HOME

By Rosemary Alcott

Lt. Robert Patrick O'Brien assumed an arrogant, cocky pose, all the better to hide the fear, or more accurately, abject terror that threatened his bowels. He crossed his arms and confronted the three hard faces across the table. "I mean it, Sirs." Much to his own surprise, his voice did not quaver. "I'm the officer of the watch, and I am telling all three of you to go to bed."

This cruise had been very tough, especially on the senior officers. Now, within a day of their home base, O'Brien had the late night watch. He knew all three were exhausted, and he wasn't about to let any one of them remain in the control room under these conditions. In a voice that he hoped cracked with authority he said, "If necessary, I will find someone to tuck each of you in."

Too far, Bobby, you went too far. O'Brien swallowed hard as he saw Admiral Nelson's neck go pink. He waited for the blast to come, determined to hold his ground. But before the explosion, he saw a glance pass between Capt. Crane and Cmdr. Morton, and suddenly Chip Morton yawned. A huge yawn, it distracted the Admiral and threatened to set up a tidal wave of sympathetic yawns throughout the compartment. Crane looked at O'Brien with amusement, and said mildly, "Aye-aye, Mr. O'Brien, you have the con."

The Captain headed out the aft hatch with Mr. Morton at his heels. The Admiral, pugnacious as ever, stood there rapping a single knuckle on the chart table, staring at him. In an easier voice Bob said, "I promise to let you know if we sink, Sir."

To O'Brien's relief, Nelson snorted a brief chuckle, and shaking his head, followed after the Captain and Exec. The entire night watch studiously watched their instruments as the Admiral passed, then to a man, heaved a satisfied sigh. Bob went back to the chart table, unaware that the level of respect for him had just risen a notch.

O'Brien stretched and checked his chronometer. It was a little after 0300. Although he had five more hours left before his watch officially ended, he knew it was unlikely that the senior officers would leave him in peace much after 0600. When he first arrived on the Seaview, it bothered him that the Admiral and XO popped in at all hours of the night. The Captain at that time, John Phillips, didn't have the habit, but Capt. Crane was, if anything, worse than either Admiral Nelson or Mr. Morton. Rarely a watch went by that Lee Crane didn't show up sooner or later. It took a long time for Bob O'Brien to realize that it wasn't a lack of trust that caused the late night wandering, but rather a deep love for the job, and the ship.

As he turned to re-check the depth gauges, Bob felt a lurch that was almost subliminal. The color drained from his face as he looked wildly around. He knew what that lurch meant. It meant Captain Crane was wrong. Mr. Pem was not dead. He waited almost without breathing for the second lurch that would mean the time travel had stopped. All around the control room, men were gasping, fear in their eyes. After an eternity, the second lurch came. O'Brien licked his lips, his mouth suddenly gone dry. One steadying breath, and he took control. "All right men, we're all okay, let's get back to work. Maneuvering, bring us up to periscope depth, slow to one third."

Riley, working the radio shack, called out, "Sir, do you want me to call the Captain?"

"Don't bother, Stu. He's probably halfway here by now."

Lee Crane hurriedly pulled on his other shoe, trying to remain calm. There was only one thing that could cause a movement like that. Time displacement. Lee had not felt that kind of lurch for over a year, when a pint-sized egomaniac named Mr. Pem had flourished a harmless-looking pocket watch and sent the Seaview careening through time. He was one of only around a hundred men in the world that would recognize that odd, yet profoundly disturbing feeling. A single sharp rap on his door came from another of that select group. Chip Morton opened the door, his face pale, making his blue eyes seem huge. "Lee..."

"I felt it. Let's go." came the grim reply. Morton stepped aside to let the Captain pass, then followed him down the hallway. Both men were silent, and when they turned the corner, an equally grim-faced Admiral Nelson joined them.

"The first thing we need to do is determine our location. I want to know where and when we are. Then I'll want to spend some time in the lab. Try to come up with a surprise or two for that demented idiot Pem."

"Admiral, it can't be Mr. Pem! He's dead, we all saw the body!"

"Lee, the only other possibility is that someone else has recreated Pem's time travel device. It's a possibility that I don't care to consider. Better the devil you know, eh?"

As the three senior officers entered the control room, Lt. O'Brien completed a 360-degree check of the surface through the periscope. Lee called out, "Bob, what have you got?"

"Sir, it's daytime out there. No land in sight. No sign of anything living. Riley can't get any radio traffic either."

Lee glanced over at the radio shack in time to see Sparks relieve the young seaman. "Mr. O'Brien, I have the conn."

"Aye, Sir!"

"Mr. Morton, surface the boat."

"Aye, Sir. Prepare to surface...Surface, surface."

The control room crew was calmed by the routine of getting the great submarine to the surface. In less than two minutes, Morton reported to the Captain, "On the surface, Sir. Trim is satisfactory, Air Temp is 82 degrees, fair skies, sea calm."

Lee glanced over at his friend. He knew the XO well enough to know that the formality covered a deep fear. Hardly blessed with an overactive imagination, Chip Morton had nonetheless been badly frightened by Mr. Pem's previous visits. It hadn't in anyway affected his performance, but afterwards, he had had nightmares for weeks.

Quietly Lee said, "Grab the sextant, let's go take some readings."

"Yes, Sir." Morton retreated farther behind a formal exterior.

Lee led the way to the sail, followed by Morton, and the Admiral. The weather topside was muggy, and the sea did not look right. "Lee, I want some water samples." said Nelson.

Picking up the intercom mike, the Captain ordered, "Chief Sharkey, get a detail out here to take some water samples." Replacing the mike, he turned to find Morton offering the sextant. Setting it to his eye, he 'shot the sun', calling out the readings, which Morton verified and wrote down in the log. Comparing the figures to a set in a book, the Captain said, "Well, we don't seem to be displaced in location. We're pretty much where we should be. Now, how do we figure out 'when' we are?"

Admiral Nelson had been sweeping the sea with his binoculars. He stopped suddenly and focused on a point off the starboard bow. "There's your answer, Lee."

Squinting, Crane could make out a flock of pelicans in the distance. Confused, he asked, "Birds, Sir?"

Silently, Nelson handed him the binoculars. Crane took them, and focused on the distant birds. His breath left him in a curse. No bird ever looked like that. There was no mistaking a pterodactyl. Dinosaurs! Pem had taken them back millions of years. Lee fought down his sudden urge to scream in terror. Taking deep breaths, he looked over at Nelson, and knew that he too was profoundly shaken.

Nelson was the first to recover. "All right, gentlemen, we have our work cut out for us. We've beaten Mr. Pem before, and I have no reason to believe we can't do it again. Lee, I'll be in the lab. Have Sharkey bring those samples to me as soon as possible."

"Aye, Sir. Admiral?"

"Yes, Lee?"

"Sir, what do we do in the meantime?"

Nelson paused, casting about for an answer. "We'll make the best of a bad situation, Lee. Let's treat this as a scientific expedition. Take samples, record what we see. Face it, gentlemen, if it weren't for the circumstances, this would be the opportunity of a lifetime. Let's take full advantage!"

As the Admiral disappeared down the hatch, Crane and Morton both rolled their eyes heavenward. "Lee, I swear, if that man were to land up in hell, he'd start measuring the sulfur content."

Crane cracked a grin, but before he could reply, a sound like a huge whale breaching shook the air. Both men stared wide-eyed at the beast that had surfaced not more than thirty yards off the port bow. As large as a gray whale, it had a long sinuous neck ending in a reptilian head sporting long needle-like teeth.

With a swallow Lee said, "Well, there's your first sample. Go collect it."

"You kidding? That thing looks like it's gonna collect me!"

The beast was indeed moving toward the sub in a leisurely manner. Lee looked toward the aft hatch where Sharkey's work detail had been, but saw only the hatch closing behind the last of the retreating men. By the time he glanced back around, Morton was nowhere in sight. Lee found him halfway down the hatch. "Chip, you coward!"

Morton grinned up from the safety of the lower compartment, "You wanna be a snack, you be my guest."

With a laugh, Lee looked up again to check the position of the beast, and was surprised to find it next to the boat, casually stretching it's great jaws toward him. Although he was confident that the animal couldn't reach the sail, he decided he'd displayed enough bravery for one day. He dropped down the ladder and pulled the hatch closed behind him. As he climbed down into the control room, he tried to convince himself that he had not seen the shadow of a great head just as the hatch closed.

In the control room, Morton was already at the chart table, comparing fathometer readings with established charts. As Lee came up he said, "Captain, we've only got about 200 feet, keel to bottom here. Looks like we are up on the continental shelf. Should we move off?"

Lee thought for a moment, exhaling a deep breath. "No. The Admiral wants us to take advantage, so we'll take advantage. Let's see if we can get close to the shore, and take a peek. Keep us on the same course, ahead one third."

"Aye, Sir. Ahead one third."

Lee was relieved to see the Exec settle down. The tension level in the control room had lessened noticeably. The crew was always hypersensitive to the moods of the senior officers, figuring if the Captain and Exec weren't worried, they didn't need to be either. Chief Sharkey came in through the aft hatchway, and came to stand next to the Captain. "Man oh man, Sir! Did you see that thing? I never saw anything like it! Do you know what it was?"

"Sorry, Chief, I left my Big Book of Dinosaurs on the counter at home. Did you describe it for the Admiral? What did he say?"

"He said it was probably a please-a-sore, but he'd have to see it to be sure, Sir."

"Skipper, I still have sonar contact on that big whatever-it-was. It fell behind when we started away, but now it's trying to catch up."

"Ski, how do you estimate its speed?"

"At about eighteen knots, Sir."

A low whistle escaped from Morton at that news. "Didn't look that fast, Lee."

"Mmm. Ski, is it on the surface?"

"Yes, Sir. About 400 yards astern."

"All right. Kowalski, I want a close, accurate track on it. Chief, I want a volunteer to take a video camera up on the sail. Let's see if we can make a good record on this animal."

"Skipper? I'd like to volunteer, Sir." O'Brien was a picture of eager schoolboy excitement.

"Me too, Skipper." called out Riley.

Crane looked at the two young men, and saw dinosaur fever shining out of their eyes. He remembered his own childhood infatuation with the fabulous creatures, and couldn't deny his own rising sense of excitement. "All right, go ahead."

Both men moved with alacrity, as if fearful that the privilege might be withdrawn. As O'Brien passed the chart table, Cmdr. Morton said in a low voice, "Don't get eaten." Bob O'Brien, full of excitement, never even heard him.

Lee looked over at the Exec and asked. "Chip, what time would it be at home?"

With a glance at his wrist, Morton replied, "0500, why?"

"Because neither of us have had enough sleep. We need to be at our best when Mr. Pem shows up. You first."

"Lee, I don't think I could sleep."

"Then go get a pill from Doc. I want you down for four hours, got it?"

"If Pem shows up..."

"You'll be the first person I call. Now, go."

For a moment Lee thought he'd have to make it a formal order. But eventually, the Exec nodded his head and walked away. Lee paused for a moment, considering, then picked up the intercom mike. "Attention, all hands, this is the Captain. I know that you all felt the lurch, and almost all of you know what it means. For those few newer hands, the lurch you felt was this boat being displaced in time by a man named Mr. Pem. Visual observation has confirmed that we are in the deep past, sometime during the age of dinosaurs. Now, Mr. Pem generally puts in an appearance within a few hours of the displacement, so I want all hands to be alert. If you see anyone other than a crewmember, report it immediately. In the meantime, stay focused and do your jobs. As Admiral Nelson reminded me, we've beaten Mr. Pem twice before; and there is no reason to think we won't beat him again. That is all."

Lee replaced the mike hoping his reassurances were enough. "Patterson."

"Aye, Sir."

"I want you to keep a close watch on our depth. If the sea floor starts to rise, I want to know about it immediately. If my memory serves me right, the oceans during this time were shallow. I don't know exactly what they mean by 'shallow' but I don't want to have to explain to the Admiral why we ran aground. All right?"

With a wan smile Patterson replied, "Yes, Sir. Skipper? Uh, about those dinosaurs, Sir. Are we in any danger? I mean, they get pretty big, don't they? Could they, like, break into the boat?"

Crane considered the question. On the surface, it seemed ludicrous, but in the back of his mind was a cheesy Japanese horror film he had seen as a teenager. "Actually, Pat, I don't know. The one I saw topside was maybe forty or fifty feet long. I don't know if that's as big as they come or not. I'll tell you what, when O'Brien and Riley finish topside, we'll ask them, okay?"

"Okay, Skipper."

"Uh, Skipper, that one they went out to film gave up a while ago. Sonar is clear of surface contacts."

"What about other contacts, Ski?"

"I've got a bunch of birds up there, and underwater, I've got a pod of dolphins, and a couple of what looks like whales, except they're deep and they aren't showing any signs of surfacing."

Curious, Lee asked, "Where are the dolphins, Ski?"

"Bearing 140 relative, about a thousand yards out."

"Coming toward us, or away?"

"Toward us, Sir. I figure they will cross our bow about 200 yards ahead of us."

"Let me know when they get close, I want to take a look at them."

"Aye, Sir."

"Control Room to bridge."

"Bridge, Aye."

"Riley, tell Mr. O'Brien to secure the detail. I want to talk to you both."

Disappointment was plain in Riley's voice as he said "Aye, Sir."

Within a minute, khaki clad legs appeared on the access later. Lee could hear a lively discussion going on as the two men came down the ladder. "You're full of it, Stu! I'm telling you that was an Elasmosaurus! That means late Cretaceous, not middle!"

"What are you saying, Sir? Those weren't Pteradons?"

"Aw, they were too far off to be sure. The Elasmosaurus was not. You think any other plesiosaur had a neck like that?"

"C'mon, Mr. O'Brien, it could be an unrecorded species! You just want it to be Elasmosaurus because you want it to be Cretaceous, not Jurassic! I'm telling you those birds were Pteradons, not Pterodactyls!"

"Uh, gentlemen?"

Both men startled at the Captain's quiet remark. "Oh! Captain! Sir, we got great stuff! It was an Elasmosaurus, the biggest of the plesiosaurs! It was great! It moves with a scissors motion, like a sea turtle, but man, can it move! And we saw Pterodactyls too!"

"Pteradons."

"Pterodactyls! Sir, when we reach the coast, I'd like to volunteer to go ashore."

"Whoa, Bob! Who said anything about shore parties?"

Riley piped up, "But, Sir! All of the good dinosaurs will be inland."

Shaking his head in dismay, Crane said, "May I remind you both that this is not a zoo? The animals are not behind bars. The so-called 'good' dinosaurs would look upon you two as dinner. Now, what is this about the late Cretaceous?"

Lt. O'Brien seemed to suddenly remember where he was. "Sorry, Captain. The big animal you saw is not actually a dinosaur. It's a reptile, probably distantly related to turtles. It's called an Elasmosaurus, and it lived about 65 to 70 million years ago. Uh, I mean, it's alive now, but it came from the late Cretaceous. No, wait, I mean..."

"Bob, I know what you mean. How sure are you? Could this be something else?"

O'Brien thought for a moment, obviously trying to frame his reply correctly. "Captain, we only have a fossil record of a tiny fraction of all the species that lived at this time. This could very easily be an unrecorded species. But to my eye, it looks very similar to an Elasmosaurus. If I am right about the species, I'm right about the time frame."

"Riley, what about you? Do you agree?"

Riley shrugged sheepishly, "Sir, I don't know half of what Mr. O'Brien knows. I was dinosaur crazy as a kid, but I never really studied it like Mr. O'Brien has. But, we saw some birdlike things that look to me like Pteradons, which means late Jurassic, not Cretaceous. "

"All right. Anything else?"

The two young men looked at each other. Riley nodded at O'Brien to go ahead, and the look Bob turned on the Captain contained a note of worry. "Sir... if I'm right, and this is the late Cretaceous, we might be close to the K T Extinction."

"The what?"

"The K T extinction, Sir. It's a new theory that says that dinosaurs became extinct when a large asteroid hit the earth."

"It's a theory that I happen to put great credence in." said Admiral Nelson, entering the control room. "What makes you think of that, Bob?"

"Sir, we were being chased by an Elasmosaurus. That's late Cretaceous."

"Elasmosaurus? You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be, Sir."

"Captain, we're coming up on those dolphins. They're veering towards us."

"Well, Sir, that may be, but whatever these things are, they're riding our bow waves just like dolphins."

All eyes were drawn to the transparent bow of the boat. Nelson followed by Crane, Sharkey, O'Brien and Riley hurried forward. O'Brien brought up the video camera and started recording. At first glance, the animals looked like bottlenose dolphins, darting to and fro across the bow of the boat, but on closer inspection, it was obvious by the shark-like tail and extra set of caudal fins, that these were no dolphins. "What are they, Sir?" asked Chief Sharkey.

"Those, Chief, are ichthyosaurs." Nelson turned to Lt. O'Brien. "Well?"

The young lieutenant jumped. "I don't understand this, Sir. I could have sworn it was Elasmosaurus. I must have be wrong."

Crane asked the crestfallen officer, "Why do you say that, Bob?"

Admiral Nelson responded, "Because ichthyosaurs died out a hundred million years before elasmosaurus evolved."

"Hey, but that would fit in with Pteradons, wouldn't it Sir?" asked Riley enthusiastically.

"You saw Pteradons?"

"Well Mr. O'Brien thought they were pterodactyls, but if this is late Jurassic, then I was right, they were pteradons."

Lt. O'Brien didn't respond. Lee Crane hated to see any of his officers so dejected, but apparently he was seriously mistaken in his identification. Riley was pleased with himself, but wise enough not to rub O'Brien's nose in it. Talk died down as they watched the ichthyosaurs sport in the bow wave.

Crane eventually broke the silence. "So, Bob. Are these fellows dinosaurs?"

"No Sir, they're reptiles, like the elas... the plesiosaur we saw."

"Skipper, that big one is back. It's moving fast, coming up under us."

"How close, Ski?"

"It's under our stern and heading forward fast, Sir!"

Suddenly, the ichthyosaurs scattered. The big plesiosaur flashed forward and plucked one of the ichthyosaurs from the water and then dove to the side. The men all shifted forward practically plastering their noses to the window, but the large animal was nowhere to be seen.

Admiral Nelson shot a glance at Lt. O'Brien who was still straining to catch one more glimpse of the beast. "Bob, I stand corrected. That was indeed an elasmosaurus. Now, how would you account for both species?"

O'Brien recognized the Admiral's schoolteacher mode, and replied hesitantly, "Faulty fossil record, Sir?"

"I would say so. Keep those recordings you made safe Lieutenant. They are going to set a lot of ears on end when we get home. Kowalski, anything else on sonar?"

"Nothing nearby, Sir."

Visibly disappointed, Nelson turned to Captain Crane. "Lee, what's our situation?"

"Sir, I thought we might try to find the coast, see if we can spot any interesting shore side animals."

"Hmmm. That may not be possible. I don't want us to lose maneuvering room. If the theories are correct, the shoreline could be fifty miles inland from where the sea becomes too shallow. But, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Go carefully, Lee."

"Aye, Sir."

The Admiral moved to stretch his back. "I'm going to go get a few hours sleep. You should too, Lee. I don't want any addled brains when Mr. Pem puts in his appearance."

"Yes, Sir, I sent Chip to bed three hours ago. I'll hit the sack when he comes back on duty."

"All right then, Lee. I will see you in a few hours."

"Good night, Sir."

The Admiral climbed the spiral staircase and disappeared. Captain Crane stood at the chart table, lost in thought. His reverie was broken when he noticed Lt. O'Brien practically jittering next to him. The usually steady officer kept stealing glances toward the transparent bow. His concentration on the task at hand was non-existent. "Bob." said the Captain mildly. When he got no response, he spoke louder, "Bob?... BOB!"

O'Brien jumped a foot, looked around with wide eyes, "Yes, Sir?"

Lee gave the young officer a hard stare. "Mr. O'Brien, we are in a dangerous situation here, and I can not afford to have my Second Officer daydreaming. Is that understood?"

With a straight face that hid an agony of contrition, O'Brien barked, "Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir, it won't happen again."

Lee gave a sharp nod to accept the apology. In a gentler tone he said, "I want lookouts up top. It might as well be you and Riley. Take the video equipment, but I want you taking care of business too. The minute you sight land, you let me know, got it?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Get going."

The two men practically flew up the access. Chief Sharkey caught the Captain's eye, and just shook his head. Lee returned the gesture with a shrug. He went over to Kowalski at sonar and said, "Ski, I want you to keep a sharp eye out for anything approaching the boat. Let the bridge know so they can film it, or if necessary, hide from it, okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

The Captain's next stop was the radio shack, where his communications officer sat working on a circuit board. "Sparks, I want you to take the conn. I'm going down to sickbay to talk to Doc for a bit."

The handsome young officer's face lit up. His communications skills were so formidable that he rarely was given the chance to exercise his command training. Crane tried to give him as many opportunities as possible and this one seemed tailor-made. Sparks jumped up with alacrity, "Yes, Sir!"

"Don't sink the boat." Lee said with a smile, sharing a private joke with the young officer.

"No, Sir, I won't."

Lee headed aft, towards Sickbay. He found Doc Jamieson in his office writing out a report. "Doc?"

"Oh, hello, Skipper, what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to talk to you about the crew, Doc."

"You're worried about how they are handling this situation, aren't you?"

"Frankly, yes. I'm concerned about people buckling under the pressure. I want to know who is most likely to crack. I have to be prepared. When Pem gets here, things are likely to start happening fast, and I need to be ready."

"Lee, this is a good crew. All of the men are mentally tough, stable. I don't think you need to worry about anyone cracking."

"Oh, c'mon, Doc! This is not your usual situation! You can't tell me that these men aren't scared witless!"

"Of course, they're scared. We are all scared, Lee. But being frightened is not the same as 'cracking'. I do not foresee any problems, and that is the honest truth. Now that's not saying people won't break down eventually, if this thing isn't resolved quickly, but in the short run, everyone will do fine. That's the best I can offer."

"I don't know, Doc."

"Okay, let me ask you this, then. Are you worried that Chip Morton might crack?"

Lee was startled. He started to blurt out a negative, then thought about the question seriously. Finally he shook his head, "No. I can't see that happening. Chip is as steady as a rock. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Lee, you know as well as I that Chip had some real problems after Mr. Pem's last visit. "

"Yes, but that was after Pem was dead and gone. During that crisis, he was fine."

"True. He allowed his training and skill to carry him through, and only after the boat and crew were safe did he let go. He'll do the same thing this time. So will the rest of the crew. They will react after it's over. Chip is just one example of what happened throughout the crew. He had nightmares, others got into fights, and some went out and got drunk. But the point is, everyone of them did their job during the crisis."

Lee thought about it. He didn't relish going through another round of Chip's nightmares. Chip was very loud in his sleep, and the night that Lee had tried to wake his friend up, he landed up being socked in the jaw. But he had to admit, Doc was right about one thing. If it hadn't been for the nightmares, Lee would never have known that Chip had even been worried. Throughout the crisis, Morton had been his normal steady businesslike self.

Relieved, Lee headed back for the control room. He arrived just as the subject of his discussion with Doc did. Morton looked relaxed and ready to work as he relieved Sparks of command. Looking up, he spotted Crane at the base of the spiral staircase. "Morning, Captain."

"Good Morning. How did you sleep?"

"Well enough. Anything happen?"

"No. No sign of Pem. O'Brien and Riley are the topside watch. We're still on a heading of 140 degrees relative. I'm going to go hit the sack. Let me know if we make landfall, will you Chip?"

"Sure, Skipper. Pleasant dreams."

Lee shot a look at his friend, but Chip's face was a bland mask. Shaking his head, he left the control room and headed back to his quarters. He felt that he would never sleep under the circumstances, but his body had other ideas, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

Bob O'Brien scanned the horizon with his binoculars. After the mortifying incident in the control room, he was determined to find land as well as record the amazing sights that this world had to offer. Beside him, Stu Riley was filming a flock of seabirds floating on the water some hundred yards away. As far as either man could tell, the birds were actual birds, and not reptilian in any way. Although the two young men were close in age, they were not at all alike in temperament. O'Brien was a serious minded young officer dedicated to his life aboard the Seaview. Riley was just as dedicated, but of a far less somber nature. Until the last few hours, neither man thought they had anything in common. But as the abundant life of this world continued to present itself, the two had found themselves drawn together by their enthusiasm.

"Lieutenant! Sir, would you look at that!"

Bob glanced around to see where Stu was looking, and then looked up to see a large birdlike pterodactyl soaring far above. "Whoa! Look at that thing!"

"It's beautiful, Sir!"

Training his binoculars on it, O'Brien had to agree. It was indeed spectacular. It's body a brilliant scarlet, it had black accents on its leathery wings outlined in an electric blue. The long pointed beak shaded from white at its tip to a deep burgundy on it's backward thrusting crest. There was no doubt about its identification. This was a Pterodactyl. It's clawed 'hands' showing at the end of the first joint. Its wingspan was at least eight feet from tip to tip, and it soared glider-like high above the water. Both young men were mesmerized by its beauty, and watched it until it was a faint dot on the horizon. "Wow." whispered Riley.

Heaving a sigh, Bob turned back to see a faint smudge on the horizon. "Hey! Stu, is that what I think it is?"

Riley set down the camera and picked up his binoculars. "Land! It's land, Sir!"

O'Brien picked up the mike and said, "Bridge to control room, land ho!"

Mr. Morton's voice floated up, "Where away, Mr. O'Brien?"

"Sir, it's straight ahead, maybe forty, fifty miles. It looks like it's the coast, Sir. It stretches across the horizon."

"Very well, Mr. O'Brien."

Although it was impossible to make out any detail at this distance, the two young men could not take their eyes from the land in the distance.

In the control room, Chip Morton checked his watch and made a notation in the log. Circling the room, he gathered as much information as he could in preparation to calling the Captain. It was over five hours since Crane had left the control room, and Chip would have preferred to let the Seaview's Skipper sleep himself out. But Crane had ordered him to advise him when land was sighted, and Chip could see no justification in delaying notification.

It had been a little over ten hours since the time displacement and Chip had to increasingly squash the invidious thoughts that threatened his concentration. When the Admiral had said that they had beaten Pem before, and would beat him again, Chip had taken heart and believed it. But as each slow hour passed and Pem still did not appear, a niggling fear at the back of his mind grew ever stronger. What if Pem had abandoned them here? What if he never showed up to be beaten? Once again, Chip Morton had to shut the thought down. It was Lee's job to get them home safely. His was just to make sure that nothing got in the way of Lee doing his job.

With an inaudible sigh, he picked up the intercom mike and called. "Captain Crane, this is the control room."

After a few moments, the Skipper replied in a sleep-roughened voice, "Yes, Chip, what is it?"

"Sir, you asked to be advised when we sighted land."

"Land? All right, I'll be there in twenty minutes. Let the Admiral know, Mr. Morton."

"Aye, Sir." Double clicking the mike, Chip contacted Admiral Nelson and advised him. By the excitement in Nelson's voice, Chip knew that he would beat the Captain to the control room by minutes.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Nelson came striding in. "Chip, how close are we? Have you sighted any more animals? Where's O'Brien?"

Exasperated, Chip thought, am I the only one worried about Pem? But his mild response was, "Sir, we're a good forty miles offshore. We've still got 200 feet keel to bottom, and we are proceeding at one-third speed. Assuming the sea floor doesn't rise dramatically, we should be off the coast in about ninety minutes. We haven't seen anything big since that first thing, but O'Brien and Riley report filming a lot of bird and sea life. O'Brien is still at it on the bridge. I was thinking of ordering him down for a break, but I'm not sure he'll come."

This last was said with a hint of sarcasm, and Nelson snorted. Lee, hearing the last as he entered the room said, "How long has he been on his feet? Twenty hours?" Picking up the mike, Crane ordered, "Bridge, this is the Captain. Mr. O'Brien, secure the detail."

As the silence lengthened, Chip looked at his commanding officer with a raised eyebrow. Lee returned the look. "Go get them."

"Aye, Sir"

Chip moved up the access ladder to the bridge, caught between amusement and annoyance at Bob O'Brien's wayward behavior. When he arrived on the bridge, any amusement he felt disappeared. He found O'Brien sitting on the chest high gunwale, leaning far out, filming something directly below. Riley stood behind him with his arms around O'Brien's waist, holding him steady. Chip felt his anger rise, as he yelled, "O'Brien!!! What the Hell do you think you are doing???"

Riley started badly, and O'Brien would have gone over the edge had Morton not darted forward to steady him. Chip pulled O'Brien back over the wall and stood glaring. The two younger men stood in front of the infuriated Exec, like two little boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar. In a cold voice, Chip said. "Riley, get below."

Riley, nervously stepped toward the access, then stopped. Squaring his shoulders, he faced the angry Exec and said, "Excuse me, Sir. I... uh, I'm just as responsible as Mr. O'Brien, and . . . ."

Riley trailed off as he saw the look in Morton's eye. Stu swallowed hard, and beat a hasty retreat. O'Brien watched him go then turned to face the Exec. Morton was visibly shaking with anger. He just stared tight-lipped at O'Brien. After a moment, Bob started to explain, "Sir, I'm sorry, I thought..."

"No, Mr. O'Brien, you did NOT think! You are not a teenager anymore! You have a responsibility to this ship. To this crew. We are in a situation that none of us may survive! We need every single person on this boat to be at their best. We do not need the Second Officer of this boat reverting to his childhood! Do I make myself clear? Now get to your quarters. You are on report! Do you understand me?"

O'Brien stood at attention, his cheeks a bright red. "Yes, Sir. I am on report, Sir."

Morton stood staring at the young officer, then suddenly turned his back, uttering coldly, "Go."

Bob O'Brien slunk away. Chip grabbed the sill of the gunwale with both hands, breathing deeply in an attempt to bring his temper under control. He was aware he had over-reacted, that he was allowing his own fear to dictate his actions. On the other hand, O'Brien had no business risking his life over something as asinine as home movies. When he felt that he was in control again, his curiosity came to the fore, and he looked over the edge of the gunwale.

Far below, sunning themselves on the deck of the Seaview were several reptilian animals that his mind insisted on identifying as seals. They had a seal-like body structure complete with flippers. The differences were made apparent when one of the animals opened its jaws in a yawn, revealing rows of knifelike teeth. Chip felt his anger explode all over again. Picking up the intercom mike, he called "Control room, this is the bridge. There are several animals on the deck. Do not allow anyone to go out the deck hatch. Repeat, do not go out the deck hatch."

Replacing the mike, he turned toward the hatch, only to see Captain Crane and Admiral Nelson climbing out onto the bridge. Crane shot him a 'stay put' look, and the Admiral looked distinctly annoyed. With an inward sigh, he waited for the blast to come. The Admiral did not make him wait long.

"Chip, you put Mr. O'Brien on report! He's is the closest thing we have to an expert on this epoch, and I want to know why you deemed it necessary to confine him to quarters!"

Nelson was obviously livid, and Chip chose his words carefully. "Sir, when I came up here, I found Mr. O'Brien sitting up here on the gunwale. He was leaning out as far as he could in order to film some animals on the deck. The only thing preventing him from falling was Riley holding onto his waist. I felt O'Brien's action displayed a careless disregard for the safety procedures of this boat, and that coupled with his failure to respond to a direct order from the Captain gave me cause to put him on report. And I might also point out that the animals in question present a possible hazard to anyone going out on deck, and he failed to report that also."

Nelson continued to frown, but in the face of O'Brien's obvious infractions, could not dispute the validity of the Exec's actions. After a moment, he said in a calmer tone, "All right. You were right to step on him, but as I said, he has more knowledge about this period than anyone else on board. I would appreciate it if you would consider deferring his punishment until a more appropriate time."

Chip felt his face flush as the anger returned. He attempted to calm himself down with a few deep breaths, but he could not bring himself to meekly accept the Admiral's suggestion. "Sir, with all due respect, Mr. O'Brien's behavior was totally unacceptable and I do not believe it serves the best interests of this boat and it's crew to allow this type of thing to go unpunished. Filming these animals does not require a degree in rocket science, any member of the crew can handle the job. O'Brien's knowledge is based on theory anyway. I would prefer to let the punishment stand."

"If that is the way you feel about it, Commander, then of course I will support your action. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I will be in the lab."

Nelson walked stiffly away. Chip stood nonplused. He rarely stood up to the Admiral, and was frankly surprised that the man had not taken his head off. One glance at the Captain told him that the issue was not closed.

"Chip, what on earth has gotten into you?"

"Lee, O'Brien..."

"Stop right there. O'Brien deserves whatever he gets. I'm talking about this attitude with the Admiral. Where you do get off refusing his requests? Answer me!"

"Lee, I didn't think he'd just accept it. I thought he'd make it an order." It sounded lame even to his own ears, and Chip found he couldn't look his Captain in the eye.

"So you were trying to put him in a position to take the responsibility out of your hands, is that it?"

"No, Sir, not at all. I just... I just wanted to make my opinion known, that's all."

"All right, Mr. Morton. You've had your say. Now listen to me. You will first go to the Admiral and apologize for your refusal. You will advise him that you will indeed defer Mr. O'Brien's punishment. You will then advise Mr. O'Brien that he is no longer confined to quarters. You will work out a schedule with him for extra duty to commence when we have returned to port. Any questions?"

"No, Sir. I understand." Chip moved toward the deck hatch.

"I have not dismissed you, Commander."

Chip came back to stiff, eyes-front attention. He could practically feel the heat from Lee's glare. Finally the angry Captain seemed to relax, and he said, "Chip, how much sleep did you get?"

Morton stood staring straight ahead, knowing that Lee would not like the truth, but unable to lie. "None, Sir."

"Did you go to Doc, like I told you to?"

"No, Sir, I did not."

"Chip... Chip, relax. I can't afford to let you fall apart. I need to be able to rely on you. How can I do that, if you don't take care of yourself?"

"Sir, you can rely on me. I'm fine."

"You miss one night's sleep, and you start barking at the Admiral! I'm telling you as your friend, and ordering you as Captain of the Seaview to go to Doc, and get a tranquilizer to help you sleep."

"Captain, I don't like pills. They take away my edge. How can you rely on me if my brains have been turned to mush?"

"Commander, it is my opinion that any one who says no to the Admiral has already had their brains turned to mush." Lee sighed, "Chip, you do what I say. You go apologize to the Admiral, talk to Bob and get something to help you sleep."

"Yes, Sir... Lee? What's taking Pem so long? He should have been here hours ago."

"I wish I had the answer to that, Chip. You know how twisted he is. Maybe he's softening us up. Maybe he's here and watching us argue. I don't know. I do know he's too egomaniacal to leave us here without coming to gloat. He's going to show up, Chip. You just be sure you are ready when he does. Go on, now."

Embarrassed, worried and feeling totally defeated, Chip made his way down the access ladder into the control room. Although he knew that none in the control room could have possibly heard the conversations on the bridge, Morton still felt as if all eyes were upon him, that everyone knew of his humiliation. He was rarely on the receiving end of any disciplinary action, and he felt that he was being punished unfairly. As he slunk along the corridor to the Admiral's lab, he realized that the Captain had not exactly punished him, just more or less corrected his error in judgment. Chip sighed, wondering why it felt so much like punishment. Reaching the lab, he straightened himself up, checked that his tie was straight, schooled his features to blandness, and opened the door.

Nelson was at a table, peering through a microscope. At the sound of the door, he glanced up and seeing Chip, said, "Oh, Chip. Good. Get me that readout from the spectrographic analyzer, would you? This is a marvelous opportunity to see what the seas of this time were really like. Come look at this!"

Nelson moved aside to let Morton take a look. "Do you see the krill? This one sample verifies theories that have been controversial for years! Some of the other organisms are like nothing I have ever seen before. There's enough work here to kept a hundred biologists busy for the rest of their careers. It's utterly amazing."

Morton, whose interests lay more in the fields of engineering and computers, did his best to muster up some enthusiasm, but his developing depression kept his comments to mere grunts. Nelson looked up from his perusal of the computerized analysis. There were times when the Exec's lack of scientific ardor made him seem more alien than some of the extraterrestials that the Admiral had faced. "All right, Chip, you don't have to pretend to be interested. Was there something you needed?"

Morton flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm glad that this is fiasco is going to have some positive aspects. Uh... I just wanted to apologize for my attitude on the bridge. It was inexcusable. I'm on my way to Mr. O'Brien's quarters to release him. I overreacted, and I am sorry."

As with Captain Crane, Chip couldn't quite bring himself to meet the Admiral's eye. Nelson stood, lips pursed, hands in pockets, head slightly cocked. Chip Morton had been part of the original design team when Nelson had first conceived the Seaview. Over the years, he had come to appreciate the younger man's quiet steadiness and utter devotion to duty. There was a time when Nelson had despaired of ever understanding what made Chip Morton tick, but eventually he had come to realize that knowing what Morton was thinking was not necessary to their successful relationship. And oddly enough, with that discovery, Nelson had found that often as not, he could indeed tell exactly what was going on behind that still, bland face.

"Chip, let's go get a cup of coffee."

Nelson caught the infinitesimal slump of the younger man's shoulders as he responded with an automatic 'Aye, Sir'. Nelson led the way, but instead of going to the wardroom, with its curious ears, he went to his cabin. He opened the door, and ushered the Exec in. Nodding Morton to a seat, Nelson went to the electric percolator in the corner, and made himself busy preparing a fresh pot. With his back to Morton he said, "All right, Chip, let's have it."

"Sir?"

"Something is on your mind, and it isn't Bob O'Brien."

The Admiral watched the increasing speed with which the coffee bubbled as the silence lengthened. He was giving Morton the time he needed to compose his answer, but he could not wait forever. Grabbing a couple of mugs, he filled them full of a weak brew rather than wait for the percolating to finish. Turning back to his desk, he caught a look of utter depression, quickly covered on the Exec's face. "All right, Chip. What's going on?"

Nelson watched, sipping his coffee as the younger man still refused to meet his eyes. "Admiral, what if...what if Pem just leaves us here? What do we do? All of the videotapes and water samples in the world aren't going to do us any good if Pem just abandons us. And if you think about it, he'd have to be a fool to tangle with us again. Every time he shows up, you make an idiot of him. Why shouldn't he just leave us here? How better to punish the man that has defeated his plans twice?"

Nelson could see Morton was working himself into a state of mild hysteria. "Chip! Calm down! Let me see if I can answer your questions. All of your concerns are logical and well-reasoned. And believe me, I've asked myself the same things. But you must remember Mr. Pem is a true madman. Not capable of reasoning in the same manner as you and me. I honestly believe that he will come to us, drawn like a moth to a flame. His ego demands it. Whatever his plan, he will come. He must have an audience. And the audience he wants is me.

"Once he gets here, we will take care of him. I have a few little surprises for him this time. His mistake is in giving us enough time to set them up. I think perhaps you could lend me a hand there. It might help if you see what I have in mind. Why don't you come back here after your talk with Mr. O'Brien?"

Chip felt his cheeks color as he looked down at the floor. "Captain Crane has ordered me to sickbay to get a sleeping aid. I... I haven't, um, been able to sleep, and Lee is concerned that I might breakdown at the wrong time."

"Chip," the Admiral said gently, "I seriously doubt that Lee Crane has any concern about you breaking down during any crisis. He knows, as do I, that that just will not happen. What worries him, and me, is that you will push yourself so hard that AFTER the crisis you will collapse. No one on this ship wants that to happen. So, I want you to go, and take care of your business with Bob. Then do whatever it takes to get some rest. Once you've gotten some sleep, come find me and we will work out some traps for Mr. Pem together."

For the first time since entering the lab, Chip looked his admiral in the eye. Slowly the clouds that had formed in his mind parted, and some of the fear dissipated. With a semblance of his normal calm, he straightened, and responded, "Yes, Sir. I will, Sir." At the Admiral's nod he got up to leave. When he reached the door, he turned and said simply, "Thank you, Admiral."

Bob O'Brien sat dejectedly on his bunk. His roommate and best friend, Jimmy "Sparks" Smith sat on the corner of the small desk that they shared, commiserating with him. "Anyway, then he said I was on report, and told me to report to my quarters. I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed in my entire life. I can't believe I was so stupid!!"

"Well, I can't argue the stupidity angle, so I guess you'll just have to rack it up as a learning experience."

"Yes, but having the Exec as the teacher..." Bob shuddered expressively.

"Oh, come on! Mr. Morton is a pussycat! Now, Captain Crane can end your hopes of children with just a look! And the Admiral can raise blisters with his tongue lashing."

"Right, like you aren't afraid of Mr. Morton!"

"No, Bob, I'm not. But then...." Bob and Sparks both looked up at the sharp rap on the door. Sparks stood and opened it to come face to face with the bland face of the Exec. Though his back was to him, Bob saw Sparks stiffen to attention.

With his best command voice, Cmdr. Morton said. "Lieutenant, I would like to speak with Mr. O'Brien in private."

Bob swallowed hard. His experience was that when you were in trouble, the Exec made you come to him, he didn't come to you. From the look that Sparks threw him, Bob could tell his friend felt as if he was deserting him, but you couldn't really say no to a request from the Exec, especially when he was using that tone of voice. Sparks answered in the only way he could. "Yes, Sir! I was just leaving, Sir!" He tried to saunter casually out of the room, but the speed with which he moved betrayed his true feelings.

Morton watched Sparks scuttling away, then turned his gaze on O'Brien, who stood at strict eyes front attention. Bob could feel his face go bright red, his embarrassment returning full force.

At least Mr. Morton appeared to have gotten over the rage that had been so obvious on the bridge. The Commander was a hard guy to read at the best of times, and now as he took possession of the only chair in the room, his face gave away nothing. He sat in the chair and stretched out his long legs. "C'mon, Bobby, sit down, and tell me what the heck is going on with you."

O'Brien sat at the edge on his bunk, every muscle and nerve tight with tension. "Mr. Morton, I want to apologize for my actions, Sir. They were foolhardy and stupid."

"That's a given, Bob. What I don't understand is why? Why does a good, intelligent man suddenly start doing foolhardy things? You are too good an officer to do that kind of schoolboy trick, and to coerce an enlisted man into helping you is beyond foolhardy. So, tell me, Bob, what were you thinking? Why were you up on the gunwale?"

Bob looked over at the Exec, trying to gauge the man's mood. "I, well, Sir, I...."

"Take your time, Bob. Just tell me."

O'Brien put his head in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes. "Well, Sir, I've fooled around with dinosaurs ever since I was a little kid. All through high school, I wanted to be a paleontologist. I didn't discover the Navy until I took an JROTC class in my junior year. If I hadn't been accepted at Annapolis, I would have gone to the University of Montana and trained to become a fossil hunter.

"This, this whole disaster has been like a dream to me. The best of two worlds, the Seaview, and dinosaurs, all rolled up in one!! It's been incredible! I mean, if you asked me two weeks ago if there was anything that could distract me from my duty, I would have said nothing on this earth! But here I am. I know I am in trouble. I know that I deserve any punishment that you choose to levy. But even now, all I can think about is that on the other side of this hull are wonderful, fabulous creatures!

"Sir, up on the bridge, I was not thinking about duty. I was not thinking about setting a good example for Riley. I was thinking about the animals that were sunning on our deck. I was thinking that they were a new species. One that has never been described. I was thinking that if I got enough good footage, and wrote a paper describing it, that the species would be named after me, that I would go down in history books."

Bob hung his head. When he verbalized what had been in his mind, he realized how selfish his thoughts had been. He realized that he was indeed derelict in his duty. He suddenly realized how serious it was, that he could lose his rank, or even his job over this. With that sudden knowledge gripping his stomach, he looked up at the Exec.

Catching his eye, Morton leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms across his chest, and with arched eyebrows said, "You risked your life and your career just so you could call those ugly, hideous things Bobosaurs?"

O'Brien's eyes widened and he barked a short laugh. "No Sir, I was thinking along the lines of the scientific name. Something like "plesiosaurus obrienensis". Bobosaur didn't really enter my mind."

"Plesiosaurus? Those little guys are related to the big one?"

"I think so, Sir. Distantly."

"Huh. That's interesting. Well, Bob, you are right. You do deserve punishment. This kind of behavior can not, and will not be tolerated. Admiral Nelson, however, has requested that I defer punishment until the current crisis is over. He feels that your knowledge of this epoch is a resource that we can not ignore. I don't mind telling you that I personally would prefer to kick your butt from one end of this boat to the other. But the Admiral has made a good point and I have told him that I will accede to his wishes. You will therefore stand your duty watches, and spend whatever off-duty time you have assisting the Admiral in his studies of this time.

"Bobby, you are a good officer. I do not like assigning punishment to good people. But when we return to port, you and I are going to have another little talk, and you are not going to like the result. And heaven help you if you make another bonehead mistake like you did on the bridge.

"I want you to make sure you get enough rest, Bob. I'd like to think that that lapse in judgment would not have occurred if you hadn't been up for twenty hours at the time. Remember, I need you to be on your toes, at your best right now." The Exec stood up, causing the Bob to stand also. "All right? Anything else you want to say?"

O'Brien knew he was getting off easier than he had any right to expect. "No, Sir. Thank you for taking the time to come and talk to me, Sir."

With a wry smile, Mr. Morton responded, "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I find I don't like having to just walk away. I prefer barking out 'Dismissed'. It just sounds better. More satisfying. Remember that when you make Commander, Bobby."

With a grin, Bob came to full attention. "Yes, Sir!"

Shaking his head, Chip left the Lieutenant's quarters. As he passed the first cross corridor, without looking up, he said, "Okay, Sparks, you can go help clean up the blood." As he continued down the corridor, he heard footsteps as Lt. Smith returned to his quarters.

As he trudged towards his final stop in Sickbay, Chip realized how exhausted he was. He paused, thinking that a pill was not necessary. Nelson had taken away the fear that had been plaguing him since the initial time displacement. He knew he would sleep. But, he didn't want Doc to tell Lee that he had not stopped in if Lee asked. With an inward sigh, he continued on to sickbay.

When he entered, it was to the controlled chaos that occurred when an injured crewman was brought in. Glancing over a corpsman's shoulder, he recognized the injured man as one of the engine room gang. "Hobson? Doc, what happened to Hobson?"

Doc, who was working on the injured man's leg, looked up and said. "Stupidity. He heard you say that there were animals on the deck, and he went out to take a look. Over there, on the corner of my desk. Take those pills."

Chip looked over at the desk where a small paper pill cup rested. He hated being controlled, and he hated taking any kind of pill. Feeling suddenly mulish, he turned back to the sickbay door. "I just came down to tell you I don't need any sleeping pills."

He started to open the door, when a hand came up and pushed it closed. He turned and found himself facing an angry Doctor. "I do not have time for this, Commander. Take the pills, NOW!"

Chip stepped back, surprised at Doc's vehemence. Before he could respond, Doc spoke again. "Commander, you are taking me from a patient who needs my assistance. Don't make Hobson wait for me."

Chip tried to back up another step, but was stopped by the sudden appearance of a corpsman directly behind him, holding out the pills and a cup of water. Still in a state of shock at the mild mannered doctor's bullying, he meekly took the water and pills and swallowed both. Chip again made a move for the door, only to have Doc move to block him. "That bed over there" Doc said with a jerk of his head.

Chip didn't argue, he just went to the indicated bunk and sat down. "Permission to remove my clothes, Sir?" he said sarcastically, but Doc was already back treating the injured man. With a sigh, Chip stripped off his shoes, belt and tie with increasingly sleep-clumsy hands. As he lay down, he could hear quiet moans from the injured seaman, and his last thought as sleep overtook him was to wonder if Hobson had been bitten by a Bobosaur.

Several hours later, Will Jamison stood looking out the observation nose at the land beyond. The Seaview had arrived at the coast, and now floated at anchor less than 100 yards off the shoreline. As he watched, several of the small plesiosaurs that had been dubbed 'bobosaurs' pulled themselves up on the beach. For all the world, it reminded Jamison of nothing other than a seal rookery. Several hundred of the animals were there on the beach sunning themselves. Shaking away his reverie, he turned back to face the two officers seated at a small table, eating their breakfast. There was a third place set for him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to sit down.

"So, anyway, Hobson will probably make it, unless another of those germs rears its ugly head." Doc concluded. It had been a long night dealing with Hobson's nasty bite wound that developed an infection with startling speed.

"What about Chip, Will?" Doc winced at the Admiral's quiet question. It wasn't his habit to ride roughshod over his patients, but Chip had gotten stubborn at exactly the wrong time. Doc regretted his bullying of the Exec and expected to apologize to the man as soon as he woke up.

"He's fine, Admiral. I expect him to wake up within the next hour or so." Doc continued wryly, "I suppose I had better stand back when he does."

Captain Crane looked up from his eggs curiously, "Why's that, Doc?"

Doc sighed, "He showed up in sickbay ten minutes after they brought in Hobson. Hobson had just finished telling me that he got bitten because he had 'wanted to see the dinosaurs'. I was looking at long tedious surgery because the man has no common sense. I was in a very foul mood, and Chip came in and announced that he didn't need a sleeping pill. I'm afraid I just snapped. I yelled bloody murder at him, and just plain bullied him into taking the pills."

Both Nelson and Crane listened to this with widening eyes. With a glance at the Admiral, Crane shook his head in mock pity. "Been nice knowing you, Doc."

Nelson tried desperately not to snicker, but failed. Doc sighed, but grinned a small grin. Shaking his head he said, "Okay, I know. Well, I have to get back to my two patients now. By your leave gentlemen?"

Nelson, eyes twinkling, nodded his head, and Doc started up the spiral staircase. Behind him he heard Crane say in solemn tones, "Now there goes a brave man." Then after a pause, both men started to guffaw.

When Doc reached sickbay, he found the Exec sitting on the edge of his bunk, sleepily surveying his surroundings. Doc went over and took Morton's wrist, checking his pulse out of habit. The Exec's quiet acquiescence told Doc more than the strong, steady pulse did. "C'mon, Chip, lie back down. You're not ready to wake up yet."

Frowning, Morton resisted Doc's gently pressuring hand. "How's Hobson?"

Putting a bit more pressure, Doc responded, "Hobson's fine, Mr. Pem still hasn't shown up, and everything is under control. Now, lie down, and go back to sleep."

Chip did as he was told and was soon sleeping quietly. Doc watched for a moment as Morton's breathing became deep and regular, then left to check on Hobson.

Lt. Bob O'Brien sat at the small desk in his quarters, staring morosely at a blank piece of paper. Having successfully completed his watch without making another major blunder, he had been given the job of writing up a preliminary report on his findings by Admiral Nelson. He found it difficult to organize his thoughts. He still couldn't believe how stupid he had been. His mind kept going back to the look of anger on the Exec's face when he had been caught. Mr. Morton was right, it had been a schoolboy trick. What amazed him most, was that as a schoolboy, he would never have done anything so utterly foolish. He had also been surprised when Sparks had told him that the Captain had called up to the bridge, ordering him to secure the detail before Mr. Morton had been sent after him. He had been so absorbed in filming, he hadn't even heard the Captain's voice.

Bob's reflections were interrupted by a soft knock on his cabin door. Startled, he called out, "Come." The door opened revealing a worried looking Stu Riley.

"Sir, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Stu Riley was probably the last person on board that Bob wanted to see. Well, maybe last after Mr. Morton. And Captain Crane, and Admiral Nelson. But, mindful of his duty as Second Officer, O'Brien said, "Sure, Riley, c'mon in. What can I do for you?"

Riley noticed the return to formality. It didn't make what he wanted to say any easier. "Sir, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday."

"Not your fault, sailor. I had the responsibility, I have the blame."

"No! No, Sir! Look, Lieutenant, can I speak frankly here?"

Caught off guard by Riley's vehemence, O'Brien said, "You can always speak frankly with me, Riley, you know that." Bob caught something in Riley's attitude that made him say, "Why don't you sit down?"

Relieved at the concession, Riley sat. "Thanks, Sir. First, I just want to say that I think you are a good officer. I always feel as safe with you at the helm as Captain Crane, or Mr. Morton. But I always kind of thought of you as a zero. You know, the kind of square that gets all A's in school, but doesn't have a clue about anything important? Anyway, over the last few days, I've gotten to see you as.... as.... as a person, and not just an officer, you know? And that's been kind of nice."

Bob sat speechless. He didn't think he had ever received an insult as nicely wrapped in a compliment before. Riley continued, "And that's really why I wanted to apologize, Sir. See, the way I figure it, you and me started liking each other to a point that we were, like, egging each other on. You woulda never have gotten up on the gunwale if I hadn't been so enthusiastic, and I wouldn't have let you get up there if you hadn't been so excited. See? It really was both of our faults. And, I just wanted to let you know, that... that I know it was my fault too."

Bob found that he was really touched by Stu's sincerity. "I guess that's the trouble with teamwork, Stu. A good team is responsible for everything that team does, and I think we make a good team." Bob was rewarded by a glint of gratitude in Riley's eyes. "I don't suppose your guilt feelings extend to taking some of the punishment the Exec is going to dish out when we get home?"

Stu giggled. "Sure, Sir! I'll tell you what. Why don't we pool the punishment you're gonna get from the Exec with the punishment Chief Sharkey is dreaming up for me? Then I'll stand a double watch, and you can clean the heads with a toothbrush."

"Hah! I'll take Chief Sharkey's punishments over Mr. Morton's anytime!" Both young men grinned at the trials of being a subordinate. Bob grew serious. "Stu, I want to thank you for coming to me today. You've given me something to think about. "

Recognizing that the interview was at an end, Stu Riley stood up. O'Brien said, "Wait a minute, I want to try out something the Exec told me." Drawing himself up until he was sitting straight at his desk, O'Brien looked Riley right in the eye, and said, "Dismissed."

Stu grinned and throwing a snappy salute replied, "Aye-aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir!"

Bob leaned back in his chair, and put his hands behind his head. Mr. Morton was right. It was satisfying.

Chip Morton wiped his hands on a clean rag. "Okay, Sir, that's it. Would you flip the test switch for me, please?" He looked down the corridor expectantly, and after a muted click, a series of blue conical lights shone down from the ceiling extending the entire length of the hallway. At the far end of the corridor, Admiral Nelson's head popped out of the circuitry room door.

Chip watched the lights intently, looking for any sign of wavering, but the lights held strong and steady. "Looks good from here, Admiral."

Nelson glanced back into the circuitry room, "And the power levels are steady, just as I predicted. This is excellent work, Chip. Now that this is done, I think we are as ready for Mr. Pem as we can be." The Admiral momentarily disappeared, and after a moment, the blue lights did too. Of course, once the system of local null fields were in effect, the blue lights, used for testing, would be replaced by normal lighting, and the corridor would appear to be no different from any other.

Admiral Nelson appeared at Chip's side just as the younger man finished closing the electrical panel. "Let's go tell Lee."

"Aye, Sir. I'll be along in a minute, after I put away these tools."

The Admiral murmured his okay, his mind already a million miles away. If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, Morton would have thought that the Admiral was just humoring him, helping him build tiger traps when he really wanted to be topside with Bobby O'Brien pointing at the dinosaurs. Chip sighed. At least the 'tiger traps' were effective ones. All they would have to do would be to get Mr. Pem to walk down this one corridor, with the timepiece, and boom! He would be just as trapped as the Seaview. Once that had happened, Mr. Pem was as good as history.

Between building the trap, and the enforced twelve-hour nap yesterday, Chip Morton was feeling his normal steady self. In retrospect, he realized that a lot of his 'problem' had been exhaustion. Even before the time displacement, he had been running on fumes. He hated to admit it, but Doc had been right to insist on the sleeping pill. On his own, he would never have slept so long, or so soundly.

Of course, he did have a reputation to maintain. And that dictated that Doc 'pay' for bullying him. Chip had Doc scared to death at the moment, not by any threats or overt action, but instead by inaction. When he has awakened several hours earlier, Doc had immediately apologized for his aggressive manner. Chip had given Doc his best sincere look and said, "That's okay, Doc. I deserved it." The apparent capitulation had caught Doc entirely off balance, and Chip intended to keep him that way, for at least a little longer.

Having neatly stowed the tools he had been using, Chip headed up to the observation nose. He came through the aft hatch and walked through the control room. Almost without realizing it, his eyes scanned over the instrumentation as he moved forward. Everything was as it should be. No red lights, or off kilter readings anywhere. The crewmen were manning their stations with calm efficiency. Sparks Smith had the con, and nodded to him as Chip passed.

In the observation nose, Lee Crane and the Admiral stood in quiet conversation watching the sun rise over the high cliffs. As Chip came to stand by his superior officers, a flock of duck-sized birds, dubbed 'dawn greeters' by the crew rose from the shore, the bright sunlight flashing off the iridescent feathers of their wings. All three men paused, caught by the beauty of the scene. The birds disappeared all too soon, and Lee turned to Chip. "I hear we have a blue light special going on in corridor B."

"Yep," grinned Chip. "Pem'll never know what hit him."

"Chip did some excellent work there, Lee. It would have taken me all day to do it without his help. As it is, I can finish with those proto plankton cultures this morning, and be ready to do the necropsy on the bobosaur with Doc this afternoon." Nelson smiled at the dubious looks from the Captain and Exec. "Would either of you care to join us?"

"Sorry, Admiral, we will both have to pass on that. We are going to be very busy."

Nelson had to admire the earnest look that Lee had dredged up, but he couldn't help asking, "Busy? Doing what?"

Without a blink, Lee responded, "I don't have any idea, but I assure you, we will be far too busy to watch you cut open that carcass."

Nelson snorted a laugh. The bobosaur in question had been a few days dead when a workcrew had hauled in up in one of the sampling nets. It had been decidedly ripe when brought aboard, and Nelson had had to override the Captain's order to dump it overboard. Although not a pleasant task, there was a wealth of information that could be gathered by dissecting the carcass. Nelson could not bring himself to pass up the opportunity. Doc had reluctantly agreed to assist him, but no one else, not even Bob O'Brien, wanted to be anywhere near the lab where the work was to be done.

"What about you, Chip? Want to lend a hand?"

Chip who had been virtually hiding behind the Captain said, "I'd love to, Sir, but I have important stuff to do. Exec stuff."

Nelson rolled his eyes, "I'm surrounded by Luddites and heathens. Well, gentlemen, I will let you get back to your 'stuff'. If you need me, I will be in my lab."

Both younger men watched as the Admiral climbed the spiral staircase, affectionate grins on their faces. Lee turned to his Executive Officer with a look of speculation. "How are you doing, Chip?"

"Great, actually. I was so exhausted yesterday that I wasn't thinking straight. Doc's little pill took care of that real well. I recommend you go take one immediately."

"Not on your life! I might miss the 'good' dinosaurs." Lee grinned. "O'Brien's latest is that he wants to take the Flying Sub and do an aerial survey. I think he's convinced himself that Godzilla lives right over that ridge there."

"And just who does he think will be providing the taxi service?"

"I'm sure he's thinking along the lines of Kowalski or Chief Sharkey. I was thinking you might want to get out and look around."

Chip laughed. "That'd spoil his little party real quick, wouldn't it? It would be worth it just to see the look on his face when you told him."

"It would serve him right. He should never have let that pilot certification lapse. So you want the detail?"

"You know that wasn't Bob's fault, Lee." Chip responded mildly. "Are you sure you don't want to do it yourself? That twelve-hour downtime put me behind on paperwork. Besides, what if Godzilla is over there? You know darn well it will make you crazy if there really is something to see and you miss it."

"No, I really don't want to leave the boat right now. I want to be here when Mr. Pem shows up." Lee sighed, "Well, I guess it will have to be Sharkey. Make sure the Chief understands that it is entirely voluntary, would you, Chip?"

"All right, Lee. Anything else?"

"Oh, yes, now that you mention it. Stop picking on Doc, would you?"

"Picking on him? I haven't even seen him since I left sickbay yesterday!"

"Yes, well, he says you are sending 'vibes' at him, and I want you to stop."

Chip grinned. "'Vibes', huh? Gee, I'm better than I thought!"

Lee returned the grin. "The poor man is frantic, waiting for you to do something, anything. Cut him some slack would you?"

"Sure, Lee, anything you say." Chip replied casually. "Besides, who do you think suggested Doc help with the necropsy?"

Lee laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Okay, Chip. Listen, Bob is topside, of course. Why don't you go on up and tell him his aerial survey has been approved. Oh, and take a sidearm."

"Sidearm?"

"Yeah, since that bobosaur took a bite out of Hobson, I've made it a standing order. No going out on deck without a sidearm."

"Okay. Although I don't know what good it would do against Godzilla."

"Lead poisoning. Godzilla would eat the gun along with you, and die of lead poisoning. It's all part of my plan."

"Oh, well, as long as you have a plan, Lee." Chip left the observation nose chuckling. Pulling a keyring from his pocket, he walked over to the control room arms locker and unlocking it, selected a handgun and holster. With a practiced move, he cleared the breech, and checked to make sure the gun was in firing condition, and absentmindedly pocketed an extra clip. On his way to the deck access ladder he spotted Sharkey coming into the control room and called him over. "Chief, I need you to volunteer to take Mr. O'Brien out in FS1 to do an aerial survey. Go get it checked out now, please."

Sharkey's look indicated that volunteering for this particular assignment was the last thing he would do, but he said "Aye, Sir. I'll have her ready to go in ten minutes. Uh, Mr. Morton? What exactly will we be surveying?"

"The 'good' dinosaurs, Chief. You'll be surveying the good dinosaurs."

"The good dinosaurs. Right. I'll get on it right away." The Chief walked away muttering to himself.

Chip climbed up the ladder to the deck access, and then continued up the second ladder to the bridge. He came out into the light of a brilliant sunrise. Unlike earlier in the observation nose when the sun was still behind the cliffs, Chip was blinded momentarily by the brightness of the morning light beaming directly into his eyes. Shading his blinking eyes with his hand, he turned to find Bob O'Brien gazing seaward, away from the sun. He took the three steps to stand at his side and looked to see what had caught the Lieutenant's attention. About two hundred feet off the stern of the Seaview was a large rounded mound of something unidentifiable. Frowning, Chip asked, "Bob, what it that thing?"

Absorbed in the view, O'Brien answered, "Dead plesiosaur. Just watch."

As Chip watched, the mound started to move along one side. After a moment, a thrashing of the water revealed the distinctive triangular dorsal fin and sickle tail of a shark. Chip blinked. The fin was huge! The thrashing ceased as the shark apparently got the chunk of flesh it was after, but after a scant moment the process started on another part of the carcass. This time the dorsal fin had a ragged edge, proving it was a second animal, and also proving that the size of the first was no fluke. "Holy cow! Those things are thirty feet long!"

Bob glanced over. "You haven't seen anything yet. Just watch, Sir." A more intense thrashing started on a third area of the carcass, and suddenly the shark, half again the size of the other two breached the surface. There was no mistaking the identity of the brute. Fifty feet long with the snub snout of a great white shark, it was easily the biggest shark that either man had ever seen.

"Is this one related to turtles, too?"

Bob O'Brien laughed. "No Sir. It's exactly what it looks like. It's a shark. I'm not really positive, but I think it's a megalodon, the granddaddy of the great white. If it is, it's another one of those species that shouldn't be here. It's not supposed to have developed for a couple million years yet.

"I'll tell you, Mr. Morton, if I were to go by what was commonly held belief, I would have to think that this is a setup. The species are so mixed. Things that are supposed to be extinct, aren't, and things that aren't supposed to have evolved yet are having breakfast off the stern of the boat."

"What are you saying, Bob? You don't think this is Earth? You think we're on some kind of giant soundstage? What?"

"No, nothing like that, Sir. Actually, I don't know what I'm saying. It just isn't living up to expectations, is all."

"Have you talked to the Admiral about this?"

"No, not yet. He's been busy with you, Sir."

"Well, he's done with me now. If you have these concerns, you need to talk to him. I don't know if it has any bearing on our situation or not, but Admiral Nelson is the best person on board to interpret what you are seeing. You're acting as his eyes right now, Bob, make time to get with him." Chip said. "In the meantime, the Captain has decided to honor your request for an aerial survey of the interior. Sharkey will pilot for you so you can concentrate on filming. Oh, and take Riley with you too. A second observer can't hurt."

Before Bob could respond, the intercom came to life. "Sonar to Bridge. Mr. O'Brien, Big Bird is back."

O'Brien's face lit up. "You've got to see this one, Sir!" Picking up the mike, Bob asked, "Where away, 'Ski?"

"Due east, three hundred yards, and closing, Sir."

Squinting into the sun, O'Brien replaced the mike and said, "It's a queztalcoatlus, Sir. Biggest bird you're ever going to see."

"Bob, I can't see a thing, looking into the sun."

"Yeah, I can't either. It'll fly over on its way to its fishing grounds. Wait until you see it! Bright yellow, just like Big Bird on Sesame Street. Just look out to sea, and it'll fly by overhead."

Bob turned away from the sun, then heard a strangled yell. As he started to turn back, he stumbled as the Exec shoved him hard. Bob went to his knees, stunned by the force of the blow. He looked around and found he was alone. Momentarily confused, he looked toward the open hatch wondering what had gotten into the Exec. He got to his feet, and looking around, his eyes widened in horror. They were riveted to the sight of the queztalcoatlus banking back toward the shore with the limp body of Chip Morton clutched in it claws.

"No! Oh, no, no, no, no!" Bob stared hopelessly for a moment, then jumped to the deck hatch, frantically dropping down the ladder. 'The Flying Sub! I've got to get to the Flying Sub!!' O'Brien practically fell down the ladder into the control room, catching himself at the last second. He spun around to run to the observation nose hatch, and realized that despite his precipitous entrance, no one in the room was even looking at him. All eyes were fixed on a small man standing near the spiral staircase. With a start, Bob recognized the long awaited Mr. Pem. 'Not now!!!'

Chip Morton tried desperately to catch a breath. The huge bird-like dinosaur had one of its huge talons around his neck and left arm, and the other across his chest. He could feel one of the claws digging into his back, but he was rapidly becoming numb to all other sensations as his circulation and air were cut off. He had stopped struggling when he realized that movement only made the monster tighten its grip. He knew the bird thing had at first lost height bearing his weight, and at first he thought he would be dropped into the shark-infested water. But then it managed to gain height, and it flapped its way toward the distant cliffs. Chip struggled to keep the blackness that was threatening him at bay. If he could only get a decent breath, then maybe he could think, plan.

An eternity passed. Chip slowly stopped reasoning. His world narrowed in focus to a point of light at the end of a dark pain-filled tunnel. He barely felt the difference when the huge bird-like dinosaur landed on a ledge. It released its grasp on his neck and arm, but maintained its grip on his shoulder. In the few minutes it took to giant pterosaur to settle itself on the ledge, flipping its sail-like wing membranes into order, Chip's body reacted, drawing shuddering breaths deep into his battered body.

A slight semblance of consciousness returned to the Seaview's Exec. Survival training that has been drilled until it was second nature led his benumbed hand to the gun holstered on his right side. The same training helped him draw the gun, fumble off the safety and aim it directly above in the direction of the beast tormenting him. He almost lost the gun as the pterosaur started dragging him forward, settling its considerable weight upon him as it 'walked'. By more luck than any conscious move on his part, the gun went off, and the high velocity bullet traveled upward through the body of the dinosaur, rupturing it's heart before exploding out through it's chest to strike the five foot long beak. It was that same luck that caused the beast to fall away from the injured man rather than on top of him.

Chip lay on the ledge unaware of his surroundings, unconcerned about his fate. It was all he could do to continue his own existence, to continue breathing. Although his eyes were open, staring at the bright yellow carcass directly in front of him, his mind had already retreated to a place where such horrors could not exist. He spent an endless time in that nameless place, floating without purpose, without will. He might have stayed there indefinitely had it not been for the movement.

He came back to himself with a jolt. The bird was moving! It was alive! Fear as great as any he had ever known caused him to scuttle back, unable to tear his eyes from the bulk before him. He almost fell off of the ledge before he realized it was there. Catching himself, he looked over and saw a 600-foot drop. Jerking his eyes back to the giant pterosaur, the word 'trapped' echoed hollowly through his mind. His eyes focused suddenly on the gun lying where he had dropped it some five feet away. Five feet nearer to the pterosaur. Chip could not bring himself to move those five feet. He lay unmoving, trying to still even his ragged breathing.

Gradually, reason returned, and Chip realized that the bird's movements were odd, unnatural. He didn't know what was causing the semblance of life, but he knew the great animal was dead. When a shadow passed overhead, he snapped out of the stupor that had settled over him. He realized that he was totally exposed on this ledge, and the only protection that he had was lying on the ground, not five feet from his hand.

Chip got up and cautiously approached the dead dinosaur. When he reached the gun, he picked it up, and out of habit, checked the breech. He jumped back when the pterosaur moved again. It took all of his control not to empty the gun into the quivering heap of dead flesh. With the gun trained on the beast, he moved cautiously around it, as far away from it as he could safely get. When he had cleared almost halfway around, he finally saw the cause for the movement. His gorge rose as he saw a chick as big as he was feeding on it's dead parent. Although its movements were clumsy, it was getting the job done, ripping long strips of flesh from the adult's chest and gulping them down whole.

Chip stood staring at the brute and almost without thinking raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Shot in the eye, the chick twitched once, twice, then died. Chip fell to his knees, and retched until his body shook.

Captain Lee Crane was aware of a commotion behind him, but he could not spare the attention. With a whistling sound like an old time aerial bomb dropping, the pernicious creature known to the crew as Mr. Pem had appeared. And his mere appearance had answered many questions. Lee could tell in a glance that this was a much younger version of malicious imp. The hair was more plentiful, and the carriage more erect. The arrogant smirk was intact, but instead of a pocket watch, Pem carried an old fashioned alarm clock attached by a wire leading to the watch pocket on his ever-present vest. The vest itself was lumpy with hidden devices.

Mr. Pem looked over the crew staring at him, and spotted Admiral Nelson. With a look dismissing all others present as unimportant, Pem addressed himself strictly to the Admiral. "Ah! Admiral Harriman Nelson, I do believe! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Halliwell Eustace Pemburton. I'm known simply at 'Pem' to my friends and admirers. And I do hope that we shall become friends!"

Lee became aware of Bob O'Brien standing at his shoulder, shaking as he caught the Captain's eye "Not now, Bob."

"Sir!"

"Whatever it is will wait! Now get a hold of yourself!"

In a low voice intended for the Captain's ear only, Bob replied, "Sir, this can't wait! Mr. Morton! Sir, he.... Sir, Mr. Morton was carried away by a queztalcoatlus! He might still be alive! But we have to go after him! Now! Before it's too late!"

Lee felt his face drain of color. He turned to the younger officer, trying to grasp what he was being told. "The ketza... the Big Bird? The Big Bird carried...?"

"EXCUSE ME! I believe I have the floor here!" Lee turned back, frowning, to face Pem's petulant remark. The slight man had pulled himself up with a look of righteous indignation, and was staring at Lee, outraged at the interruption.

Admiral Nelson, sensing a serious problem, attempted to intervene by taking Pem by the arm saying, "Why don't we have a talk in my cabin, and let these men get on with their work?"

"No! No, I am here to save you all, and I think you should all have the courtesy to hear me out!!" Pem shrugged off Nelson's hand, and stared venomously at the Captain. "I can make you regret not listening to me! You just watch and see if I can't!" Pem raised the alarm clock in the Captain's direction.

Nelson interposed his body between Lee and the furious Pem. "NO!! I mean, no, that won't be necessary. We will all listen to what you have to say. Lee, tell Mr... tell Pem you are sorry."

"Admiral...." Lee began, but was cut off by a look from Nelson. Breathing deeply to cover his rising anger, Lee started again. "Please forgive my rudeness, Pem, but I have a man missing and I need to get a search organized."

Pem sniffed, "What's one man, more or less?" Pem dismissed the Captain's apology with a wave of his hand. "Admiral, I am here to offer my help in returning you to your own time. I only just became aware of your predicament. As you no doubt have noticed, you are out of time. By that, I mean you have somehow become caught in another era."

