You blink in astonishment. Your throat constricts as you behold your nemesis, Darien Vance, complete with the same supercilious grin and the same world-is-his-oyster manner that you last saw in Dean Mean's office. Everything falls into place. That bastard not only stole your proof of concept for time travel, but he also used your plans—all your hard work—to build his own time machine!
Clutching the microphone in one fist—a fist that you'd rather use to deck him—you mutter, "Vance, you scum-sucking shit-brain, may you get pecked to death by a pack of rabid troodontids. No, that would be too good for you."
Brett holds up a finger to her lips and motions you to keep on watching.
In Vance's hand is a bottle of Dom Pérignon champagne. "Come on out," he shouts. Did he hear you?
You glance back the way you came, judging the distance to your Land Rover, tensing to sprint, your pulse already racing. Brett places a steadying hand on your shoulder with a small shake of her head. You realize that Vance isn't looking in your direction.
"Bring the glasses," Vance says to someone in the RV. Now you know why the RV's so familiar—it's the one that you remember being parked in Vance's driveway. Meanwhile, he unwraps the foil on the champagne bottle and twists the wire cage securing the cork, while humming the refrain from Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride."
The passenger's-side door opens, and out steps a second time traveler. Another familiar face—this one from the university's engineering school. With a couple of tentative steps, Skyler sets foot on the Cretaceous moss, video camera perched on one shoulder, strapped securely in place and trained on Vance. Skyler points a microphone at Vance, who pops the champagne cork. It flies off and vanishes amid the primeval lichens. Wide-eyed, gawking Skyler, tool belt dangling from one hip is: