One of them went to the hatch and waved his arm. Another man entered the cabin. He wore a white shirt with a black tie, and for a moment Bobby thought the man was Natsir Santoso. But of course that wasn’t possible. Santoso had suffered a terrible death eight months ago, transformed into a dinosaur and then shot dead—another death that weighed heavily on Bobby’s conscience.
“My name is Satria Wahid. I represent the Sentani International Airport, as well as the people of Papua. We allowed you to land because you claim you have a solution to the crisis in Puerto Rico, which may soon become a global crisis.” He looked at a watch on his wrist. “You have exactly three minutes in which to further explain your purpose. If I do not find it convincing, I have the authority to order you to depart immediately.”
This was followed by silence. Bobby realized several of the armed men were staring at him. They may have recognized him, but more likely they were staring at his hair, which was now hanging to his shoulders from the two spots where Ashley had rubbed the Lamotelokhai clay.
Jonathan said, “As I explained on approach, we have a way to stop the outbreak in Puerto Rico. You know of the Lamotelokhai, right?”
Wahid’s eyes were fixed on Bobby. “Of course. And I am aware that it originated here in Papua. It was taken from us.”
“That’s ancient history now,” Jonathan said. “I’m sure you’re aware the Lamotelokhai has helped all of humanity—without being in possession of the United States or any other country.” Jonathan paused. “Look, Mr. Wahid, this boy is Bobby Truex.” He nodded toward Bobby. “And you may recognize Ashley Stoddard and Carlos Herrera. These are the people who discovered the Lamotelokhai. We’ve come here because using the Lamotelokhai is the only way to stop the outbreak in Puerto Rico. We can save millions of lives, maybe even more. But there is something here in Papua the Lamotelokhai needs first. All we ask is that you allow us to travel inland to get what it needs.”
Wahid’s eyes narrowed. “So you wish to take something. Again.”
Bobby decided if they were going to take the approach of being honest, they might as well tell everything. He unzipped his duffel bag and hefted the lump of clay to his lap. “Mr. Wahid, this is part of the Lamotelokhai.”
Wahid’s eyes widened. Several of the soldiers beside him backed away as if he were holding a bomb.
Bobby went on. “This is only part of it, because a group of power-hungry people captured it and took it apart. That was in Puerto Rico. It’s what started the outbreak there. We brought this here because the Lamotelokhai made backups of its memory, and the backups are out there in the jungle. We have to get to them to fix the Lamotelokhai, so that the Lamotelokhai can stop the outbreak. And we really need to hurry.”
Wahid continued staring at the clay. “What game are you playing?”
Bobby put his hands on the lump. He formed words silently in his mind. “Can you hear me? I need your help right now.”
An array of symbols appeared before his eyes. “More knowledge, more help.”
“Soon I’ll get you a lot more knowledge. But right now I need help. What things can you do best right now with the knowledge you have?”
The symbols shifted. “Please talk different.”
“I ask you, what game are you playing?” Wahid said.
Bobby lifted his hands from the clay to clear his vision. “Give me just a minute. I want to prove that we’re telling the truth.”
Ashley turned to him and gave him a look that said, you better know what the hell you’re doing.
He nodded to her and placed his hands back on the clay. “I know you’re not good at zapping things from one place to another,” he thought. “You really screwed that up. I need to know what you’re good at. What can you do without screwing it up?”
Symbols appeared—a lot of them. “Calculate with numbers, recall stored information, predict outcomes, manipulate materials, make mechanical things, modify biological—”
Bobby stopped reading. Manipulate materials and make mechanical things? He looked around for something. A television screen and a few audio controls were next to his seat, but he didn’t see much else that wasn’t part of the plane. Suddenly an idea came to him. He looked at the wall of the cabin and followed it up to the ceiling. Of course.
“There’s something I want you to do,” he thought. “We’re in a passenger jet right now. It’s a machine that’s made to fly people around to different places on the planet. But it took us twenty-three hours to fly here from Puerto Rico. I bet the aliens who made you had better airplanes than this. Can you change this airplane to make it better?”
Symbols appeared. “Unknown. I will evaluate airplane and then I will know. Need to touch airplane.”
Bobby looked up at Wahid and the soldiers. They were watching him, waiting. He eased forward to the edge of his seat and placed the clay on the floor against the wall. Within seconds the wall began to waver, as if it had become soft. The wavering spread up the wall and across the floor like a ripple on the surface of a pond.
The Indonesian men began talking excitedly, but Bobby didn’t turn away from the clay. He realized the lump was quickly getting smaller. Its particles were flowing into the aircraft. Within seconds it was only a little larger than a grapefruit. He quickly gathered it up.
“What are you doing?” he asked silently. “I didn’t say to disappear.”
Symbols appeared. “Airplane appears large. Many of my parts needed.”
Bobby exhaled, relieved that the clay could at least still talk to him. What would have happened if he hadn’t picked it up?
The floor began to disintegrate under Bobby’s feet. He and Ashley jumped up and backed away, crowding Wahid and the soldiers.
“What is happening?” Wahid cried.
“What’s happening?” Bobby asked the diminished lump in his hands.
“Evaluating airplane,” was the reply.
Wahid stumbled past two of the soldiers, heading for the hatch.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Bobby shouted. But he was now standing there alone. All the others were leaving the plane, including Captain Kirk.
Ashley was the last of them to exit the hatch. She turned back to Bobby. “Don’t just stand there, the damn plane’s coming apart!”
She was right. The wall and floor were continuing to disintegrate, and now Bobby could see through the growing hole to the tarmac below. The edges of the expanding hole writhed with movement—thousands of little squirming bugs, like inchworms made of metal or plastic. He backed away a little more, but he wasn’t really afraid. He had seen this before. Months ago, this was what the Lamotelokhai had done to a police car just before moving all its tiny pieces to the minivan they’d rented. It had then used the extra parts to transform the van into a jet-powered flying vehicle.
Bobby shouted, “I thought you were just going to evaluate the plane!”
Symbols appeared. “Yes. Evaluating.”
Ashley had come back into the plane, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the hatch. “Now!”
Bobby finally gave in, and they scrambled down the stairs and joined the others on the runway. Bobby turned around in time to see the Cessna fold in the center, its belly crashing to the tarmac. This tipped the nose and tail skyward, but then the plane separated in the middle, and the tail end, which extended far beyond the rear wheels, fell backward and hit the ground with a clamor of crunching metal.
Everyone silently backed away. Wahid and the policemen were apparently too stunned by the sight to say anything. No other planes were landing or taking off at the moment, and Bobby could actually hear the chittering and scraping of thousands of metallic bugs. A green armored truck with six tires and POLISI printed on the side screeched to a stop beside the awestruck crowd. Two soldiers got out, but they just stood there staring.
The two halves of the Cessna began dissolving where they had separated. Another six-wheeled military truck—the one that had stopped the plane—was parked just below the Cess
na’s nose. Bobby could already predict what was going to happen.
“Someone needs to move that truck!” he shouted.
No one moved. The bugs were still eating away at the plane, causing pieces of it to fall like snow into a heap. This quickly progressed until the nose was heavier than the portion behind the front landing gear, and the jet’s nose tipped forward and crashed onto the truck. The truck was heavy-duty and didn’t seem badly damaged by this, but when the chittering bugs reached the end of the jet’s nose, they kept going. They were consuming the truck as well.
When there was nothing left of the jet and truck but a pile of tiny particles, it all stopped.
Symbols appeared before Bobby’s eyes. “Airplane evaluated.”
Bobby had forgotten he was holding the lump of clay. “You destroyed it,” he said aloud.
“I make airplane better. Yes or no?”
He stared at the heap of particles. “Yes.”
The particles became chittering bugs again.
Mr. Wahid spoke up. “You have the Lamotelokhai. You have convinced me of that. Now convince me that I should not request that our military forces destroy this…” He waved at the huge pile, unable to come up with a word for it.