Lee Crane couldn't believe his ears! Mr. Pem actually seemed to be trying to convince the Admiral that he had no hand in displacing Seaview in the first place. He could sense O'Brien jittering next to him, but Lee felt paralyzed. If the Flying Sub didn't leave now, right now, Chip Morton could be lost to them for good. He hated himself for just standing there, but he had the entire crew to consider. He was surprised when Bob started purposely for the deck hatch. He reached a hand out to stop him, but O'Brien sidled away. That movement attracted the attention of Pem. "Stop! You there! Stop, right there! What are you doing? Admiral, what is he doing?"

Lee could hear the anger in Pem's voice, and moved to stand between him and O'Brien, who showed no signs of stopping. Bob kept his eyes focused on the hatch as he strode determinedly forward. Lee shouted "NO!" as Pem pointed his clock directly at Bob and pushed a button. Lee felt utter despair as Lt. Bob O'Brien disappeared as if he never existed.

Bob heard the Captain's shout of "NO!", when suddenly, things became... different. Bob found himself floating in a cloud of colors and sounds. There was no up, no down. It was endless, colors with no name, sounds that tasted like...like... like...like.. Then suddenly it was over. Bob found himself lying on the control room floor, looking up into the worried faces of the Captain and Doc.

Confused, he struggled to his feet asking, "Doc? How did you get here?"

Lee and the Doctor helped O'Brien up, then helped steady him as the young officer tried to find his balance. It was the Captain who answered his question. "You've been gone for more than four hours, Bob. I want you to go with Doc, and get yourself checked out."

O'Brien grimaced, "Sir, what about Cmdr. Morton? Did you find him?"

Bob felt his stomach knot when the Captain just looked away from him. Crane's response when it came, was bloodless, defeated. He simply said "No", then walked away. Bob took a step to follow him, but Doc had a hold on his arm.

"Lieutenant, come with me. I want to be sure there are no lasting effects to that displacement."

"Displacement? No, wait! We have to go after Mr. Morton!" Bob tried to pull away from the doctor, but a wave of vertigo passed over him, and he found himself clutching the man instead.

"Come on, Bob. I'll tell you what has been happening, but I need to get you to sickbay first."

Hearing the undercurrent in Jamieson's voice, O'Brien looked over at the Captain, who didn't seem to want to meet his eye, then meekly allowed the doctor to assist him to Seaview's sickbay.

"Sit up here," Doc said brusquely, pointing to the examination table. He busied himself attaching a blood pressure cuff. Bob sat thoroughly dejected. He wanted to know what was going on, but knew that it was not going to be to his liking. The doctor was doing examination make work, checking his pulse, listening to his heart. It was obvious that the man did not relish the job of filling him in.

Bob sat quietly for as long as he could stand it, then asked simply, "Doc? What happened?"

Doc looked up and paused for a moment, then ran a weary hand over his face. "All right, Bob, let's go over to my office."

They two men silently walked the few steps to Doc's desk. Doc closed the partitions to the main body of sickbay off. They sat facing each other over Doc's desk. "Bob... Bob, when the bird... the dinosaur..."

"The queztalcoatlus." Bob supplied.

"Yes. When it took off with Commander Morton, did you see any movement? Was Chip struggling?"

"No, he was just hanging there." Bob responded uneasily.

"And, um, how did the ket...the bird have him? By the head, the neck, the leg? What?"

"It was hard to tell, Doc. It looked like it had him by the neck, but one of his arms was up. I couldn't see if he was, like, holding on, or if the queztal had his arm too. Why? What does it matter? We have to go after that thing! We have to find it!"

Doc reached across the desk, placing a hand on O'Brien's arm. "Bob, listen to me. We can't go anywhere. Pem 'locked' FS1 in time with that infernal device of his. Everything onboard is frozen."

"Well, maybe an armed shore party..."

"Bob, I want you to calm down and think for a moment. Pem told the Admiral that he was able to tell if there was anybody associated with the boat away from it. He said that the only way a person would not show up on his instrument would be if that person was dead." Doc continued sadly, "Bob, Cmdr. Morton was probably dead or dying within seconds of being taken by that animal. I doubt that he even felt the initial strike. I'm sorry, but even if the Flying Sub was available, there would be nothing we could do."

Bob sat with tears streaming down his face. "Doc, it was my fault. Sonar told us it was there, but we couldn't see it, because the sun was right behind it. Right there I should have realized the danger, I should have cleared the bridge, but I was so damn cocky, I didn't even think. I just wanted to show off. I just wanted the Exec to be proud of me. So I just turned my back on the largest airborne predator ever to grace this planet, like it was a...a circus animal there for my amusement! But Mr. Morton, he knew better than to turn his back, and he must have seen it just before... He shoved me out of the way, and the next thing I knew, he was gone. Oh, Doc. It should've been me. It would have been, if Mr. Morton had just saved himself." Bob dropped his head into his hands. "Oh, God, how am I ever going to face the Captain?"

"Bob... Bob, I want you to listen to me. You are not responsible. This was a terrible, tragic accident. Captain Crane will not blame you, Admiral Nelson will not blame you, so I don't want you to blame yourself. You and I, and everyone else on this boat has suffered a personal loss in this, but we can't let self pity get in the way of our duty." Doc looked the young officer in the eye. "We can't afford to give into grief right now, Bob. When we are home and safe, we will deal with it. All right?"

At Bob's nod, Doc continued. "Now, you asked what has been happening. Pem wants us to believe that we were caught by a natural phenomenon, a 'wormhole' that sent us into the past."

"What? Why would we believe a crock like that? He must be nuttier than we thought!"

"Bob, did you notice that Pem looks different, younger? Well, it's because he is. In his timeline, he has never met up with the Seaview before. He doesn't realize that we know all about him and his tricks."

"How is that possible, Doc?"

"Remember, he is controlling time. There is no law that says he has to follow any particular sequence. The first time he showed up, he already knew who we were, he had already visited us. He was new to us then, just as we are new to him now. The Admiral explained it better, but if you think about it, you'll catch on. Just make sure you don't say anything to let him know we know who he is. Got it?"

Bob smiled a small smile at Doc's convoluted explanation. "Got it. But what does he want?"

"Well, he wants us to believe he is a great humanitarian, that he is rescuing us out of the goodness of his heart."

"Doc, when the Captain told Pem that we had a man missing, he said, and I quote, 'what's one man, more or less'. Nobody is going to mistake that waste of flesh for a humanitarian!"

"I know, Bob, believe me, I know. Unfortunately, a sociopathic personality like Pem is unable to see that. He can barely distinguish between lies and the truth anyway, and it just doesn't occur to him that anyone else can either."

Bob thought uneasily that there was a point here that was dangling just beyond his grasp, but before he could latch on to it, Doc began to speak again. "Pem says that he will take us home so that we appear there almost immediately after we left."

"Yeah? So why are we still here?"

"Well, two reasons, actually. The first reason was you."

"ME? Why me?"

"When you made your move to get to the Flying Sub, Pem 'threw' you into the future. He says because he didn't want us to lose any more men, but Captain Crane said it was pretty obvious that you infuriated him by walking away. The Captain thinks Pem's ego is even worse now than it was the first time we ran into him. But his little tantrum didn't go unpunished, because the Admiral refused to even talk to him until you were returned. The Admiral is walking a tightrope with Pem. I don't quite know why, but Pem listens to the Admiral, and so far, that is the only thing that has prevented this situation from exploding.

"You can thank the Admiral for the Seaview being here when you 'popped' back in. I don't know what would have happened to you if Admiral Nelson hadn't kept Pem from displacing the Seaview forward in time."

Bob shuddered at the vision of himself 'popping' back in to find himself in a shark- infested ocean. "You said two reasons, Doc. What was the other?"

"Oh, well, he doesn't want to take us directly home. He wants to make a sidetrip to give us enough time to launch a missile."

"WHAT? You've got to be kidding!!!"

"Afraid not." Doc smiled ruefully. "His story is that we have a faulty missile on board, and if we take it back to our present, it will explode and sink the Seaview."

"So, which one is it? We can fix it here, then go home."

"Well, you have to give the man some credit, Bob. He says we can't fix it, because it won't malfunction until we are home. And he says we can't dispose of it here, because it would cause repercussions throughout history that would be disastrous for the future of mankind. He says he has found a place in history that we can launch the missile, and it will have no impact on any timeline."

Bob just stared, amazed at the temerity of the little egomaniac. "Doc, do you think he really expects us to be that gullible? I mean, even if we really never saw him before, the Admiral would never believe a story like that."

"Apparently he does. The Admiral is stringing him along until we can get the missile set up, then we will be heading home."

"What do you mean, set up? What does the Admiral have in mind?"

"I don't know, Bob. I only know that Captain Crane and Admiral Nelson came up with a plan, and I just hope it works."

In a small, hopeless voice Bob whispered, "But what about Mr. Morton?"

Chip Morton sat on a ledge, looking dully out to the sea, some fifteen miles away. If he squinted in the hazy air, he could just make out the sleek form of the Seaview, still anchored in the small circular bay. Still there. It was like a talisman, against the pain, the fear. As long as the Seaview was still there, he could make believe that he would make it, that he would survive. He noticed that the trembling in his hand had stopped, meaning it was time to push on. He gazed tiredly down, calculating that he still had a good two hundred feet to go before he reached the foot of the cliff.

Throughout the long afternoon, he had fallen into a routine of working his way downward for as long as his weakened right shoulder would let him. The cliff face was riddled with cracks and crevices. Although not an expert climber by any means, Chip had found he could do it, as long as he tested each step and did not rely on any support from his right hand. He had been scrupulous in avoiding the many caves and wider ledges after an encounter with another of the birdlike pterodactyls. Despite being much smaller than its yellow cousin, this animal was no less terrifying as it attacked Chip as he clung to a narrow ledge below a cave. Again luck had been with him, and his wildly flailing arm had connected with the bird's neck, and Chip had heard a distinct crack! before the animal fell away, dropping like a stone to the ground fall below.

As Chip continued the long weary climb down, his mind kept up a litany of treacherous thoughts. Where was the Flying Sub? What if the Seaview doesn't wait? What if I get left behind? What if I run into Riley's 'good' dinosaurs? WHAT IF I GET LEFT BEHIND??? He paused, using his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow. Ruthlessly, he cleared his mind. He would make it. That was all there was to it. He concentrated again on his climbing, trying to map out a route that would get him safely past a series of wide ledges and caves.

The pain in his shoulder had settled down to a steady dull throb, but Chip had learned that any wrong move would cause it to flare to white-hot agony. He assumed something was broken there, and maybe in his neck too. He couldn't turn his head at all without excruciating pain. But he found he could function if he was careful. Very careful. His hand started to shake, so he began his search for a ledge wide enough to support him, but not so wide as to invite visitors.

After several minutes he located an appropriate ledge, and made his cautious way over to it. Testing the ledge carefully, Chip gingerly sat down. He leaned back, closing his eyes. His climbing time was getting shorter, and his resting time longer. A pragmatic man by nature, he accepted that he would have to spend the night on the rockface. He was tired and thirsty and scared, but he was alive, and that was what mattered.

As he watched the shadows lengthen across the dry savanna-like plain, Chip tried to remember everything that Bob had said. There were animals down there, big ones. He had been dismayed when he first realized how many there were on the grasslands below the cliff. Groups of them dotted the landscape for as far as his weary eyes could see. Most of them would be plant eaters. But some were predators. He wished his preoccupation with Mr. Pem hadn't kept him from the informal mealtime briefings that O'Brien had conducted. He thought he remembered someone saying something about dinosaurs not being nocturnal, but he couldn't be sure, and somehow, he didn't think that could be right. Admiral Nelson had once remarked that Mother Nature filled every available nook and cranny with life, and Chip's experience was that that was the truth.

As he sat perched on the ledge, his eye was drawn to a ledge about thirty feet below and to the right. It appeared to be one of the wider ledges, with possibly a cave behind it. Chip gazed at the base of the cliff so very far below. He judged that he could easily reach the wide ledge, but it was unlikely he would reach the ground before darkness fell. He sat for a long time staring at the wide ledge, watching for any flicker of movement, any sign of occupation.

Chip startled. He had almost dozed off, mesmerized by his concentration on the ledge below. Frightened by his lapse, he climbed carefully to his feet, then made his way to the wide ledge. As he had suspected, there was a small cave at the back of the ledge. The cave was shallow enough that he could see all the way to the back of it. Chip breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of recent habitation. He eased his worn battered body down and closed his aching eyes.

Admiral Harriman Nelson sat at his desk, staring across at the smug individual whom he knew as Mr. Pem. He was tired. Tired of playing word games. Tired of pretending. Deathly tired of accommodating this nasty creature.

Mr. Pem had all of the cards. Or at least that was what Nelson wanted him to believe. He smiled at the little man, once again pretending admiration for the detestable fiend's plans. "I still am unclear on why we can not just offload our missiles here."

"Of course you are, Admiral." Pem's smirk belied his tone of sympathy. "You just can't see the whole picture, like I can. While I must admit you are by far the most intelligent man on this ship, you can hardly be expected to understand all of the vagaries of Universal Time Translation. I can only ask that you trust my judgment in this."

Nelson gritted his teeth against the insult, and the laughable statement that Pem should be trusted. "Oh, I do trust you, Pem. Until you came to us, I had no hope of ever returning to my time."

Nelson worried that he had laid in on too thick, but the worry was unnecessary. Pem preened under the praise. "I am so glad that I could be of help! But not even my time is unlimited. Your missing officer has been returned to you, now why don't we go to the reactor room and start Translation?"

Nelson felt a stab of sorrow at Pem's words. There was more than one officer missing, you pathetic little monster. Turning away so that he did not betray his true feelings, the Admiral said, "That's another thing that I don't understand. Why must you be in the reactor room to start this 'Translation' process of yours?"

"Oh, well, it is very difficult to explain. I don't need to be in the reactor room, I can start Translation right here, if I wish. However, I find that the atmosphere near nuclear reactors to be a heady one. All of that power ready to be unleashed."

"Unleashed? Your process uses the reactor?" Nelson asked innocently.

"Why, no, Admiral. Not at all." Pem answered glibly. "It is more in the nature of a personal whim. You don't mind indulging my whims, do you?"

"Of course, not, Pem, of course not!" Nelson's smile did not reach his ice blue eyes. "I was concerned, that's all. We have to shut the reactor down to do some repair work, and I wanted to be sure that you did not need to draw on it's power to perform what is, after all, a miracle."

The Admiral had the satisfaction of seeing the smarmy smile on Pem's face freeze as he was caught in his own lie. Under other circumstances, Nelson might have laughed as the little man sat obviously thinking furiously. As it was, he held the lives and futures of the entire crew in his hands, and he could not afford to alienate Pem. The Admiral maintained a look of polite attention, giving Pem the time he needed to recover. Nelson could almost see the exact moment when Pem came up with his response, as the man's face took on a look of sly cunning.

"You're having problems with your reactor, Admiral? May I offer my small services?" Pem's tone implied his services were anything but 'small'. "I do have a certain amount of experience dealing with nuclear reactors, after all."

"Thank you, Pem. Your offer is most kind, but the repairs are not anything major. My people can handle it. It just means, as I said the reactor will be shut down for, oh say, thirty hours."

Pem's sudden paleness told Nelson he had calculated right. The time device did not have a power reservoir that could withstand a thirty-hour drain.

"When will the repairs begin, Admiral?" A hardness crept into Pem's voice although the smile was firmly pasted on his face.

"Well, let me just check." Nelson pressed the intercom button on his desk and called, "Nelson to control room. Lee, are you there?"

"Yes, Admiral." came the crisp reply. "What can I do for you, Sir?"

"Lee, when are the reactor repairs scheduled to begin?"

"Sir, we started shut down procedures about three hours ago."

"Thanks, Lee. Nelson out."

This time Pem didn't make any attempt to hide his dismay. Nelson asked innocently, "Is there something wrong, Pem?"

The evil little man's eyes narrowed. Nelson felt his stomach clench but kept his look of simple concern. If Pem realized the trap now, he might still have the power left to escape. Nelson knew that the reactor had actually been shut down several hours ago, the conversation with the Captain one that was prearranged.

Pem's suspicion was plain on his face. "Admiral, I have a question for you, Sir. Why would you shut down your reactor for 'minor' repairs when your situation is so obviously perilous? That seems a foolhardy thing to do, and I do not believe you are a foolhardy man."

It was the Admiral's turn to struggle to find a believable lie. Nelson only hoped his face did not give anything away as clearly as Pem's. "You've found me out, Pem." The Admiral affected a chagrined look. "The repairs are actually critical in nature. I was concerned that if you knew how high the radiation levels are expected to climb, you would take fright and desert us."

The suspicion immediately left Pem's face, as the smarmy smile returned. Nelson was really quite amazed at Pem's gullibility. The Mr. Pem he knew was much less trusting, far more paranoid. This Pem just seemed to accept that the Admiral was overawed by Pem's brilliance and would just naturally do whatever he wished. Nelson reflected that the older Mr. Pem's less trusting nature was probably a result of this visit to the Seaview. At least, Nelson hoped so.

"Admiral, you should have said so in the first place!! Please set your fears aside! I have absolutely no intention of leaving you here! Come, let us go to your reactor room, I feel quite confident that I can help you make whatever repairs are necessary, then we can go get rid of that damaged missile, and get you all home safe and sound."

Continuing to play the game that he found increasingly odious, the Admiral put what he hoped was a relieved grin on his face, and said "Thank you! Thank you, Pem! I can't tell you how relieved I am. By all means, let's go to the reactor room! Let me just clear the corridors..."

"What? Clear the corridors? Why?" frowned Pem.

"Just a precaution. We have clean up crews all over the boat. I wouldn't want you to slip on a wet floor, now would I? Hold on a moment..." Nelson realized he wasn't even trying to make up believable lies. Holding down the intercom button, he called. "Nelson to control room. Pem and I will be going to the reactor room by way of the blue corridor. Please make sure the blue corridor is clear."

The Captain's voice came over the speaker. "Aye, Admiral, I will take care of it personally."

Pem sat with a slight frown, apparently trying to puzzle out if there was any hidden meaning. Nelson stood up, "Come along Mr. Pem, let's get down to the reactor room."

At Pem's look of surprise, the Admiral realized his mistake. Damn, that's 'Pem', not MR. Pem. Nelson walked to his cabin door and opening it, stood looking expectantly at his loathsome guest. Pem hadn't moved. He slid around in his seat and said in a wondering tone. "Admiral, you called me 'Mr. Pem'. Why did you do that?"

