Wings

by Terry Pratchett

  "Oh, shut up and tell me when the Ship is going to get here."

  "0101011001... Which do you want me to do?... 01001100 ..."

  "What?"

  "I can shut up or I can tell you when the Ship is going to arrive. I can't do both."

  "Please tell me when the Ship is going to arrive," said Masklin patiently, "and then shut up."

  "Four minutes."

  "Four minutes!"

  "I could be three seconds off," said the Thing. "But I calculate it as four minutes. Only now it's three minutes thirty-eight seconds. It'll be three minutes and thirty-seven seconds any second now -"

  "I can't hang around in here if it's coming that soon!" said Masklin, all thoughts of his duty to the nomes of the world temporarily forgotten. "How can I get out? This thing's got a lid on."

  "Do you want me to shut up first, or get you out and then shut up?" said the Thing.

  "Please!"

  "Have the humans seen you move?" said the Thing.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Do they know bow fast you can run?"

  "I don't know," said Masklin. "I suppose not."

  "Get ready to run, then. But first, put your hands over your ears."

  Masklin thought it would be best to obey. The Thing could be deliberately infuriating at times, but it didn't pay to ignore its advice.

  Lights on the Thing made a brief star-shaped pattern.

  It started to wail. The sound went up and then went beyond Masklin's hearing. He could feel it even with his hands over his ears; it seemed to be making unpleasant bubbles in his head.

  He opened his mouth to shout at the Thing, and the walls exploded. One moment there was glass, and the next there were bits of glass, drifting out like a jigsaw puzzle where every piece had suddenly decided it wanted some personal space. The lid slid down, almost hitting him.

  "Now, pick me up and run," ordered the Thing, before the shards had spilled across the table.

  Humans around the room were turning to look in that slow, clumsy way humans had.

  Masklin grabbed the Thing and took off across the polished surface.

  "Down," he said. "We're high up, how do we get down?" He looked around desperately. There was some sort of machine at the other end of the table, covered with little dials and lights. He'd watched one of the humans using it.

  "Wires," he said, "There's always wires!"

  He skidded around, dodged easily around a giant hand as it tried to grab him, and hared along the table.

  "I'll have to throw you over," he panted. "I can't carry you down!"

  "I'll be all right"

  Masklin slid to a stop by the table edge and threw the Thing down. There were wires running down toward the floor. He leapt for one, swung around madly, and then half fell and half slid down it.

  Humans were lurching toward him from everywhere. He picked up the Thing again, hugging it to his chest, and darted forward. There was a foot - brown shoe, dark blue sock. He zigged. There were two more feet - black shoes, black socks. And they were about to trip over the first foot.

  He zagged.

  There were more feet, and hands reaching vainly down. Masklin was a blur, dodging and weaving between feet that could flatten him. And then there was nothing but open floor. Somewhere an alarm sounded, its shrill note sounding deep and awesome to Masklin. "Head for the door," suggested the Thing. "But more humans'll be coming in," hissed Masklin.

  "That's good, because we're going out." Masklin reached the door just as it opened. A gap of a few inches appeared, with more feet behind it.

  There wasn't any time to think. Masklin ran over the shoe, jumped down on the other side, and ran on.

  "Where now? Where now?"

  "Outside."

  "Which way is that?"

  "Every way."

  "Thank you very much!"

  Doors were opening all along the corridor. Humans were coming out. The problem was not evading capture - it would take a very alert human even to see a nome running at full speed, let alone catch one - but simply avoiding being trodden on by accident.

  "Why don't they have mouse holes? Every building should have mouse holes!" Masklin moaned.

  A boot stamped down an inch away. He jumped.

  The corridor was filling with humans. Another alarm started to sound.

  "Why's all this happening? I can't be causing all this! There can't be all this trouble over just one nome!"