Jonathan, Ashley, and Carlos stayed silent. Apparently it was up to Bobby to explain. He looked at the shifting pile of jet-bugs. For all he knew, the softball-sized chunk of clay was incapable of making anything at all, let alone an aircraft even better than the Cessna. But he had to say something.
“We’re having the Lamotelokhai make a new aircraft. It’s a gift to your country, for letting us get what we came here for. The aircraft will be the most advanced ever made.”
Ashley was glaring at him.
“Will you accept this gift?” he asked Mr. Wahid.
Wahid turned to the pile without answering. It was still just a seething pile of jet-bugs. Maybe Wahid was right—maybe they should destroy it with bombs now, before the deconstruction process began spreading and killing people.
Bobby spoke silently to the clay in his hands. “Please, do this right. You’re not doing anything that will hurt people, are you?”
Symbols appeared. “Making airplane better.”
Bobby watched the shifting mountain of robot bugs. Gradually the pile began to change its shape. A cylinder formed, about the size of the Cessna Citation’s body. But it was exactly the same at both ends—a long point, curving to one side. The cylinder’s surface became smooth and black. Blacker than black, with no visible seams. And no windows. It was just a long, black tube with curved, pointed tips.
The entire cylinder rolled to the side, and since the tips were curved, when the points touched the runway this forced the tube up and off the ground. Bobby realized it was being forced up by two black rods, one near each of the curved ends. The rods continued pushing the tube up until the curved tips were pointing straight down at the ground. Just as it began to topple onto its other side, two more rods shot out on that side and held it steady. The rods all grew longer, pushing the entire cylinder off the ground until the two downward-pointing tips were higher than Bobby’s head. The supporting rods each developed a joint halfway down and another joint near the ground. The jointed rods took a step, like the legs of a giant insect, moving the entire cylinder forward. The whole thing then took a few steps back and then forward again, shuffling as if it were getting comfortable with its balance.
During these transformations, not a word had been spoken by anyone. Bobby turned and saw that the group of onlookers had grown. A few more policemen had arrived, but most of them looked like airport workers. Several of them now gasped and pointed, and Bobby turned back to the black cylinder. Just above each of the four legs, a black rod was growing out and slightly upward. As the rods grew longer, each of them formed an elongated loop with thin, blade-like edges. When they were done forming, the four loops pivoted up and down, as if the tube were stretching its wings. Only the loops weren’t really wings.
Symbols appeared before Bobby’s eyes. “Better airplane complete. You fly now.”
“It doesn’t have wings,” Bobby said aloud. “Will it even fly?” Actually, the four loops reminded him of those bladeless fans he had seen. Maybe they worked kind of like that. Or maybe the whole thing was just a worthless piece of junk. But it didn’t look like junk—it looked amazing.
“No wings. You fly now.”
“How is anyone supposed to fly that? It doesn’t even look like a jet.”
“I send you knowledge now.”
“Just a minute.” Bobby looked at the aircraft and then at the people around him. He had told Wahid the jet was for Indonesia, but he hadn’t said when it would be handed over. If the aircraft actually flew the way Bobby hoped it would, it might get them to the hanging village quickly.
Bobby stepped over to Captain Kirk and tugged at his sleeve. The pilot seemed to have a hard time pulling his eyes away from the sleek black aircraft. Bobby said, “If you want to learn how to fly it, just hold this.” He held out the clay.
Captain Kirk eyed it warily. “Are you serious?”
Bobby nodded. Silently he said, “I’m handing you to someone else. After I do that, send him the knowledge.” He handed it over.
Kirk stared at the lump like Bobby had just handed him a snake. Then he stiffened. He closed his eyes. Seconds later he opened them and smiled. “I’ll be damned. Here, take this.” He handed the clay back to Bobby, stepped away from the group, and approached the black cylinder. When he got close, Bobby realized the aircraft was much bigger than the Cessna had been. It towered above Kirk. The pilot stepped right up to one of the legs and touched a button or lever that Bobby couldn’t see. All four legs bent at the middle joint, lowering the cylinder until the downward-facing points at each end almost touched the tarmac. It was low enough for Kirk to reach up to the cylinder and touch another invisible button or lever. A hatch opened on the thing’s belly, revealing a bright interior, which stood in contrast to the pitch black exterior. A set of narrow black stairs unfolded, and without even looking back, Captain Kirk climbed in. The stairs folded up, the hatch closed, and he was gone.