Groaning inwardly, the Admiral gave in to the inevitable. "Why as a sign of respect, of course. I feel you deserve respect so I call you Mr. Pem."

Pem's smile was one of true delight. "I like that! I really do! Thank you, Admiral!" Pem got up and strutted out of the cabin and down the hall.

Nelson called out as the little man walked away, "Uh, Mr. Pem? This way, please." He directed Pem back the other way. The Admiral didn't dare look directly at his nemesis for fear of giving anything away. As they turned down the 'blue' corridor, Nelson could only hope that the fields that he and the Exec had set up were functioning and doing the job they intended to do. As they reached the midway point of the corridor, a bluesuited crewman rounded the corner ahead of them and started toward them. The man was obviously part of a clean up crew, carrying a spray bottle in one hand and a rag in the other. As the man approached, he started spraying the rag, and as he stepped past, he reached around and held the rag over Pem's mouth and nose. Nelson shouted in surprise, and grabbed at the man, but only managed to knock the treacherous alarm clock from Pem's grasp. The Admiral slapped ineffectually at the crewman's hand, but his efforts were not enough to prevent Pem from slipping into unconsciousness.

The crewman lowered the pint-sized madman to the deck and let loose a shaky breath. The Admiral chuckled, "Good job, Doc. Now, I want him stripped. Don't leave anything to chance. Use X-rays if you must, but I want him totally without access to his time device."

"I understand, Admiral."

"Let's get this vest off of him now." As the Admiral and Doc worked, Lee came up accompanied by several armed crewmen. "Lee, get that clock, and help me get this device to the lab. Doc, once you are positive that Pem is not carrying any sort of remote control, turn him over to the Master at Arms, and have him locked in the brig."

"Aye, Sir."

Chip Morton came awake with a groan of pain. The gray pearly light of dawn showed at the small cave's entrance. The injured man had had a difficult night, exhaustion warring with pain and thirst. Sleep had only come in the wee hours of the morning, and even then it was filled with restless dreams.

Only his utter fear of being left behind forced him to rise, and look out over the plains to the distant sea. He stilled the panic that gripped him when he realized he could not see the ocean. He had known that once he had descended to a certain point the sea would disappear from view. Just because he could no longer see it, did not mean the Seaview was gone.

His muscles had all tightened over night, but Chip did not make any attempt to loosen them. The pain in his neck and shoulder were constant, and he feared any jarring would cause a flare-up that he could not afford. He felt the heat in his shoulder signifying infection, but he knew he would just have to put it out of his mind, and concentrate on the task at hand.

Chip started scanning the rockface below him, planning out a route to the base of the cliff. A series of circular depressions in the ground almost directly below caught his attention. There was no movement in the vicinity, but the depressions were clearly not natural. Chip couldn't be sure what they were, but he wanted no part of them. He started his climb down aiming for a point away from the suspicious formations. Every muscle ached, and his vision was blurred by a vicious headache.

He knew in a vague way that he had been very lucky to make it down the cliff without falling. His luck almost ran out when an incautious step crumbled the ledge beneath him, and he was forced to rely on his treacherous right hand for support until he found his footing. Agony lanced through him as pressure was put on his injured shoulder, and his foot found purchase just as his grip failed. Chip sidled to a wide ledge as quickly as he could, and collapsed in a panting heap within moments of reaching the tenuous safety of a ledge only slightly wider than his body.

He laid on the ledge drawing sobbing gasps of air, willing the agony in his shoulder to go away. In the last moment before his right hand had failed, he had felt something shift high in his back, confirming his belief that his scapula had been broken. Chip had no way to repair the damage, and had to settle for a new level of pain. No amount of 'careful' would limit the pain, and he knew he had to make it back to the ship quickly if he was going to make it at all.

Pushing himself to his knees using his good hand, Chip painfully got himself to his feet. He checked his position, and was mildly surprised to find himself within several yards of the ground. The ledge he was on seemed to be an easy path straight to the base of the cliff. Steadying himself with his good hand, Chip made his way to the grasslands below.

Lt. Bob O'Brien stood at attention in front of his Captain's desk. He knew that his request had angered the tired officer, but he knew it was vital that his mission not be put off any longer. "Sir..."

"Bob, I've already told you the answer is no. Now that's the end of it."

"Captain, please!! You said yourself that Pem is a liar! Why would you believe he's telling the truth about this, when he hasn't been truthful about anything else?"

The Captain took a few steadying breaths. "Okay, Bob, you're the dinosaur expert. Would you say the animal that grabbed the Exec was an efficient predator?"

Warily, Bob said, "Yes, Sir."

"And you already told Doc that Chi... that Cmdr. Morton was not struggling, right?"

"Yes, Sir, but..."

"Hear me out, Bob. Mr. Morton has been missing for what, thirty hours now."

"Yes Sir, about that."

"All right, Bob. As our dinosaur 'expert', what do you expect to find? And how, for that matter, do you expect to find it?"

O'Brien swallowed hard. "Captain, I understand what you are getting at. I don't want to find a pile of bones anymore than you do. But Sir, I keep thinking that if a miracle happened, and somehow he survived, he'll be expecting us to come and rescue him. I've already let him down, and I can't, I just can't leave here without at least trying to find him."

"So, you think this was your fault?"

"Sir, we both know it was my fault. You said it yourself, I'm the dinosaur expert, I should have anticipated what happened."

Crane stared at the young officer. "Bob, sit down. If you are asking me if I thought you are to blame for what happened, let me tell you right now, the answer is no. There are things in this life that you can control, and things that you can't. Attacks by creatures that have no business existing outside of storybooks definitely fall under the category of things you can't control." The Captain leaned forward in his chair, as if to convince Bob by the weight of his presence. "But on the other hand, it IS one of the burdens of command to be responsible for all that goes on around you. The Executive Officer of this ship is dead in part because of your actions. There is no official blame. There is no personal blame on my part. But you have to weigh your own sense of guilt against the consequences of the actions you take. You want to take an action now, that could have consequences to this ship, and it's crew. I think you should understand what your actions could mean.

"Admiral Nelson believes that the reason Pem has been in such a hurry is because the time device can only hold us here for so long, then either must return us to our own time, or break the connection with that time. He explained it to me as being like a huge rubber band, anchored at the point in time and space where the time displacement began, and stretched back through time to the point we're at now. The pressure on the band builds and builds until either it snaps back to the anchor, or breaks under the strain. The Admiral thinks that we have been stranded back here much longer than Pem ever intended. He thinks that the reason Pem took so long in getting here was because this time device is a prototype, and Pem had to search around to find us.

"Now, the thing is, Bob, We don't know how to initiate a return. We are still dependent on Pem for that. The Admiral feels that the reason Pem 'locked' the Flying Sub in place was that it's mass was important to Pem's calculations. If you leave in FS1, and the 'rubber band' snaps, you may condemn the entire crew to live in a time not their own."

The Captain locked eyes with the younger man. "Bob, can you possibly believe for a minute that I would not be out there myself, on foot, if necessary, if there was even the slightest chance? Chip Morton is one of the best friends I have ever had. But I can not, will not, let my personal feelings put even one more man at risk. It is the burden of command, and let me assure you, it is a very heavy one at the moment." Bob felt the weight of Crane's words bearing them both down. He realized the Captain was trying to convince himself that Mr. Morton was dead.

Bob felt overwhelmed. He understood everything the Captain was saying. He knew that it would be criminal to leave the boat, even on a mission of mercy. Bob O'Brien also knew that Commander Morton was alive. He would bet his immortal soul on it. He knew that if he didn't go after the Exec, the man would die a death more horrible than anything Bob wanted to contemplate. Captain Crane called it the burden of command, and O'Brien for the first time understood exactly what the term meant. He felt as if his soul was at it's own personal crush depth.

He looked across the desk at Captain Crane, and saw just how difficult the last few days had been. Bob realized that his constant harping on sending out a search and rescue mission had to have been like rubbing salt in open wounds. He thought carefully about his next words. "Sir, I am sorry. I did not understand. Please allow me to retract my request to take out the Flying Sub. I will not bring the issue up again."

The two officers exchanged looks of utter despair, each knowing they had sealed the fate of a third, absent man.

Chip Morton stood as still as his aching, battered body would allow. He had reached the grassy plain only to discover to his dismay that the 'grass' towered high above his head. His training told him it would be suicide to enter this forest of grass. Anything could sneak up on him and he would never know it until he felt the teeth ripping his throat. The wall of grass extended unbroken as far as he could see in either direction. Chip felt himself begin to shake, whether from fear or fever he didn't know. Grimly he clamped down on himself, taking a step toward the gently waving curtain. He heard a soft moan, and didn't care that it was coming from him. He stopped, staring at the grass. He slowly turned back to face the cliff. Chip Morton was teetering at the edge of his endurance, physical and mental. He considered his options: climb back up the cliff to a point where the animals couldn't get him, go out into the sea of grass and hope he wouldn't be eaten, or just sit down right here and go to sleep. With a sigh, he realized that as appealing as the third option was, it really was no option. He simply wasn't designed to give up. The first option was impossible. His right hand was tucked into his waistband to prevent the arm from dangling uselessly. He had lost all feeling from the upper arm down, and climbing was simply not in the program. That left the grass. He turned back to face the wall of vegetation. There could be anything in there. Chip licked his dry lips. It served as a reminder of the thirst and hunger that was becoming problematic. After a while, he realized that he had been simply standing, unable to move forward. The Seaview won't wait forever. Screwing up the tattered remains of his courage, he took his first hesitant steps, moving forward until he was surrounded by the green-yellow grass. Swallowing hard, he continued forward, keeping the cliff to his back. As he progressed, he cautiously listened, hoping to hear trouble before it arrived. The grass was dry enough to snap and crackle with his passage but as far as he could tell, there was no other sound nearby.

Chip was using his good hand to ward off the tall stalks, when one stalk, more green than the others, slipped past his hand, and whipped back to sting his cheek. Startled, he froze. With the fingers of his good hand, he touched the developing welt and felt a light wetness. Pulling his hand away, he stared at the small tracing of blood on his fingers. It was really too much. He stood glaring down at his hand, unaware of the change that had just come over him. It was a change that his shipmates knew well, and feared. The redoubtable Mr. Morton was pissed. Even the damned grass... In that one moment, his attitude changed, and with it his entire demeanor. The paralyzing fear was gone, replaced by a smoldering anger. The timid cowering skulk through the grass became a predatory slink.

Pain, hunger, thirst and a fever all became secondary considerations as Morton pressed on. The fury which drove him on did not override his common sense, and his caution was intact, but he nevertheless moved on at a determined clip, and after a half hour, was vaguely surprised to see the grass diminish in height until it was little more than knee high.

As he walked, he saw a large herd of some rhino-sized animals in the near distance. He realized with a start, that if he could see he could also be seen. Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, one of the beasts lifted its head from the grass it was eating, and stared directly at him. The animal emitted a high pitched squeal which caused the rest of the herd to stop feeding and look up. There was a moment of complete stillness as the behemoths and the one man regarded each other. Then chaos erupted as the herd panicked and thundered away, shaking the ground beneath Morton's feet. Confused, Morton stood blinking. "You guys are afraid of me?"

He became aware that the abrupt departure of the herd had not gone unnoticed by the denizens of the plains. All around the immediate area sound had erupted as various groups of animals honked, hooted or screeched out warnings to one another. It was a bewildering cacophony of sounds unlike anything Chip had ever experienced. After a moment, a brief grin bloomed on his face, as he remembered the tagline from a public service commercial he had seen on TV. "Man has entered the forest."

After a few minutes the sound died down, but not before giving Morton a chance to pinpoint the location of some of the animals and plan his route accordingly. He advanced toward the distant shoreline, telling himself not to get cocky, just because one group ran, didn't mean the next group would.

As he continued, he realized that there was an ambient sound level provided by the buzzings and chirpings of various insects. When he realized it, and looked at the ground closely, he could see bugs of all sizes. He swallowed, remembering his survival training. Bugs meant protein. His eye was caught by a iridescent beetle half the size of his hand. He reached down and snagged it, bringing it up to eye level. The bug wiggled all of its legs and feelers. Chip's delicate sensibilities warred with his hunger. For the moment, the hunger lost, put off by the repulsive nature of the food offered. On the verge of throwing the bug away, Chip's pragmatic nature asserted itself, and he pocketed the bug, reasoning that he would eat it later if nothing better presented itself.

Chip stood swaying slightly. His shoulder was burning, and he felt increasingly like his knees would buckle. He carefully turned to face the cliffs and was dismayed that they appeared so close. He calculated that he still had seven or eight miles to go to reach the shoreline. The thought of spending a night out on the plains got his feet moving. He trudged wearily on as the sun began to heat the ground and air around him.

Chip kept his eyes to the ground and walked mechanically, his mind numb. A sharp ridge in the ground sent him stumbling to his knees. With only one hand to break his fall, he twisted, and landed hard on his injured shoulder. Darkness threatened to overtake him, but Chip grimly held on, knowing he would be easy prey if he gave in. He fought the graying out effect at the edges of his vision, and slowly the agony in his shoulder subsided. He pushed himself to his knees, then paused, trying to identify what he was seeing. He had fallen into what seem to be a small, irregular crater. Several whitish round rocks were strewn about. As his mind focused, he properly identified the 'rocks' as eggs. Eggs!!

Chip reached out with his good hand and tentatively picked up one of the goose egg-sized objects. The leathery shell was warm and slightly giving to the touch. He sniffed dubiously at it, but could not identify any scent of corruption, just a musty animal smell. Chip licked his dry cracked lips. With a mental shrug, he raised the egg to his mouth and with a little trial and error, nipped off the end. He looked at the result. In the egg, a golf ball sized embryo twitched in a clear liquid. Chip could just see the yolk sac peeking out beneath the small unformed dinosaur. Reminding himself it was this or the bug, Chip took a deep breath, and slugged down the entire contents of the egg. He sat for a minute, tasting the liquid in his mouth, waiting to see if his stomach would rebel. He decided it didn't taste all that different from the raw chicken egg he had slurped as a kid on a dare.

When his stomach remained calm, he gathered together several of the eggs, then looked around for some way to carry them. His search was fruitless. In disgust, he thought if his ordeal had been a movie plot, there would have been handy pouch-like leaves littering the ground. The reality was there was very little by way of raw materials in the immediate area, and he was forced to settle for carefully placing a couple of eggs in his shirt, nestled by his useless right arm. He forced himself to swallow the contents of two more eggs, then regretfully left several more behind, as he pushed himself onward.

Shortly after leaving the nesting site behind, he found his way blocked by a herd of four-legged herbivores the size of small tanks. In his mind, he classified the animals as triceratops, even though these animals actually had no horns. He vaguely wondered if these animals were all the offspring of the same deformed parents. As Chip stood speculating on the chances of these animals running from him, he was surprised by a smaller dinosaur popping up suddenly out of the grass between him and the grazers. The smaller animal had not spotted him, concentrating on the prey beyond.

They looked pretty much like the pictures he had seen of triceratops, with a big spike-topped frill framing a rhino-like face. Their hides were a uniform soft tawny brown in color, and at the moment, they were all busily pulling up huge mouthfuls of grass. The grazers as yet had not noticed the smaller dinosaur. To Chip, it looked like a baby tyrannosaurus rex. Barely as large as he was, the toothy predator was upright like a kangaroo. It was a plum color with darker blue stripes that Chip realized would make it difficult to see in twilight. Chip watched skeptically as the economy-sized predator began openly stalking the grazing behemoths. Gauging the comparative size of predator and prey, Chip was fairly sure the young stalker was going to get its comeuppance.

Chip watched in surprise as the predator made no attempt to conceal its advance. It occurred to him that the inept youngster's mother might be nearby. He looked cautiously around, but no Godzilla-sized monsters appeared. Suddenly, the herd became aware of the approaching threat. Heads that a moment before had been peacefully lowered to the grass had been flung up as one after the other spotted the small dinosaur. Chip looked around again, but could find no sign of any other danger. The mighty herd of grazers apparently took the predator seriously, as they began to show signs of fright, milling around then forming a tight defensive formation, with the smaller ones behind a wall of big ones facing the predator.

Chip realized that the predator would make short work of him, if not the grazers, and started to quietly sidle around the dramatic confrontation. He had barely started to move when the man-sized predator ran directly at the herd. To Chip's amazement, the invincible seeming wall of dinosaurs crumbled as the individuals panicked, and ran. Without warning, other purple blue forms popped up out of the grass, all around the beleaguered herd. Chip licked his lips as he realized that far from being an inept youngster, the dinosaur was part of a hunting pack, like a wolf. Once the animals were moving, the predator darted to one side, in effect herding the grazers in one direction. Chip watched as other purple-blue forms raced to cut off a straggler. They were fast. Very fast.

He wanted no parts of this scene, but he was deathly afraid of attracting the attention of the pack. He stood mesmerized as the pack surrounded, and using outsized claws on their hind feet brought down one of the hapless grazers. From a distance, the grazers' hide had looked tough, thick, but with each swipe of the hunters' hind feet, huge gashes appeared. In a shorter time than Chip had thought possible, the huge sadly deformed triceratops was dead.

Not wanting to become dessert, Chip hurried away.

Admiral Harriman Nelson sat slumped over on a lab stool. On the table in front of him sat Pem's magic vest and alarm clock. Nelson had come to the bitter realization that he was not going to be able to work the device reliably without instruction from Pem. He had suspected that the little madman was from his own future, but had not realized the truth.... Pem was from so far in the future that the components of his device were totally unfamiliar to the technologically minded Admiral. Nelson had come to believe that the time device had been constructed at least 100 years into the future, and maybe more. Many of the components seemed to consist of a jelly-like substance that he did not dare touch, for fear of destroying. In fact, the only recognizable feature of the device was the alarm clock itself, which as far as Nelson could tell, was an ordinary five-and-dime store item.