  "It's the Ship. They have seen the Ship." A shoe almost awarded Masklin the prize for the most perfectly flattened nome in Florida. As it was, he almost ran into it. Unlike most shoes, it had a name on it. It was a Crucial Street Drifter with Real Rubber Soul, Pat'd. The sock above it looked as though it could be a Hi-style Odorprufe, made of Guaranteed 85% Polyputheketlon, the most expensive sock in the world.

  Masklin looked farther up. Beyond the great sweep of blue trouser and the distant clouds of sweater was a beard.

  It was Grandson Richard, 39.

  Just when you thought there was no one watching over nomes, the universe went and tried to prove you wrong.

  Masklin took a standing jump and landed on the trouser leg, just as the foot moved. It was the safest place. Humans didn't often tread on other humans.

  The foot took a step and came down again. Masklin swung backward and forward, trying to pull himself up the rough cloth. There was a seam an inch away. He managed to grab it; the stitches gave a better handhold.

  Grandson Richard, 39, was in a crush of people all heading the same way. Several other humans banged into him, almost jarring Masklin loose. He kicked his boots off and tried to grip with his toes.

  There was a slow thumping as Grandson Richard's feet hit the ground.

  Masklin reached a pocket, got a decent foothold, and climbed on. A bulky label helped him up to the belt. Masklin was used to labels in the Store, but this was pretty big even by big label standards. It was covered in lettering and had been riveted to the trousers, as if Grandson Richard, 39, were some sort of machine.

  " 'Grossbergers Hagglers, the First Name in Jeans,'" he read. "And there's lots of stuff about how good they are, and pictures of cows and things. Why d'you think he wants labels all over himself?"

  "Perhaps if he hasn't got labels, be doesn't know what his clothes are, " said the Thing.

  "Good point. He'd probably put his shoes on his head."

  Masklin glanced back at the label as he grabbed the sweater.

  "It says here that these jeans won a Gold Medal in the Chicago Exhibition in 1910," he said. "They've certainly lasted well."

  Humans were streaming out of the building.

  The sweater was much easier to climb. Masklin hauled himself up quickly. Grandson Richard, 39, had quite long hair, which also helped when it was time to climb up onto the shoulder.

  A doorframe passed briefly overhead, and then the deep blue of the sky.

  "How long, Thing?" Masklin asked. Grandson Richard's ear was only a few inches away.

  "Forty-three seconds."

  The humans spilled out of the wide concrete space in front of the building. Some more hurried out of the building, carrying machinery. They kept running into one another because they were all staring at the sky.

  Another group was clustered around one human who was looking very worried.

  "What's going on, Thing?" Masklin whispered.

  "The human in the middle of the group is the most important one here. It came to watch the shuttle launch. Now all the others are telling it that it's got to be the one to welcome the Ship."

  "That's a bit of cheek. It's not their Ship."

  "Yes, but they think it's coming to talk to them."

  "Why should they think that?"

  "Because they think they 're the most important creatures on the planet."

  "Hah!"

  "Amazing, isn't it?" said the Thing.

  "Everyone knows nomes are more important," said Masklin. "At least... every nome does." He thought about this for a moment, an
d shook his head. "So that's the head human, is it? Is it some sort of extra wise one, or something?"

  "I don't think so. The other humans around it are trying to explain to it what a planet is."

  "Doesn't it know?"

  "Many humans don't. Mistervicepresident is one of them. 001010011000."

  "You're talking to the Ship again?"

  "Yes. Six seconds."

  "It's really coming?"

  "Yes."

  10

  GRAVITY: This is not properly understood, but it is what makes small things, like nomes, stick to big things, like planets. Because of Science, this happens whether you know about gravity or not. Which goes to show that Science is happening all the time.

  From A Scientific Encyclopedia for the Enquiring Young Nome

  by Angalo de Haberdasheri.

  Angalo looked around.

  "Gurder, come on."

  Gurder leaned against a tuft of grass and fought to get his breath back.

  "It's no good," he wheezed. "What are you thinking of? We can't fight humans alone!"

