Will Hubbel - Cretaceous Sea

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s

Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

http://www.penguinputnam.com

Dedicated to Richard Clements Hubbell

1949–1971

Vivere in cordibus quae ament est non mori.

1

CON’S COMSET SILENTLYvibrated. She surreptitiously removed it from her pocket and glanced

at its screen when her calculus teacher turned his back. The message from Mother was short and

cryptic—“Your father called. Has surprise. Limo to meet you after school.” Con wondered what the

surprise could be. She doubted Mother knew. Most likely, it was another of her father’s sporadic and

extravagant gestures, like the horse she received a month after he forgot her sixteenth birthday. The limo

was a dead giveaway.

Limousines were common at Con’s school, so no one betrayed any interest when she departed in a big

hydrogen-electric Mercedes. It took her to an office building in a fashionable district of the city. When

the driver opened the car door, Con’s father was waiting outside. Con groaned inwardly when she saw

that he had his new fiancée with him. Con recognized her from the tabloids, but she was even more

striking in person. Curvaceous, with intense green eyes and dramatic black hair, she seemed too perfect

to be real. Con suspected little of her was.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said.

“Hi, honey. I’d like you to meet Sara.”

“Hi,” said Con. “I’ve seen you on the news.”

“Don’t believe everything they say,” said Sara, smiling and extending her hand. “I’ve been looking

forward to meeting you. John’s told me so much about you.”

Con shook Sara’s hand. “Don’t believe everything Daddy says about me.”

“He says only the nicest things.”

“That’s what I mean.”

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“We’re expected,” said John Greighton impatiently, ushering his daughter and his fiancée inside. An

elevator took them to an expensively decorated office on one of the upper floors. As soon as they

entered, a receptionist rose to greet them. “Mr. Greighton,” she said, “welcome to Montana Isle. Ms.

Smythe is expecting you.”

Con watched the aforementioned Ms. Smythe advance toward them. She was elegantly dressed, and

her smiling face had been redone in the currently fashionable angular look. Con recognized the designer.

The surgery was almost certainly a knockoff, but it was well-done. None of the exaggerated planes of

Ms. Smythe’s face seemed overly unnatural.

“Mr. Greighton, I’m so pleased you’ve come. I’m Ann Smythe. I can answer your questions about our

unique offering.”

John Greighton shook her offered hand. “This is my fiancée, Sara Boyton, and my daughter,

Constance.”

Con spoke up and corrected him, “It’s ‘Con.’ ”

“Will Constance accompany you and Sara, Mr. Greighton?” asked Ann.

“Ifwe go . . . yes. You weren’t very clear about the nature of your resort. What you told me was

intriguing, but vague . . . damned vague.”

“We’ve been secretive,” admitted Ann, “I think soon you’ll understand why. This is something

extraordinary, and we’re not catering to the general public. Our clientele appreciates privacy.” Ann, a

consummate salesperson, paused for effect before proceeding. “If you’re expecting a sales pitch, don’t

worry. This isn’t just a resort. Words can’t possibly describe Montana Isle. It’s almost beyond belief,

nothing is remotely like it. Fortunately, we have this . . .”

A pair of doors glided open to reveal two seats floating in a short hallway that led to a large, empty

room. The chamber beyond was spherical, and the hallway formed an opening halfway up its sides. The

room’s shimmering silver walls revealed it was a holotheater. Over thirty feet in diameter, it was the

largest Con had ever seen. Ann appeared pleased with the effect such a huge expenditure made on her

prospective customers; even John Greighton seemed impressed.

“Only a holovision could possibly convey what we’re offering. You’ll be the first people outside our

organization to see it.” Ann gestured toward the two waiting seats. Mr. Greighton, why don’t you and

Sara get comfortable while I get another seat for your daughter.”

Con watched Ann and the receptionist struggle to lug a heavy seat to the hallway from a nearby supply

closet. Once it was in place, Ann went to a console outside the hall and activated some controls. The

seat levitated upward to the proper height. Con walked over to the floating seat and sat down. Once Ann

saw that everyone was buckled in, she returned to the console, pressed a button, and the outer doors of

the holotheater closed.

Con’s seat bobbed slightly as it levitated to the center of the holotheater. Once she was in position, the

chamber’s silver walls darkened until she could barely see her father and his fiancée floating close by.

The holovision began subtly. First, the darkness above was pricked by stars. The soft sounds of water

became perceptible. Con looked down and saw the starlight reflected on the gentle waves of a sea. For

a short while, all she could see was water and the night sky.

