of those who didn't care how crazy she was, just so long as they could get their hands on what was beneath her designer jeans that fit her derriere like they'd been sewn on. Margo, completely aware of both types of stare, ignored each equally, regained her room and checked her calculations very carefully, for each star fix she'd shot.
She still wanted that class, but she was getting much better at the mathematic formulae needed to calculate exactly where you were by shooting a star fix. And she had learned her accursed "etty-ket." Got a stinking A+ for it. Some use modern etiquette and oratory is going to be downtime through an unknown gate.
Then she realized there was something wrong with her grandfather's expression. Kit's eyes actually blazed with anger and his sandy eyebrows dove until his entire forehead was a mass of wrinkles-a few of which she, herself, had regretfully put there.
"We'll talk about this later, in private," he muttered. "I want to know everything there is to know about that place. Everything."
At least he's not mad at me, margo thought cheerfully. Nobody, not even Margo, wanted to be on the downside of Kit Carson's temper. She'd been there all too often to want to find herself there again.
"And Margo,- Kit added, without a trace of a smile, "do Grandpa a favor, huh? Cut the etiquette crap and sound like yourself, or I'll drag you over to the gym and slam the living daylights out of you until you start sounding like my grandkid again."
Margo, a little angry, a little relieved, a whole lot aware of how much he loved her-and the only way he knew to express it most of the time-met his gaze with a wicked twinkle in her eyes and a dangerous smile on her lips. "Tsk-tsk, child-beating? Shame on you." Her smile deepened. "As for slamming the living daylights out of me, you could try."
Kit's black scowl was part of the way she always remembered him. Before he could speak, she whispered, "Oh, don't worry, I hate that stuff, too. I'll be good."