  "We've got Pion. And this is a pretty good ax."

  "Oh, that's really going to scare them. A stone ax. If you had two axes I expect they'd give in right away."

  Angalo swung it backward and forward. It had a comforting feel.

  "You've got to try," he said simply. "Come on, Pion. What are you watching? Geese?"

  Pion was staring at the sky.

  "There's a dot up there," said Gurder, squinting.

  "It's probably a bird," said Angalo.

  "Doesn't look like a bird."

  "Then it's a plane."

  "Doesn't look like a plane."

  Now all three of them were staring upward, their upturned faces forming a triangle.

  There was a black dot up there.

  "You don't think he actually managed it, do you?" said Angalo, uncertainly.

  What had been a dot was now a small dark circle.

  "It's not moving, though," said Gurder.

  "It's not moving sideways, anyway," said Angalo, still speaking very slowly. "It's moving more sort of down."

  What had been a small dark circle was a larger dark circle, with just a suspicion of smoke or steam around its edges.

  "It might be some sort of weather," said Angalo. "You know - special Floridian weather?"

  "Oh, yeah? One great big hailstone, right? It's the Ship! Coming for us!"

  It was a lot bigger now, and yet, and yet... still a very long way off.

  "If it could come for us just a little way away I wouldn't mind," Gurder quavered. "I wouldn't mind walking a little way."

  "Yeah," said Angalo, beginning to look desperate. "It's not so much coming as, as..."

  "Dropping," said Gurder.

  He looked at Angalo.

  "Shall we run?" he said.

  "It's got to be worth a try," said Angalo.

  "Where shall we run to?"

  "Let's just follow Pion, shall we? He started running a while ago."

  Masklin would be the first to admit that he wasn't too familiar with forms of transport, but what they all seemed to have in common was a front, which was in front, and a back, which wasn't. The whole point was that the front was where they went forward from.

  The thing dropping out of the sky was a disc - just a top connected to a bottom, with edges around the sides. It didn't make any noise, but it seemed to be impressing the humans no end.

  "That's it?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "Oh."

  And then things seemed to come into focus.

  The Ship wasn't big. It was so big, it needed a new word. It wasn't dropping through the thin wisps of cloud up there, it was simply pushing them aside. Just when you thought you'd got some idea of the size, a cloud would stream past and the perspective would come back. There had to be a special word for something as big as that. "Is it going to crash?" he whispered. "I shall land it on the scrub," said the Thing. "I don't want to frighten the humans."

  "Run!"

  "What do you think I'm doing?"

  "It's still right above us!"

  "I'm running! I'm running! I can't run any faster!"

  A shadow fell across the three running nomes.

  "All the way to Floridia to be squashed under our own Ship," moaned Angalo. "You never really believed in it, did you? Well, now you're going to believe in it really hard!"

  The shadow deepened. They could see it racing across the ground ahead of them - gray around the edges, spreading into the darkness of night. Their own private night.

  "The others are still out there somewhere," said Masklin.

  "Ah," said the Thing. "I forgot." "You're not suppose to forget things like that!"

  "I've been very busy lately. I can't think of everything. Just nearly everything."

  "Just don't squash anyone!"

  "I shall stop it before it lands. Don't worry."

  The humans were all talking at once. Some of them had started to run toward the falling Ship. Some were running away from it.

  Masklin risked a glance at Grandson Richard's face. It was watching the Ship with a strange, rapt expression.

  As Masklin stared, the big eyes swiveled slowly sideways. The head turned around. Grandson Richard, 39, stared down at the nome on his shoulder.

  For the second time, the human saw him. And this time, there was nowhere to run.

  Masklin rapped the Thing on its lid.

  "Can you slow my voice down?" he said quickly. An amazed expression was forming on the human's face.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you just repeat what I say, but slowed down. And louder. So it - so he can understand it?"

  "You want to communicate? With a human?" "Yes! Can you do it?"

  "I strongly advise against it! It could be very dangerous!"