The Admiral cursed his curiosity. He could have easily gone along with Lee Crane's simple plan of sabotaging the missile that Pem wanted to lob at some unknown civilization. But in his scientific arrogance, he had insisted on getting his hands on the time device, confident in his ability to comprehend any design Pem could come up with. Well, now they were in for it. He was unable to make any sense of the device. And without understanding, he did not dare experiment with any of the levers or buttons on the back of the device. That meant that somehow he had to figure out a way to return the device to Pem, and keep the demented pip-squeak from destroying them all in retaliation.

At a knock on the door, Nelson looked up. The door was cracked open, and Capt. Crane stuck in his head. "Admiral, how's it going? Pem is awake and screaming bloody murder in the brig!"

"Come in, Lee, come in." Nelson sighed. "We have a problem. Lee, I can not make heads or tails of this thing. It is so advanced, I have no more basis for understanding it than Sir Isaac Newton would have for understanding a nuclear reactor. This might as well work on magic as any engineering principles that I understand."

Lee stood looking at the exposed components with uncomprehending eyes. "It's that bad?"

Shaking his head ruefully, Nelson replied, "It's that bad."

"Well, we will just have to get Pem to work it for us, then."

"Hmmm. He's screaming bloody murder, you say?"

"Oh, yes. I am actually a bit surprised we can't hear him from here. I'm tempted to have Doc sedate him. He's not reacting well to incarceration."

The Admiral and Captain shared a malicious smile. "Well, unfortunately, we are going to have to deal with him." Nelson said. "We need to control him without him realizing it. He won't do what we want unless he thinks he has the upper hand."

"Well, Sir, I've been thinking about that possibility right along, and I have a few ideas..."

Admiral Nelson approached the Seaview's tiny brig. Barely larger than a good- sized closet, the space seemed too small to contain the high pitched keening that was issuing from within. Kowalski, who had pulled the odious task of guarding the prisoner, glanced over at Nelson's approach with the hard look of a man whose endurance was being sorely tried. Nelson came to stand in front of the small cell and was amazed at the scene within. Pem was in the corner, sitting curled up into a small, tight ball, rocking back and forth. He had torn off the jumpsuit he had been supplied with, and somehow managed to rip the tough material to shreds. In addition, the one light blanket and the small pillow had suffered the same fate as the jumpsuit, with a result of the cell looking like a cyclone had struck it.

Nelson felt his heart sink as he took in Pem's vacant eyes and rigidly rocking body. This was true madness. Even if Pem could be coaxed into using the clock, the Admiral was unsure if he could trust him not to destroy himself along with everybody on Seaview. Pitching his voice to be heard above the madman's toneless keening he called out, "Mr. Pem? Pem, it's Nelson. Can you hear me?" The rocking and wailing continued unabated. Nelson motioned to Kowalski to unlock the cell.

Kowalski stepped forward and keyed open the lock. "Be careful, Sir. He's a lot stronger than he looks."

Nodding, Nelson stepped into the cell and stood blocking the entrance until he heard the lock click. Moving slowly, he crouched down in front of Pem. As far as he could tell, Pem was totally unaware of his presence. Nelson spoke softly as he reached out to place his hand on Pem's arm. "Pem?"

Pem reacted to the human contact. He stopped rocking and grew quiet. As Nelson watched in fascination, the madman seemed to come slowly back to himself. The vacant eyes gained intelligence, then malice as Mr. Pem recognized his visitor. "YOU!!! YOU lied to me!!! You tricked me! You are just like all the others!! You think I'm insane, don't you? Well, don't you??"

Faced with the blatant question, it was all Nelson could do to keep his honest opinion to himself. Instead he asked, "Insane? Mr. Pem, do you mean to tell me your people consider you insane? Am I depending on a refugee from an asylum to rescue me and my submarine?"

Nelson's faked sincerity carried his words through to Pem, and his ploy had the desired effect. Pem's look became crafty, and his bearing took on a dignity that belied his half-naked state. With a return to his old arrogance, Pem ignored Nelson's questions. "Admiral, I believe you have something that belongs to me. Perhaps you would be so good as to return it to me."

"Of course, Pem, of course!! Um, why don't we get you some clothes first." Nelson said, waving over Kowalski to unlock the cell.

"I prefer my own, if that is possible."

"Yes, I understand. Ski, get Mr. Pem's clothing immediately."

Pem got up from his corner and stood looking speculatively at the Admiral. Nelson waited patiently for the revelation that he knew had to be coming. He was surprised at how long the thought took to occur to Pem, but eventually it did, as he knew it must.

"You tried to discover the secrets of my Universal Time Translator, didn't you? You tried, and failed, and now you find you need me! Isn't that right, Admiral?"

Nelson made calming motions with his hands, as he said, "No, not at all!! It was a misunderstanding, that's all. Captain Crane is suspicious by nature, and he thought I had given him permission to stop you. You didn't win any points with him when you made Mr. O'Brien disappear. And when you prevented him from going out to search for our missing man, you inadvertently made an enemy. Commander Morton, the missing officer, was a close personal friend to Captain Crane. "

Partly mollified, but still suspicious, Pem said nastily, "I told you that man was dead."

"Yes, I know. It is a loss that the entire crew feels deeply, myself included, but Crane doesn't have that many close friends, and he is taking it hard. I've tried to reason with him, make him see the big picture, but I am afraid he is too deep in mourning to see anything clearly." This was the hardest part, using the death of Chip Morton as just another manipulation. Nelson and Crane had thought long and hard about it before deciding there was no dishonor to their absent friend, if using his death resulted in saving the ship.

"Mr. Pem, I know as a humanitarian, you understand these things, and I hope you will be able to forgive the Captain his rashness." Admiral Nelson hoped his tension didn't show in his face. It was one thing to discuss manipulating a madman, quite another to actually do it. He eyed Pem, trying to will the little man into giving the right answers. As if on cue, Pem started preening.

"Why yes, Admiral, of course. Only a great humanitarian would risk everything to save you and your people. Yes." Pem seemed to lose himself in his thoughts. Nelson was uncomfortably aware of the glitter of madness in the strange little man's eye. He worried that Pem had been pushed to far and briefly considered calling the deception off. Then abruptly it was too late as Captain Crane 'stormed' down the companionway.

"Admiral!! Kowalski tells me you intend to let Pem out of the brig. Is that true?" Crane's face was a mask of anger.

Ignoring Pem's hissed 'That is MR. Pem to you!', Nelson approached Captain Crane making placating gestures. "Now, Lee, we've been all through this. Mr. Pem had nothing to do with the Seaview going through that wormhole. Nothing to do with Chip's death."

"How do we know that, Admiral? How do we know this whole thing wasn't arranged just to murder Chip? How do we know he didn't arrange for that bird to fly over just when it did? How do we know that???"

Although Nelson kept his eyes firmly fixed on his 'raging' Captain, he could sense Pem's astonishment. "Now, Lee, I want you to calm down!! These accusations are ludicrous. They are based on grief, and nothing else."

Pem piped up. "What on earth makes you think your officer means anything to me? Anything!! All of you are less than the dirt under my feet to me!!! I am willing to make a sacrifice to save all of your lives. Yes, a SACRIFICE!! Of my precious time, of my skill, and you ACCUSE me of petty murder!! It is not to be borne!! Admiral Nelson, I demand that you return my Time device immediately!! This instant, Sir!!"

"No." Crane spoke the word coldly, with a deadly finality that chilled Nelson to the core. He wondered how much of Crane's rage was an act, or if his suppressed fury at Morton's death had gained the upper hand.

Pem felt the Captain's power even in his deluded state. He shrank back from Crane, but then rebounded with a crafty smirk. "But my dear Captain, if you don't return my Universal Time Translator, how will you ever return to your own time?"

Pem said the words like he was laying out four aces in a poker game.

Lee Crane stood in the doorway of the cell, his face hard and impassive. "If it means keeping a lunatic like you away from people, I will sacrifice this submarine and every man on board. Sir, are you coming?"

For a split second, Nelson didn't realize he had been addressed. He started, then followed his Captain out the cell door and into the corridor beyond. Working with the man on a day to day basis, Nelson sometimes forgot how powerful Lee Crane was. Almost meekly, Nelson followed the tense, seemingly angry man as he strode purposely down the corridor. At the first cross-corridor, they were called to a halt by Kowalski, coming with Mr. Pem's clothing.

"Sir, do I give Mr. Pem his clothes?"

It was a shock to Nelson when Crane replied lightly, "Sure, Ski, why not?"

Nelson found himself breathing a sigh of relief. As Lee and he headed for his cabin, Nelson said with a rueful grin, "Lee, you had me going there for a minute."

Lee confessed, "Actually, I had ME going for a minute, too!! I guess the real question is, did Pem buy it."

The two officers exchanged a worried glance.

Chip Morton stood putting pressure on his right eye with his good hand. His headache had seemed to settle squarely behind that eye. Keeping pressure on the eye seemed to relieve the throbbing. Or at least that was what he told himself. He sighed, thinking about the two eggs in his shirt. He figured he had about an hour before sunset, and he was undecided what to do next. Chip had just topped a small rise in the ground and was faced with what looked like a grove of fern trees. Each of the trees rose thirty to forty feet in the air. Their sudden appearance in his line of march had shaken his confidence badly.

From the cliff, he had seen nothing that appeared to look like a grove of trees. He considered stopping here, eating the eggs and maybe trying to climb one of the trees for the night. He eyed the nearest tree dubiously. The trunk rose up about 25 feet before spreading into a feathery canopy. Not a likely nest for a one armed man.

As he stood debating with himself, a cool breeze tickled his hair. He turned slightly toward it lifting his face to take full advantage. Breathing deeply, he caught a scent as familiar to him as his own nature. The salt tang of sea air meant he was almost there!! There was no question in his mind as he started through the fern trees. The sounds here were different from on the plains, more furtive. Chip thought he caught glimpses of things scrabbling in the trees, but he kept his eyes firmly on the way ahead, refusing to be distracted.

Dusk was settling in as the trees thinned and gave way to grass again. As he reached the last line of trees, he was again tempted to stay in their sparse shelter for the night. Not as far evolved from the apes as you thought, eh, Morton? Chip was convinced that the sea was just over the far rise, little more than a mile away. He could make it before dark easily. He took a few strides past the last fern tree, when some twenty yards directly in front of him, one of the purple blue raptors popped up out of the grass.

Chip felt his heart stop. The animal was looking directly at him. Slowly, carefully, Chip took two steps back until his back was against the last of the fern trees. The animal was starting that deliberate stalk that had gotten the attention of the grazers on the plain. Chip tore his eyes from that terrifying sight and tried to spot the other members of the pack. In the fading daylight it was hard to tell, but he thought he could see at least eight rounded shadows in the grass. With a shaking hand he pulled out his gun. Fumbling off the safety, he squeaked in terror as the toothy predator started to run at him.

The gun was shaking wildly as he lifted it and fired at the animal less that fifteen feet away. The high velocity bullet missed its mark, but the loud bang from the gun brought the animal to a sudden halt. Chip bore down and fired again. The second bullet ripped through the animal, and it dropped without a sound. Chip had no time to think as other members of the pack ran in. He fired again and again. Within a few horrifying seconds, Chip had killed four of the deadly predators.

The rest of the pack had stopped, their small brains trying to puzzle out the connection between the obviously dead packmates and the strange prey with the loud voice. Several members of the pack came over to sniff at their dead brethren. Chip stood a few yards away, pointing the gun first at one, then another of the animals. He tried to remember how many shots he had fired. He knew he didn't have more than one or maybe two bullets left, but he was too traumatized to exchange clips.

One of the larger beasts took a tentative nibble at the dead carcass nearest Chip. He fervently prayed that eating their fellow would satisfy the pack. More and more of the animals were turning to the bounty in front of them, apparently losing interest in the shaking man a few yards away.

Chip fought hard to get himself under control. He found it was easier if he did not look directly at the animals gorging themselves in front of him. He decided his first move should be to put the tree at his back between him and the predatory pack. Before he could put his plan into action, he heard a furtive sound behind him. His heart rose up in his throat. Not all of the pack had given up!! One or more were stalking him from behind!! He bit down on a groan that would attract attention he couldn't afford. He could hear the stalker behind him coming closer. Terror froze him where he was. His mind stuck in a loop, it's gonna hurt, it's gonna hurt'.

Suddenly, with a roar, the biggest nightmare Chip had ever imagined knocked him and the tree over in its pounce on the instantly fleeing raptors. Overwhelmed, Chip passed out cold.

Some time later, Chip Morton awakened in a haze of pain. Opening his eyes to total darkness, his first confused thoughts were that he had been blinded. Something was tickling his face and when he tried to bring his good hand up to brush it away, he found his hand was caught up in the canopy of the fern tree. Memory swooped back, and he froze. In the last moments before darkness had overtaken him, he had gotten a good look at the gigantic attacker. His rational mind identified the beast as tyrannosaurus rex, but the only thing his memory supplied was a picture of a huge jaw lined with dagger sized teeth. Holding his breath against the roaring in his ears, he could make out the unmistakable sound of something feasting nearby.

Slowly, he determined that he was tangled up in the canopy of the fallen fern tree. The darkness was nighttime, not blindness. He had landed on his back and good side, and was facing away from the noisily eating T-Rex. He briefly considered attempting to crawl away, but realized that if the giant T-Rex didn't already know he was there, he didn't want it to find out. He kept still, listening to the crunch of bones, and the wet ripping of sinew and entrails, and waited.

It seemed an eternity before the sounds stopped. There was a short period of snuffling as the T-Rex hunted around for any missed bits, but for a wonder, the animal did not think to look in Chip's direction. Eventually the huge scavenger moved off, possibly seeking it's den, or nest. Chip felt drained. It seemed impossible, but he had survived an encounter with a T-Rex. He nodded off, unable to stay awake any longer.

Chip awakened the next morning just as the night sky had lightened in pre-dawn. The rest had eased the headache, but stiffened the muscles. He was quietly resting trying to identify a distant sound that was vaguely familiar, when a dark shadow loomed above him. His heart started pounding as a head was dropped down toward him. "Noooo!" he screamed as he scrambled to his feet. The twenty- foot tall monster jumped back, letting out a tremendous honking bleat, dropping the mouthful of fern.

Man and beast stood ten feet apart, each breathing hard, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Eyes locked, Chip slowly moved his hand to his holster, only to find it empty. He had dropped the gun last night apparently. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of metal in the first rays of the sun. The gun was practically at his feet. He dropped his eyes momentarily to confirm its position.

Instantly his eyes came back up to the odd looking creature in front of him. It was only about half the size of the T-Rex, but had the same upright ostrich-like stance. Chip could see in the growing light that this animal had a flattened snout with no sign of the sharp dagger-like teeth of the predators that he had seen. An herbivore, then. Keeping his eyes on the big animal, he slowly knelt down and picked up the gun, just as slowly standing up again. He started to check the gun's condition, when the animal made a move. Chip froze as the animal very slowly dipped its head to the ground, never taking its eyes off Chip. It snatched up the fern fronds it had dropped and just as slowly raised its head.

Bemused, Chip took a step to the left. The beast took a step to the right. Warily the two circled each other until Chip had his back to the way he wanted to go, and the hadrosaur was standing on the fern canopy. Chip stood for a minute looking at the beast as it looked at him. In silent accord, man and dinosaur went about their business, Chip limping away, and the herbivore settling down to its breakfast. Chip looked back once to confirm that the animal hadn't moved toward him, then continued his weary walk to the sea.

As he approached the bush covered hillside, the squawking sounds that he had heard earlier became louder. Chip knew he had heard these sounds before, but his tired brain refused to make the identification. He was in among the bushes when he was caught up in a cloud of blue and green, purple and gold. His breath was taken away by the rush of air across wings. Dawn greeters!!! The tiny wren sized pterosaurs that were so beautiful to watch from the boat!! Like a thrill of delight, the myriad wings beat up a soft caressing breeze to touch his heart and give him hope. There were hundreds of them like a rush of magical butterflies rising all around him from the scrubby bushes. As the sun caught their iridescent colors, they flashed like metallic sparkles. As he had on the boat, Chip stood watching in wonder at the beautiful display. Then it all clicked. The squawking sounds were the bobosaurs!!! Climbing the last few feet of the rise, Chip was greeted with the most beautiful sight in this or any other world: The Seaview resting easily at anchor, less than two hundred yards away.

Chip steadied himself against his suddenly weak knees. He reminded himself of the small matter of a herd of bobosaurs between him and the water, not to mention sharks that would consider him a light snack. Still, all he had to do was attract the attention of the bridge watch, then Lee or the Admiral would figure out a way to get to him. He wiped his suddenly tear-stained face before reaching for the gun. Gunfire would attract their attention. Then Doc would take care of him. Chip looked down at the gun, working to thumb off the safety, when he heard a thunderous clap! He jerked his head up, oblivious to the sudden pain. The Seaview was gone.

Lee Crane stood back in the shadows of the missile room, watching as Admiral Nelson pandered to the egomaniacal Pem. He had to work hard to keep his fists from clenching. Every time he was in the same room as the smirking smarmy bastard he wanted to hit him. Even across the room as he was now, he felt as if he had been covered with slime. He didn't know how Nelson did it.

Lee listened to the conversation between Pem and Nelson, knowing it was crucial that he put in his appearance at exactly the right moment. The Admiral and he had decided that they needed to keep things moving so fast that Pem never had a chance to think, only to react. Nelson had gone down to the brig and released Pem less than fifteen minutes ago, and already the first displacement had taken place.

By the feel of it, they had moved as far into the future as the initial displacement had moved them into the past. A quick check with Sparks had confirmed that they were not home yet. There was no sign of any radio carrier waves. Admiral Nelson had speculated that Pem had wanted to set of his missile sometime in recorded history, and the present situation seemed to confirm that, although there was no way to tell without actually surfacing and looking around, something that they had no time to do.

Lee perked up. Pem was starting to examine the settings on the missile. Enter stage right. Striding forcefully forward, Lee ordered, "Pem, get away from that!! Admiral, what are you doing! I don't want this man anywhere near one of my missiles!"

Pem jumped back hissing like a cornered rat. Admiral Nelson moved between Lee and Pem. There was steel in his voice as he said, "Lee, this is still MY boat! Don't presume to tell me what to do!"

Turning to face Nelson squarely, Lee gritted "I am still the Captain of the Seaview. The safety of the boat and of every member of the crew is MY responsibility. As long as I am Captain, you will bear that in mind."