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The waves continued to move in a natural manner, but the sky changed at a pace accelerated for

dramatic effect. It lightened, and soon dawn painted the heavens with increasingly bold colors, which the

waves reflected back. On the horizon, snowcapped mountains glowed orange pink in the day’s first light.

The sun rose higher, and its rays touched the sea, seeming to set it on fire. It rose higher still, and the

water, which had blazed rosy gold just moments before, became clear. Con peered into its crystal

depths. A school of fish swam beneath, the sunrise sparkling pink and gold on their silver scales.

A huge, dark green creature swam into the school, flapping its front flippers like wings. The animal’s long

and snakelike neck thrust its head among the fleeing fish, grabbing one. Next, the creature swam upward

until its head and neck burst through the waves. It seemed so close that Con could stare into its golden

eyes. A large fish flapped crosswise in its jaws. As Con stared in wonder at the plesiosaur, she heard

Sara squeal like she was at an amusement park. The creature, being only an illusion, ignored them both.

It flipped the fish into the air and caught it to swallow headfirst. Then, arching its neck downward, the

animal submerged and swam off into the depths.

The view began to change again. Soon Con felt that she was flying rapidly over the surface of the sea.

Only the lack of wind in her face made the illusion incomplete. The sense of motion was accompanied by

music, then words. “Come to the springtime of the world . . . a time when the Earth was new . . .

unspoiled . . . and filled with wonders. A startling scientific breakthrough allows Temporal Transport to

offer the ultimate travel experience.” The music began to swell as an island became visible in the distance,

the early-morning sun glowing on its rocky sides. “. . . Montana Isle, set in the pristine beauty of

America’s ancient Montana Sea. The most exclusive destination in history . . . enjoy absolute privacy

amidst the untouched splendor of nature.” Con’s seat seemed to fly over the island, then circle back. The

island was small and mostly rocky. In its center, a mesa of dark rock rose from a grove of trees. For an

instant, Con thought she spotted some structures clustered at the base of the spire, but her perspective

changed before she could be sure. Her seat dipped toward low rocky cliffs above sandy beaches. Now

the gently rolling waves appeared inches beneath her feet. Instinctively, she lifted her legs. A haze, tinted

gold by the morning light, gave the view a dreamlike quality. “Montana Isle . . . as close as your back

door and millions of years from everything.” The music swelled to a crescendo as Con’s seat seemed to

soar higher and higher above the island until it was a tiny fleck of gold in a sapphire blue sea. The

mainland was now visible, covered with greenery and cut by rivers flowing from the nearby mountains.

The unpolluted air was so clear she could see for miles. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty.

The vision faded, and they were once again looking at the silver walls of the holotheater. Con’s father

grinned like a kid discovering an exotic new toy. Sara glanced at him, then formed her expression into a

demure imitation of his. Con’s reaction was more complicated. She was enchanted, even dazzled, yet

dubious that the holovision was genuine. While part of her hoped it was, she also found that prospect

unsettling.

As the seats floated back to their starting places, the doors parted to reveal Ann Smythe waiting for

them. Next to her was a small table with champagne in a silver ice bucket and four glasses. “You’re the

first to see it,” she said, popping the cork. “I thought we’d celebrate. Dom Perignon, vintage 2047.”

By the time they were out of their seats, Ann had filled three glasses. She hesitated and looked to John

Greighton before filling the fourth. “I know your daughter’s not quite eighteen, but perhaps you’d . . .”

“I don’t drink,” said Con before her father could answer.

Ann gave John and Sara their glasses. They were made from hand-cut crystal. “A toast!” she said. “To

the ultimate travel experience . . . time travel!”

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2

ANN SMYTHE WENTto her office and shut the door before entering Peter Green’s code in her

computer. When the link was established, she submitted to a retinal scan and entered her password

before Green’s face appeared on the viewscreen. His features had been redone by a well-known

designer, but his handsome face had a harsh cast. Ann was convinced that his somewhat sinister

appearance was intentional. The cold, pale eyes, however, were beyond artifice. They bore into her.

“Well?” Green said.

“I sold him,” said Ann.Tell him the good news first , she thought.

“He didn’t balk at the price?”

“He didn’t blink. Convincing him the offer was genuine was the hard part, even with the holovision.

Once he believed he would actually go back in time, the privacy won him over. He’s been hounded ever

since he got engaged again. I told him that only he and Sara would ever know if they packed their

swimsuits.”

Green smirked. “You’re good.”

“The best,” agreed Ann. “Three million Euros in one afternoon.”

“Threemillion?”

“He’s taking his daughter, too.”

“I didn’t know he had a daughter,” said Green.

“I thoroughly research my prospects. That’s why I’m worth my commission,” replied Ann. “She’s from

his first marriage. Doesn’t live with him. When he brought her to the showing, I knew she was the key to

the sale. They’re not close, and that’s why he wants her on this vacation.”

“What for?” asked Green. “Having a kid hanging around would be the last thing I’d want.”

“I believe he wants to resurrect his family,” said Ann.

“Only with a younger wife,” said Green cynically.

“Yes,” agreed Ann, “that’s his pattern.” She saw her opportunity to break the bad news and took it.

“But you’re right about him. He doesn’t really want the kid hanging around. That’s why I told him our

staff naturalist would keep her busy.”

“You told himwhat ?” said Green angrily. “I don’t want anyone else in on this! Too many know already.

Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m a salesperson, the best. I trust my instincts, and I felt it was necessary to close the sale. If you

disagree with my judgment, I’ll call Greighton up and tell him I was mistaken about the naturalist. But I

guarantee he’ll cancel.”

“I don’t want a scientist snooping around. You know that!”

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“He’ll be a naturalist, for heaven’s sake. I said he’d be young, too. How much trouble could he cause?”

“You didn’t listen to me,” said Green coldly.

“Look, I think Greighton’s more to you than a customer. If you need a big investor, he’s as rich as they

come. I delivered him. I’d think you’d be grateful.”

“You think too much,” replied Green. He glared from the screen while he thought. “Okay,” he said

finally, “youfind the naturalist. Research him like you would a prospect. Someone to keep the girl out of

Greighton’s hair and someone who’ll keep his nose out of my business. I’m holding you responsible.

Don’t screw up!” The screen went blank as Green broke the connection.

Ann Smythe found her hands were shaking as she sat at her computer to begin her research. As a

freelance marketer, she was used to demanding clients, even abusive ones. It came with the territory.

Yet, Green unnerved her. She relied on her instincts, and she trusted them. They told her to be cautious;

there was something going on.

THREE DAYS LATER,Ann Smythe was picking her way through the cluttered basement of Horner

Hall on the campus of the University of Montana. She was annoyed with Rick Clements already, and

they hadn’t even met. They were supposed to have met an hour ago, but he hadn’t shown up. She had

been forced to track him down. A series of inquiries had led her first to the paleontology department,

then to the preparation lab in the basement. She was not pleased to be there. Disorder irritated her, and

the ubiquitous rock dust had soiled her expensive suit. There, amid cartons of specimens and scattered

tools, she located a muscular, sandy-haired young man staring intently through a stereo macroscope.

Despite his youth, he had a weathered look, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun. He was using a

needlelike tool to delicately remove the rocky matrix from a fossil, grain by grain.

“Rick Clements?”

“Yeah?” said Rick, not removing his eyes from the macroscope.

“I’m Ann Smythe, we had an appointment.”

Rick suddenly started back from the macroscope, glanced down at his watch, then looked up at Ann.

“I’m sorry. I lost track of the time.” He rose and wiped his dusty hand on his pants before extending it to

Ann. He had a disarming, guileless smile that made her decide to forgive him. “It’s aMultituberculate

from the Upper Cretaceous,” he said by way of explanation.

“What?”

“The fossil, it’s . . .”

“Never mind,” said Ann. “I’ve come a long way to talk, but not here.”

“Sure. Is the commons okay? Look, I’m really sorry about . . .”

“It must be someplace where we won’t be overheard.”

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“There’s my room, but it’s a mess.”

“Your room sounds fine.”

Rick’s dorm room resembled a more compressed version of the paleontology department’s basement.

Rick cleared some books and rocks off a chair, then offered Ann the seat. She decided to stand.

“Professor Harrington said you had some kind of job offer,” said Rick, “but he didn’t say much more

than that.”

“I didn’t tell him more than that,” said Ann. “The people I represent are starting a new venture and

they’re not ready to make it public yet. It’s an opportunity for you to get in on the ground floor.”

“New venture . . . ground floor . . . are you sure you’re talking to the right person? I study fossils. This

doesn’t sound like my line of work. Besides, I’ve already lined up some fieldwork this summer.”

Ann ignored his question. “You should be a senior this semester,” she said, “except you haven’t fulfilled

the core requirements. Just biology, geology, comparative anatomy, and paleontology courses, some of

them on the graduate level. You won’t get a degree that way.”

Rick sighed. “I’ve heard this before. Did my brother put you up to this?”

“No, I brought it up to make a point. Single-minded people like you generally have a hard time in this

world. If you ever want academic work, you’ll have to study literature and history also.”