  Masklin clenched his fists. "Compared to what, Thing? Compared to what? How much more dangerous than not communicating, Thing? Do it! Right now! Tell him... tell him we're not trying to hurt any humans! Right now! I can see his hand moving already! Do it!" He held the box right up to Grandson Richard's ear.

  The Thing started to speak in the low, slow tones of human speech.

  It seemed to go on for a long time.

  The human's expression froze.

  "What did you say? What did you say?" said Masklin.

  "I said. If he harms you in any way I shall explode and blow his head off," said the Thing.

  "You didn't!"

  "I did"

  "You call that communicating?"

  "Yes. I call it very effective communicating."

  "But it's a dreadful thing to say! Anyway... you never told me you could explode!"

  "I can't. But he doesn't know that. He's only human," said the Thing.

  The Ship slowed its fall and drifted down across the scrubland until it met its own shadow. Beside it, the tower where the shuttle had been launched looked like a pin alongside a very large black plate.

  "You landed it on the ground! I told you not to!" said Masklin.

  "It's not on the ground. It is floating just above the ground."

  "It looks as though it's on the ground to me!"

  "It is floating just above it," repeated the Thing patiently.

  Grandson Richard was looking down the length of his nose at Masklin. He looked puzzled.

  "What makes it float?" Masklin demanded.

  The Thing told him.

  "Auntie who? Who's she? There are relatives on board?"

  "Not auntie. Anti. Antigravity."

  "But there's no flames or smoke!"

  "Flames and smoke are not essential."

  Vehicles were screaming toward the bulk of the Ship.

  "Um. Exactly how far off the ground did you stop it?" Masklin inquired.

  "Four inches seemed adequate."

  Angalo lay with his face pressed into the sandy soil.

  To his amazement, he was still alive. Or at least, if he was dead, then he was stil
l able to think. Perhaps he was dead, and this was wherever you went afterward.

  It seemed pretty much like where he'd been before.

  Let's see, now. He'd looked up at the great thing dropping out of the sky right toward his head, and had flung himself down expecting at any second to become just a little greasy mark in a great big hole.

  No, he probably hadn't died. He'd have remembered something important like that.

  "Gurder?" he ventured.

  "Is that you?" said Gurder's voice.

  "I hope so. Pion?"

  "Pion!" said Pion, somewhere in the darkness.

  Angalo pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

  "Any idea where we are?" he said.

  "In the Ship?" suggested Gurder.

  "Don't think so," said Angalo. "There's soil here, and grass and stuff."

  "Then where did the Ship go? Why's it all dark?"

  Angalo brushed the dirt off his coat. "Dunno. Maybe... maybe it missed us. Maybe we were knocked out, and now it's nighttime?"

  "I can see a bit of light around the horizon," said Gurder. "That's not right, is it? That's not how nights are supposed to be."

  Angalo looked around. There was a line of light in the distance. And there was also a strange sound, so quiet that you could miss it but that, once you had noticed it, also seemed to fill up the world.

  He stood up to get a better view.

  There was a faint thump.

  "Ouch!"

  Angalo reached up to rub his head. His hand touched metal. Crouching a little, he risked turning his head to see what it was he'd hit. He got very thoughtful for a while. Then he said, "Gurder, you're going to find this amazingly hard to believe."

  "This time," said Masklin to the Thing, "I want you to translate exactly, do you understand? Don't try to frighten him!"

  Humans had surrounded the Ship. At least, they were trying to surround it, but you'd need an awful lot of humans to surround something the size of the Ship. So they were just surrounding it in places.

  More trucks were arriving, many of them with sirens blaring. Grandson Richard, 39, had been left standing by himself, watching his own shoulder nervously.

  "Besides, we owe him something," said Masklin. "We used his satellite. And we stole things."

  "You said you wanted to do it your way. No help from humans, you said," said the Thing.

  "It's different now. There is the Ship," said Masklin. "We've made it. We're not begging anymore."