CON'S COMSET SILENTLY vibrated. She surreptitiously removed it from her pocket and glanced at its screen when her calculus teacher turned his back. The message from Mother was short and cryptic--"Your father called. Has surprise. Limo to meet you after school." Con wondered what the surprise could be. She doubted Mother knew. Most likely, it was another of her father's sporadic and extravagant gestures, like the horse she received a month after he forgot her sixteenth birthday. The limo was a dead giveaway.

Limousines were common at Con's school, so no one betrayed any interest when she departed in a big hydrogen-electric Mercedes. It took her to an office building in a fashionable district of the city. When the driver opened the car door, Con's father was waiting outside. Con groaned inwardly when she saw that he had his new fiancée with him. Con recognized her from the tabloids, but she was even more striking in person. Curvaceous, with intense green eyes and dramatic black hair, she seemed too perfect to be real. Con suspected little of her was.

"Hi, Daddy," she said.

"Hi, honey. I'd like you to meet Sara."

"Hi," said Con. "I've seen you on the news."

"Don't believe everything they say," said Sara, smiling and extending her hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. John's told me so much about you."

Con shook Sara's hand. "Don't believe everything Daddy says about me."

"He says only the nicest things."

"That's what I mean."

"We're expected," said John Greighton impatiently, ushering his daughter and his fiancée inside. An elevator took them to an expensively decorated office on one of the upper floors. As soon as they entered, a receptionist rose to greet them. "Mr. Greighton," she said, "welcome to Montana Isle. Ms. Smythe is expecting you."

Con watched the aforementioned Ms. Smythe advance toward them. She was elegantly dressed, and her smiling face had been redone in the currently fashionable angular look. Con recognized the designer. The surgery was almost certainly a knockoff, but it was well-done. None of the exaggerated planes of Ms. Smythe's face seemed overly unnatural.

"Mr. Greighton, I'm so pleased you've come. I'm Ann Smythe. I can answer your questions about our unique offering."

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

Con spoke up and corrected him, "It's 'Con.' "

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

"If we go . . . yes. You weren't very clear about the nature of your resort. What you told me was intriguing, but vague . . . damned vague."

"We've been secretive," admitted Ann, "I think soon you'll understand why. This is something extraordinary, and we're not catering to the general public. Our clientele appreciates privacy." Ann, a consummate salesperson, paused for effect before proceeding. "If you're expecting a sales pitch, don't worry. This isn't just a resort. Words can't possibly describe Montana Isle. It's almost beyond belief, nothing is remotely like it. Fortunately, we have this . . ."

A pair of doors glided open to reveal two seats floating in a short hallway that led to a large, empty room. The chamber beyond was spherical, and the hallway formed an opening halfway up its sides. The room's shimmering silver walls revealed it was a holotheater. Over thirty feet in diameter, it was the largest Con had ever seen. Ann appeared pleased with the effect such a huge expenditure made on her prospective customers; even John Greighton seemed impressed.

"Only a holovision could possibly convey what we're offering. You'll be the first people outside our organization to see it." Ann gestured toward the two waiting seats. Mr. Greighton, why don't you and Sara get comfortable while I get another seat for your daughter."

Con watched Ann and the receptionist struggle to lug a heavy seat to the hallway from a nearby supply closet. Once it was in place, Ann went to a console outside the hall and activated some controls. The seat levitated upward to the proper height. Con walked over to the floating seat and sat down. Once Ann saw that everyone was buckled in, she returned to the console, pressed a button, and the outer doors of the holotheater closed.

Con's seat bobbed slightly as it levitated to the center of the holotheater. Once she was in position, the chamber's silver walls darkened until she could barely see her father and his fiancée floating close by. The holovision began subtly. First, the darkness above was pricked by stars. The soft sounds of water became perceptible. Con looked down and saw the starlight reflected on the gentle waves of a sea. For a short while, all she could see was water and the night sky.

The waves continued to move in a natural manner, but the sky changed at a pace accelerated for dramatic effect. It lightened, and soon dawn painted the heavens with increasingly bold colors, which the waves reflected back. On the horizon, snowcapped mountains glowed orange pink in the day's first light. The sun rose higher, and its rays touched the sea, seeming to set it on fire. It rose higher still, and the water, which had blazed rosy gold just moments before, became clear. Con peered into its crystal depths. A school of fish swam beneath, the sunrise sparkling pink and gold on their silver scales.

A huge, dark green creature swam into the school, flapping its front flippers like wings. The animal's long and snakelike neck thrust its head among the fleeing fish, grabbing one. Next, the creature swam upward until its head and neck burst through the waves. It seemed so close that Con could stare into its golden eyes. A large fish flapped crosswise in its jaws. As Con stared in wonder at the plesiosaur, she heard Sara squeal like she was at an amusement park. The creature, being only an illusion, ignored them both. It flipped the fish into the air and caught it to swallow headfirst. Then, arching its neck downward, the animal submerged and swam off into the depths.

The view began to change again. Soon Con felt that she was flying rapidly over the surface of the sea. Only the lack of wind in her face made the illusion incomplete. The sense of motion was accompanied by music, then words. "Come to the springtime of the world . . . a time when the Earth was new . . . unspoiled . . . and filled with wonders. A startling scientific breakthrough allows Temporal Transport to offer the ultimate travel experience." The music began to swell as an island became visible in the distance, the early-morning sun glowing on its rocky sides. ". . . Montana Isle, set in the pristine beauty of America's ancient Montana Sea. The most exclusive destination in history . . . enjoy absolute privacy amidst the untouched splendor of nature." Con's seat seemed to fly over the island, then circle back. The island was small and mostly rocky. In its center, a mesa of dark rock rose from a grove of trees. For an instant, Con thought she spotted some structures clustered at the base of the spire, but her perspective changed before she could be sure. Her seat dipped toward low rocky cliffs above sandy beaches. Now the gently rolling waves appeared inches beneath her feet. Instinctively, she lifted her legs. A haze, tinted gold by the morning light, gave the view a dreamlike quality. "Montana Isle . . . as close as your back door and millions of years from everything." The music swelled to a crescendo as Con's seat seemed to soar higher and higher above the island until it was a tiny fleck of gold in a sapphire blue sea. The mainland was now visible, covered with greenery and cut by rivers flowing from the nearby mountains. The unpolluted air was so clear she could see for miles. It was a sight of breathtaking beauty.

The vision faded, and they were once again looking at the silver walls of the holotheater. Con's father grinned like a kid discovering an exotic new toy. Sara glanced at him, then formed her expression into a demure imitation of his. Con's reaction was more complicated. She was enchanted, even dazzled, yet dubious that the holovision was genuine. While part of her hoped it was, she also found that prospect unsettling.

As the seats floated back to their starting places, the doors parted to reveal Ann Smythe waiting for them. Next to her was a small table with champagne in a silver ice bucket and four glasses. "You're the first to see it," she said, popping the cork. "I thought we'd celebrate. Dom Perignon, vintage 2047."

By the time they were out of their seats, Ann had filled three glasses. She hesitated and looked to John Greighton before filling the fourth. "I know your daughter's not quite eighteen, but perhaps you'd . . ."

"I don't drink," said Con before her father could answer.

Ann gave John and Sara their glasses. They were made from hand-cut crystal. "A toast!" she said. "To the ultimate travel experience . . . time travel!"

Copyright © 2002 by Will Hubbell