“Now Iknow my brother set you up.”

“No, quite the contrary, I’m here to offer you a way out. To do what you love without the

compromises.” She pulled a small viewer from her pocket and inserted a disk. “This is raw input, straight

from the datacam. Take a look.”

Rick peered at the screen and saw an aerial view of an open landscape dotted with clumps of trees. The

ground was covered with low vegetation upon which a herd of large animals grazed. The view zoomed in

closer on the herd, and soon Rick recognized them. “They’re ceratopsids.Triceratops . . .Torosaurus

. . . I don’t know that one . . .” He watched for a while with fascination. “This is very realistic, who

programmed this?”

“Isaid it was raw input. It’s not computer-generated. It’s realistic because it’s real.”

“You mean a theme park?”

“No. Real. Actual living animals.”

“Genetically engineered?”

“No,” replied Ann, “these are wild animals in their natural habitat.”

“Cut the bull,” said Rick good-naturedly. “That’s not possible. You’re talking time travel.”

“Yes.”

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Rick’s only response was a derisive snort.

“Time travel’s not only possible,” responded Ann, “but you can experience it yourself. That’s what I’m

here to talk about.”

“This has got be a hoax.”

“My client requires strict secrecy, hardly what you’d expect in a hoax . . . don’t you agree?”

“How can this be real?”

“I don’t expect to convince you,” said Ann. “You can see it for yourself. I’m just here to make that

possible. If you agree to go, I’m authorized to transfer a five-thousand-Euro advance to your account,

plus provide you with airfare.” Rick whistled at the sum. “That’s real money,” continued Ann, “maybe not

proof, but a start.”

Rick stared silently at Ann with an expression of disbelief. She read his thoughts, and said, “You’re not

the only candidate. If you’re not willing to listen, then I’m wasting my time.” She shut off the viewer, put it

away, and started walking for the door.

Rick watched her with a perplexed expression on his face. As she reached for the knob, he called out,

“Wait. Wait!”

“Why? You obviously think I’m a charlatan.”

“Look, you appear out of the blue and tell me my wildest fantasy has come true. Of course I’m

skeptical. Who wouldn’t be? If you were in my place, would you believe it?”

“Maybe not,” admitted Ann, “but I’d keep an open mind.”

Rick looked at her with indecision, as hope battled with skepticism. When he spoke again, it was as if he

were pleading on behalf of hope. “All I think about is fossils. Searching for them . . . imagining the animals

that made them. Can I really visit their world?”

“Yes,” said Ann.

“Why are you offering this?”

“We need a naturalist on our project.”

“A naturalist?”

“That’s what we’re calling the position. Someone who is knowledgeable about the animals and plants of

the area.”

“The Upper Cretaceous, judging from what you showed me.”

“Correct.”

“Why me? Surely there are more qualified people.”

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“This is a commercial venture, not a scientific one. I think you meet our requirements perfectly. To be

frank, we’re looking for a tour guide, not a researcher. Someone with personality. Professor Harrington

assures me you have one . . . when your nose isn’t in a rock.”

Rick smiled at her remark. “Assuming that I don’t wake up and find I’ve been dreaming, what kind of

tours are you talking about? Aren’t you afraid of having your clients eaten?”

“Of course, that’s why we have a special aircraft for sight-seeing and our base is on an island. You’ll be

pointing out the sights from a safe distance.”

“Can I see that disk again?”

I’ve got him, thought Ann. “On one condition,” she said, knowing she had gained the upper hand. “My

client insists on strict confidentiality.”

“Sure,” said Rick, reaching for the disk.

“I’ll need that agreement in writing. You must keep our discussion strictly confidential, regardless of

whether you accept our offer or not.” Ann produced some legal documents from her suit pocket.

“Where do I sign?” asked Rick.

“Read them first,” insisted Ann. “There are severe sanctions for violating its provisions. This is a serious

document.”

Rick took the document and quickly skimmed through text specifying the damages should he ever

mention someplace called Montana Isle, its physical or temporal location, or the means of traveling there

without the explicit permission of . . . Rick stopped reading and quickly scrawled his signature on the

page. There was a faraway, eager look in his eyes as he said, “Okay, show me the dinosaurs again.”

PETER GREEN HADlistened to Ann’s report about her meeting with Rick Clements and grudgingly

conceded that he would do. Afterward, he had abruptly terminated the call. He did not wish Ann to feel

comfortable about the situation. He certainly was not. He was already upset about that girl, Greighton’s

daughter. Now this naturalist, Clements, added another factor to his plans. Still another person he would

have to include in his calculations.

Green paced about with an anxious restlessness. Then, for the third time that day, he left his office and

entered the fenced area behind the building to check the time machine. It stood there looking almost

exactly like the twentieth-century conception of a flying saucer. Just as in the old movies, the saucer

stood on three legs with an open panel on its underside, which functioned both as door and staircase.

Only the black solar panels on the saucer’s upper surface marred its resemblance to the fictional

spacecraft.

It was these panels that were Green’s concern. The short, overcast winter days and the high fence cut

down on their input. He climbed the stairs into the machine and went to the controls to check the charge.

Little had changed; the machine would not be fully powered for another week.Damn! he cursed to

himself,another week of exposure. If Greighton comes in on this, that’s the first thing I want to

change .

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At least, Green thought,as soon as the machine’s ready, we can go . Part of the sales pitch for the

resort was that, from the perspective of the present, a trip there would seem almost instantaneous. “Just

think,” ran the sales script, “you’ll leave for a two-week vacation and return, rested and relaxed, only a

few seconds after you departed.” Such a getaway was easy to fit into anyone’s busy schedule. It was a

great selling point, and Ann had used it very effectively, all the more so, because she didn’t know it was a

lie. Green believed in telling the truth only when it was useful. By the time it was necessary to tell

Greighton the truth, Green hoped that Greighton would be on his side. As for the others, he would find

new lies for them.

The idea of an instantaneous vacation had another benefit—no one would feel the need to explain where

they were going. Everyone involved with the trip had agreed not to talk about it and probably

wouldn’t—for a while. It was the long term that bothered Green. He had little faith in nondisclosure

agreements. It was his experience that people talked; a piece of paper wouldn’t stop that. In the end,

there was only one way to assure silence.

3

CON FULFILLED THENondisclosure Agreement until it came time to pack. There were strict weight

limitations on what she could bring, and her frequent trips to the bathroom scales caught her mother’s

attention. She looked into Con’s room and saw small piles of clothing spread over her bed next to a

duffel bag.

“Con, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Mom.” Con put the stack of underwear she was about to weigh down on the bed.

“It looks like you’re going somewhere.”

“I’m just sorting through my things.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re up to something.”

“Daddy said that I couldn’t tell anyone. I had to promise in writing that I wouldn’t.”

The suspicion on her mother’s face changed to alarm. “Not even me? What are you two up to?”

“It’s just a trip, a little vacation.”

“To where? For how long? Why the secrecy?”

Con sighed. “It’s nothing to worry about, Mom. I’ll be gone less than a day. If you hadn’t caught me,

you’d have never missed me.”

Con’s mother looked dubious. “That’s a lot more than one day’s worth of clothes.” She picked up a

sleeveless top from off the bed. “It looks like you’re going someplace warm.”

“It’s some new hush-hush technology. We all had to promise to keep it secret, even Daddy. It’s like an

instant vacation. I’ll be gone only seconds, literally. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you this much.”

“That’s nonsense. Don’t lie to me.”

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“I’m not,” said Con. “I know it sounds crazy. I have a hard time believing it myself. Look, if it’s going to

be a hassle, I’ll just stay here. This was all Daddy’s idea.”

“Then you should go,” said Mother.

“But I thought . . .”

“It’s important to maintain good relations with your father. You’re his only child. You should be his heir.”

“Don’t start, Mom.”

“He owes you that! Besides, I only want what’s best for you.”

“I don’t care about being an heiress, I just want to be myself,” said Con.

“And you will be. But to the world, you’ll always be John Greighton’s daughter. You can’t escape that,

so you might as well benefit from it. It won’t compromise you to accept your due.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“Not even a new face?”

“Mom! We’ve been through this before. My face is fine.”

“It’s not very fashionable. Why seem common? All your friends . . .”

“All my friends look the same now!”

“Stylish,” retorted Con’s mother, “that’s what they look. I told your father when he named you

‘Constance’ it would make you old-fashioned.”

“You used to tell me it’d make me rich, like my ancestor that discovered all that gold.”

“Oh yes,” said Mother, “the family legend. Well, you don’t have to look like a nineteenth-century

woman, just because you’re named after one.”

“Mom, could we stop this. If you want me to go, I need to weigh these so I can finish packing.”

Mother held up a swimsuit, saying, “Thiscertainly isn’t going to put you over your limit.”

“We’re going to an island, there’ll only be the three of us.”

“The three of you?”

“He’s taking Sara,” said Con.

“The new one? What’sshe like?”

“We didn’t talk much. She seems fairly young. She looks a lot like Daddy’s last wife.”

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Will Hubbel - Cretaceous Sea

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