Lee turned his back on the seething Admiral, and reached for an intercom mike. "Master-at-Arms, report to the missile room at once!"

Lee turned back to see Nelson stomp over to the missile silo and slam home the launch key. "Admiral, no!!!" screamed Lee even as the boat rocked with the launch.

Nelson turned to the stunned Pem, and shouted "Pem, now!! Get us home now, before the Captain aborts the missile!" Lee did his part, springing toward the silo control pad. As expected he didn't make it. He felt the time displacement as he was reaching for the abort switch. When he closed the switch, there was no missile to abort. He turned a look of horror on Pem.

Pem's face was wreathed in a benevolent smile. "There! You see! You are home, all safe and sound! I kept my word."

"What did you do? Where did that missile land? Pem, what did you do?" Lee Crane, instead of feeling relief, felt nothing but a growing rage.

With a look of mock reproach Pem said, "Why, it destroyed Rome, of course! It exploded in the middle of the forum just as Julius Caesar was about to address the Senate." Pem's smile turned malevolent. "You are home, Captain, but it is not the world you know. It is, however, a world that I can control." Turning to a shocked Nelson, Pem made a mock bow. "Adieu, Admiral, and my thanks." With that, he pressed a button on his time device, and disappeared.

All around the missile room, men let out their held breath. With a rueful look at Admiral Nelson, Lee again reached for the intercom mike. "Sparks? What's the radio traffic like?"

Sparks' relief was evident when he replied, "Sounds just like home, Skipper."

A cheer went up in the missile room, and could be heard echoed from the control room by the intercom speakers. Lee grinned at Admiral Nelson, who was chuckling softly to himself. "What do you think he will do when he finds out that his ploy didn't work?"

"I don't know, Lee, and frankly, I don't care. Take us home, Captain!" Nelson slapped his friend heartily on the back.

Lee smiled and headed for the control room.

Chip Morton sat on a rock contemplating a gun. He rubbed his thumb over the utilitarian grip, hefting its steel weight. He felt nothing. Seeing the Seaview gone had pulled a plug out somewhere in his soul, and all his emotions had swirled away down a cosmic drain. He was a dead man and that was a fact. There was no question of long term survival. As soon as the bullets were gone so was he. If not that, then the infection that was raging in his shoulder would kill him. And what was the point of surviving anyway? He pondered the gun in his hand. All of his adult life he had been around guns, using them as he would any other tool. He thought about the pain in his shoulder. His body was betraying him, and he knew that soon he would be too weak. Too weak to fight. Too weak to care. All he had to do was raise the gun to his head, and it would all go away. He wondered why he couldn't do it.

His reflections were interrupted by a strange whistling sound that grew louder as he looked around. With a loud pop, Mr. Pem appeared directly in front of him. Automatically, Chip brought the gun to bear. The smarmy smile froze on the man's face, but he stepped forward toward Chip. "Ah, Commander Morton, I do believe!! Let me introduce myself..."

"What are you talking about, Pem? I know who you are."

Pem stopped confused. "You know? But how? You disappeared before I arrived. How can you know who I am?"

Holding the gun steady, Chip belatedly took in Pem's appearance. Realizing he had made a mistake, Chip did not respond. Pem's frown turned into a pout. "You might as well put that gun down, Commander. I came here as a... a humanitarian! That's right, a humanitarian. I realized you were left behind when I rescued your Admiral and his remarkable ship, so I have come to offer you salvation. I have come to take you home."

Chip kept the gun pointed at Pem, and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. "Tell me another one."

Pem sneered, "You'll see!" and raised the alarm clock in Chip's direction. Chip immediately fired the gun, striking Pem high in the shoulder. Pem spun around and fell to the ground, dropping the time device, which Chip walked over and scooped up before returning to his perch on the rock.

Pem sat up, holding his shoulder and crying like a small child. "Why did you do that? I was going to send you HOME!! Oh, it hurts, it hurts!"

Chip sat looking at the device in his hand. "How do you work this thing?"

Pem answered quickly. "Don't touch it!! You'll ruin everything!! You don't understand! I came here to SAVE you! And you shot me!! Why did you do that? What is wrong with you? You must be crazy."

In disgust, Chip stated, "If you don't stop that whining, I'll shoot you again! Save me? The only reason you would want to save me is if it gave you some advantage. And I will tell you one thing right now. I would rather die here, then give you any kind of advantage. So tell me, Mr. Pem, exactly why did you come here?"

Pem raised his head in haughty disdain, and turned away. Chip sighed, and carefully put the clock on the ground, then pulled out the gun. "What do you say I just shoot you in the leg?"

With a squeak, Mr. Pem wrapped his arms around his legs and looked with defiance over at this blond maniac. "You've got 'til three to start talking, Pem. I want to know why you came back. And I will know if you are lying. ONE. I have absolutely nothing to lose here. TWO. I want to see you dead, Pem. You are going to have to work to keep me from killing you. THREE."

"All right! All right! I didn't think you mattered. I didn't think you mattered at all. But when I returned to my own time, I discovered that my life was changed. I didn't like the changes, so I came back. You see? You don't have to stay here! You can go home! Just give me my translator device, and I will take you there!"

With a humorless snort, Chip replied, "Not on your life, Pem. You just tell me how to work it."

"No!! No, it's mine! Give it to me!" Pem climbed to his feet, his jacket blood drenched.

Chip smiled grimly, "You are going to sit down, right now, or I will put you out of your misery, you slimy little bastard."

Pem stood obstinately. Anger clouded his face. "That time translator is mine, not yours, MINE. An insignificant brain like yours could never grasp the nuances of its use! If you don't give it to me immediately, I will leave you stranded here, forever!"

With a patience he didn't feel Chip said. "Sit down. Now." He pointed the gun meaningfully at Pem's legs, and when he still hesitated, thumbed off the safety. With a petulant frown, the little man folded his legs under him, and sat back down on the ground.

Still holding the gun, Chip reached down and got a grip on the clock. Looking at the various levers and buttons on the back, he noticed one button was sticking up higher than the others. A glance at Pem gave no clues as the demented man was sitting on the ground pretending not to watch Chip's inspection. With no real intent, Chip said, "What happens if I push this?"

Pem screamed wordlessly and lunged at Chip. Startled, Chip put pressure on the button. And everything went strange. Chip felt himself swirling down the cosmic drain that he had imagined earlier. He fell, drifting through fields of colors and tastes and feelings and smells It seemed endless and unreal. Then suddenly it all stopped, and he was stumbling in a gray metal corridor. Beyond surprise or shock, he took in his surroundings. Although featureless, Chip instantly identified the corridor as one on the Seaview. He was home.

Chip stood swaying slightly looking at the time device in his hands. He realized if he destroyed it, he destroyed Pem. Without the device, the egomaniacal Mr. Pem would have no way to return to his own time. He would be stranded in the past, just as Chip had been. Stranded with the dinosaurs, waiting to die. Stranded without hope, without compassion. Without understanding why, Chip pressed the button again and tossed the device away. It was gone before it even hit the ground. Staring for a moment at the space where the clock had been, Chip Morton turned and made his weary way to Sickbay.

Admiral Nelson stared unseeing at the resume in front of him. He was a tired man, feeling his age. It had been over two months since the episode with the demented genius Mr. Pem, and nothing seemed to have gone right since. Upon returning to port, he had offered the position of Executive Officer to Bob O'Brien only to have the man quit outright. Lee Crane had seemed to recover from his grief over Chip Morton's death, but had been unable to adjust to any of the three temporary Execs sent over by the Navy. Without a competent man in that position, the supply structure was slowly crumbling. And to date, the government had not allowed any of the fantastic discoveries that the Seaview made while in the past to be published.

Nelson sighed. Without the calming influence of Chip Morton, he and Lee Crane squabbled like a couple of old biddies. Nelson mourned the loss of the man, the officer, the friend. Shaking himself, he looked again at the resume in front of him. Lt. Frank Bishop had served on the Seaview before, substituting for Chip when he was involved in the DSV program in Norfolk. Lee had seemed to get along with Bishop well enough at the time. Nelson tried to convince himself that Bishop would work out.

His musings were interrupted by a soft knock on the cabin door. Without lifting his head, he called "Come," and the door opened to admit Lee Crane. "Oh, Lee. Come in."

"Admiral, I wanted to go over some of these manifests."

"Of course, Lee. Sit down. Coffee?" Nelson swung around to the ever-present percolator sitting on the bookcase behind his desk.

"Yes, thank you, Sir." Lee responded automatically. "Now about this manifest..."

"Lee, not now. I wanted to talk to you about that incident with Mr. Godwin."

"Admiral, Godwin is an idiot. I don't trust him. I don't trust his navigation."

"Why, Lee? Has he made a single error?"

"No, but..."

"Has he failed to keep the log properly?"

"Admiral...."

"Has he disobeyed a single order?"

Crane sighed, not meeting the Admiral's eye. "No, Sir."

"Then just what is it, Lee? You are about to put a black mark on a promising career, and I want to know why!"

Lee didn't answer. To Nelson, it was as if Lee didn't know the answer himself. Gently, he said, "Lee, you can't spend the rest of your career blaming every blond-haired, blue eyed officer for not being Chip Morton."

Lee's head jerked up at that. Nelson caught a glimpse of pain quickly covered when Lee said, "Admiral, this has nothing to do with Chip. He's dead, and that's the end of it. No, Sir, I do not trust Mike Godwin and I wouldn't trust him if his hair was purple and his eyes red. I..."

"Admiral Nelson this is Sickbay."

Both men were relieved by the interruption. Nelson pushed a button on the intercom, and responded, "Yes, Doc, what is it?"

"Sir, I think you had better come down here. Is the Captain with you? You'd better bring him too."

Glancing at Lee, Nelson replied, "We're on our way."

The two men walked briskly to the sickbay, and entered. Nelson took two steps in and stopped dead. Lee ran into him from behind, started to apologize, then he too stopped in his tracks. There on the examination table, supported by a corpsman holding him upright while the doctor examined his back, was Chip Morton. Filthy, barely conscious, but undeniably alive. Admiral Nelson stood rooted to the spot, emotions coursing through him. Relief and joy warred with guilt as he flashed a memory of Chip's fear of abandonment.

Lee recovered first. He stepped over to his friend who simply stared at him. Nelson ached for the younger man's exhaustion. Lee looked at his resurrected friend and said, "Chip, where the hell have you been? I turned my back on you for two seconds, and you went off joyriding on a giant chicken!"

Lee was rewarded when a ghost of a smile crossed Chip's face. Nelson wished he had that easy camaraderie. His voice choked with emotion as he said, "Chip, I..."

The calm blue eyes met his, there was a brief flash of understanding, compassion, before the effort of staying awake was too much, and Chip drifted off. His composure slipping, Nelson felt a hard lump in his throat. Lee put a gentle hand on his arm and murmured, "It's all right, Sir. He's back, it will all be okay. Doc, how is he? How could he survive two months there?"

"Well, I can't be sure until he can tell us what happened, but I would say he was only there for a few days. This shoulder and neck injury is consistent with what I would expect from that incident with the pterosaur. There is an infection there, but no sign of sepsis. He's lost a bit of weight, but not that much. Once I get the infection under control, I will go in and put a few pins in to hold his scapula together. He came in saying he couldn't feel his right arm, but that will respond to therapy, it was actually a pinched nerve in the neck. All in all, he is actually in pretty good shape."

Nelson breathed a short laugh, and exchanged a look of utter relief with Crane.

Doc finished his examination, and removing surgical gloves, ordered the Admiral and Captain to leave. Neither man was so inclined, but the doctor was adamant, telling them Morton never rested properly if there were superior officers in the room. Reluctantly, Nelson called Lee to him, and they left the room.

They had not yet reached the cross-corridor, before Doc hurried out after them and handed Nelson two turkey sized eggs. Admiral Nelson handled the warm hardened eggs reverently. As he grasped them, he could feel the movement within. Dinosaur eggs!! Viable dinosaur eggs!!!

With a grin, Doc said, "With Mr. Morton's compliments."

Admiral Nelson looked up with a smile on his face, the weight of years dropping away as if it had never been. "Does he know what kind these are? Did he say?"

"Why yes, Admiral, he did know what kind they are." said Doc, with a twinkle in his eye. "He calls them Lunchosaurs."

Nelson blinked as Doc and Lee broke out into guffaws.

Bob O'Brien woke to the sun streaming into his penthouse windows. He looked around at the opulence of his bedroom, and thought with disgust that it looked like a high priced whorehouse. He shook his head, then immediately regretted it as the hangover hit like a ton of bricks. No doubt about it, he had to stop the drinking.

He had been amazed when he found how much the private sector was willing to pay him for doing less work in a week than he did in an average day at the Nelson Institute. At first, it had seemed like a fantasy come true, but in a very short time Bob had come to realize that the work he was doing was meaningless compared to the saving-the-world accomplishments of the Seaview. He regretted his decision to leave every day, but he knew there was no way back. He had all but served Chip Morton up on an alter, and though Captain Crane denied it, Bob O'Brien saw the accusation in Crane's eyes every time he looked his way. Bob sighed, and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, he was showered, shaved and dressed, a quick-change habit he had picked up in the Navy.

Bob was headed for the kitchen, when he heard a sharp knock on his door. Scowling, he went to open it. This was supposed to be a security building, but solicitors were always getting past the security guard, a man who was elderly even before Bob was born. He pulled open the door, expecting to confront some kid selling stale candy, and his mind went totally blank.

After a long moment, that familiar deep voice said, "Bobby, I would love to just stand here waiting for you to recover, but I wanna sit down."

Bob stared a moment longer, then a slow smile crept over his face. "You're alive!"

"Brilliant observation, Lieutenant. Now, can I please come in?"

Bob felt himself starting to giggle. "I don't believe this!! Please! Come in, sit down. Commander, oh my god, I can't believe this!! How did you survive? How did you get back? Are you okay?"

Bob reached out, needing to touch Morton, needing to confirm the reality. With an air of patience, Chip allowed the familiarity. "Do you know, everybody on board has done that? I am getting to feel like a piece of dry goods. Everybody's always pawing at me."

Morton looked around the spacious well-appointed living room. "You know, Bobby, if you are going to punish yourself, you really should try going the hovel route. This place just doesn't have the right sackcloth-and-ashes look to it."

Bob felt his face color under Morton's impassive gaze. Unable to meet the man's eye, Bob said quietly, "I just couldn't stay."

"Why?"

Bob felt a lump form in his throat. "Sir, I..."

"You can call me Chip. You're a civvie, now."

Somehow, that just made it worse. Bob found he had to fight back tears. "I'm not fit to be an officer. I ran from the first truly tough decision that I ever had to make."

"And what decision was that?"

"I knew you were alive."

"Excuse me? I didn't hear what you said."

"I said, I knew you were alive. I knew that somehow you would survive. I knew that, and I just let them leave you behind."

"So, you thought I was alive, and you let them leave me behind? Why?"

"What? What does it matter? I left you behind!!"

"So you are saying you were in command at the time?"

"No, but I should have convinced them. The Captain and the Admiral, I mean. If I had just convinced them...."

"If you had convinced them that I was alive, what do you think would have happened?"

"We would have come after you, we would have saved you."

"Well, just for the moment, let's set aside the fact that I did a pretty decent job of saving myself. What about the boat? What about the crew? Did the Captain explain to you about Admiral Nelson's theory that the Flying Sub's mass was required for a successful translation?"

"Yes, but...."

"Yes, but what? Bob? Look at me. You knew that you couldn't come after me. I understand that you wanted to, but there was no way that you could do it without putting everyone else on the boat at risk. Now, let's start again, and this time, be truthful with yourself. Why did you feel you couldn't stay at NIMR?"

Bob wanted nothing more than to get up and walk away, to leave and never have to face those steady, compassionate eyes again. Instead, he faced Morton and said in a dry, clear voice, "Because it was my fault."

"What was?"

With exasperation, Bob O'Brien admitted it. "Commander, it was my fault that you were taken that day. I was the one who was supposed to know. I should have realized that you never turn your back on a predator. I should have cleared the bridge the minute Ski said it was coming. But I didn't." Looking Morton in the eye, Bob said, "Sir, you should have saved yourself, not me. If you had just ducked, instead pushing me down, you would never have been taken."

Morton snorted, "Is that what you think? I was saving you? Heck, Bobby, I was pushing you toward the bird, not away from it! I just got clumsy, is all."

Bob felt his distress drain away. He had missed this man! He had missed all of them. But he still felt he could not return. Morton eyed him thoughtfully. "I imagine Captain Crane told you were not to blame. Well, I disagree. I happen to agree with you, it was your fault. You're right, you should have cleared the bridge. Your failure to do so could have resulted in a tragedy. One, that I might add, would have been especially tragic to me.

"But I do not see this lapse any differently than you sitting up on the gunwale. Bobby, you need to see this clearly. If you had fallen to your death, how do you think I would have felt? How do you think Lee Crane and Harry Nelson would've felt? Do you think Stu Riley could've handled the guilt? The crew of the Seaview is unlike any submarine crew in the world. We make up a gestalt that is stronger than any military unit you can name. That's why it is so hard on us all when anyone of us are hurt.

"You know Doc Jamieson hates the way Captain Crane refuses to stay put in sickbay, right? Lee doesn't fight Doc because he's stupid. He doesn't fight because he enjoys pushing his body beyond its limits. He does it because he knows that when he is hurt, the gestalt is hurt. He gets up and ignores the pain because he knows that you and I, and every other member of the crew perform better, smarter when we know he is okay."

Morton challenged O'Brien with a look. "Whether you choose to believe it or not, you are an important part of that gestalt. Yeah, Bobby, you made some mistakes on that trip, but then, so did I. We both paid a heavy price for it, but now it is over. And I think two months punishment duty is enough. So, are you ready to come home? Are you ready to help me identify all of those 'good' dinosaurs that I saw?"

Bob looked around at all the things money had bought him in the last two months. He looked over at his Exec, with a smile, knowing that he would willingly leave it all behind. "Yes, Sir!"

The two men stood up and walked to the door. As they exited and headed down the hall, Morton put a friendly arm around O'Brien's shoulder. "Lieutenant, did you know that Bobosaurs smell even worse alive than dead?"