Bobby realized Ashley was standing next to him.
“What if it doesn’t work?” she hissed. “Did you even think of that?”
Suddenly the four elongated loops shifted forward and rotated until they were horizontal. They started blowing air straight down. It was just a breeze at first, almost silent, but then it picked up, and the blast hit Bobby so hard he had to lean into it to stay in place.
The black cylinder rose straight up and hovered there as the four legs pulled up and disappeared inside. The engines, if there were any, made no sounds, just the hurricane blast of air. Bobby squinted and watched. The aircraft was changing—getting shorter. He couldn’t see any seams on the black shell, but now he realized the whole thing was a set of nested cylinders, sliding into each other. It kept shortening until it looked like a black soup can with curved, downward-pointing ends. Then it started growing again, until it was longer than the Cessna Citation used to be. The legs reappeared, the aircraft settled onto the ground again, and the blasting wind stopped. A few excited voices rose from the crowd around Bobby, but mostly everyone just stared.
The aircraft began walking. It turned in a circle, the four insect legs clanking against the tarmac. It then scuttled sideways, directly toward the crowd. Everyone backed away, but the huge cylinder stopped about ten yards out. The hatch opened, the stairs unfolded, and Captain Kirk stepped down.
He walked up to Bobby, looked at the lump of clay, and then looked Bobby in the eye. A grin appeared on his face, but he quickly got it under control. “I’m not sure you’re the one to ask, but I’d like to request that I be assigned as the pilot of this aircraft.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. But when we’re done with it, we have to leave it here. I already told Mr. Wahid they could keep it.”
Kirk nodded. “Yes. I could stay here. I don’t have a family back ho
me.” He held Bobby’s gaze and didn’t blink. Apparently he was serious.
Wahid approached them. “Bobby Truex. You have proven yourself to be very convincing. If you wish to have our assistance, I am sure we can come to an agreement.”
One problem solved, Bobby thought as he gazed out the window at the jungle canopy silently racing by below. The windows had not been noticeable from outside the aircraft but appeared only slightly tinted from the inside. And the seats—they were paper-thin so they could fold down flat as the nested cylinders of the cabin slid over each other, but they were surprisingly comfortable. Right now the plane was short, because only eight people were on board: Captain Kirk, Jonathan, Bobby, Ashley, Carlos, Mr. Wahid, and two of the soldiers. However, the plane could be stretched out longer for when there were more passengers.
One problem solved, but how many more were ahead of them? And even if they succeeded, would it all be too late?
Before taking off, Bobby had called Quentin and Lindsey on their SAT phone. Miraculously, they had found Addison and had just returned to the hanging village. Bobby had told them to wait at the village and to leave their SAT phone on, even though the phone’s battery charge was low. He assured them that he and the others would be there in less than an hour. Then there had been a ten-minute delay as Jonathan had tracked down the right person in Peter’s corporation who could obtain the coordinates of the SAT phone, followed by another ten-minute delay as the lump of Lamotelokhai clay reconfigured the new aircraft’s controls with GPS tracking. Now that they were finally in the air, they could easily achieve Bobby’s one-hour estimate.
Jonathan came back from the forward-facing cockpit—there were identical cockpits at both ends of the aircraft—and sat beside Bobby. “Kirk says we’re one minute out from the location. You’ve been to the hanging village. How do you suggest we do this?”
Bobby had already questioned the lump of clay about how the aircraft could drop off and pick up passengers when the dense trees wouldn’t allow it near the ground. Apparently the clay had anticipated this difficulty. Either that, or it had reconfigured the plane at the moment Bobby had asked, because it said this wouldn’t be a problem.
Diffusion Box Set Page 77
