Dancing With Myself

by Charles Sheffield

  She had discarded yesterday’s shirt and jeans in favor of a long, loose-fitting dress of white cotton and thick-soled leather sandals. The clothes made good hot-weather sense. So did the different hair styling, smoothing the vipers nest of tangles to long dark curls. But she had also applied heavy makeup and bright lipstick, and that was not so smart. I wondered if she would keep it up when we melted in the heart of the desert and the trucks’ inside temperature soared over a hundred and ten.

  And then I noticed the dark rings under her eyes, which makeup could not quite hide. Like me, Jackie had apparently suffered a disturbed night.

  We were on our way by six. We planned to drive only in the early morning and late afternoon, resting through the worst heat of midday. Today we would be penetrating the true dune country of the desert. I thought that in spite of Gerald Sebastian’s optimism, the tough part of the expedition was just beginning.

  We drove almost due north, while the land ahead turned to rolling sand hills, enormous, lifeless, seemingly endless. Dun-colored, distinct, and sun-shadowed, each dune rose five or six hundred feet above the dead plain. By nine o’clock their profiles smoked and shimmered in dust and heat haze. It was easy to see why travelers regarded this desert as featureless and impassable. The dunes moved constantly, shaped by wind, creeping across the arid landscape. Nothing could grow here, nothing provided permanence.

  And Will Reynolds, seated at my side, was in his element. His space images revealed the contour of every dune. He had known, before he left Washington, their extent, their shape, and their steepness. Months ago he had sat at his desk and plotted an optimum route, weaving us north to Gerald Sebastian’s destination on an efficient and sinuous path that took advantage of every break in the dune pattern.

  Now he was finally able to apply his knowledge. As I drove, and the thermometer above the truck’s dashboard climbed implacably through the nineties, Will chuckled to himself and called out compass headings. At a steady twenty-five miles an hour, we snaked our way forward without a hitch.

  Other than an occasional tamarisk bush, we saw nothing and no one. A billion Chinese people lived far to the east, on the alluvial plains and along the fertile river valleys, but no one lived here. This land made Tibet’s high plateau appear lush and fertile, even to China’s central development committee. According to Gerald Sebastian, the danger of our discovery was too small to worry about.

  By ten-thirty, there was no scrap of shade from even the steepest of the dunes. We halted, raised the parasol over both trucks, and settled down to wait. That gave me my first chance to talk to Sebastian alone since we had stopped for dinner last night.

  I followed him as he prowled outside the shady zone with his video camera. He spoke with his eye still to the viewfinder. “All right, Sam. Say it.”

  “You’re the one who has to say it.”

  He turned to face me, squinting up at me in the strong sun. “I don’t understand. What do you want?”

  “An explanation.” We automatically walked on up the dune, farther out of earshot of the others. The heat of the sand burned through our shoes. “Last night, you told us all that you took the ruby ring and the gold tablet from the statue on your last trip.”

  “Quite right, I said that. And it’s quite true.”

  “So why didn’t Sir Aurel Stein do the same thing, when he found and drew a picture of the statue?”

  He looked me in the eye, the honest stare that was part of his stock-in-trade. “I don’t know, Sam. All I can tell you is that he didn’t take them. Naturally, I asked myself the same question.”

  “And how did you answer it?”

  “First, I thought that maybe he planned to return for the statue itself, and so he left everything else behind, too. Then when Xinjiang was closed to foreigners, in 1930, he couldn’t go back. It’s a weak argument, I know, because we all carry what we can, and only leave behind what we can’t haul with us. My second explanation is not much better. Aurel Stein didn’t show the tablet and ring in his drawing; therefore, they were not there when he explored the valley. Someone else was there between his visit and mine. I’m sure you see what’s wrong with that idea.”

  “People take things from archaeological sites. They don’t leave them there.”

  “Exactly!” There was a furious, frenzied energy to Gerald Sebastian now, an effervescence that had not been there before we reached the Takla Makan. But he was not worried, only excited. “So what is the explanation? Sam, that’s what we’re going to find out. And this time we didn’t come lacking equipment.”

  He was not referring to the pulleys, hoist, and derrick on the truck. So what was it? I knew the complete inventory of the truck I was driving. Maybe Paddy Elphinstone could tell me about the other one.

  “Don’t worry, Sam,” Sebastian was saying. “If I knew what had happened, I would have told you.” He was interrupted by a cry from the camp. Jackie Sands was standing out from under the parasol, calling and waving her arms at us. We ran back to her.

  “It’s Will Reynolds,” she said as soon as we were close enough. “He was sitting next to me, and suddenly he started to speak. He sounded all slurred, as though he was drunk. Then he tried to stand up and fell off his chair. I think he had a stroke. He’s unconscious.”

  He wasn’t, not quite. When we got to him his eyes were rolling from side to side under half-open lids and he was muttering to himself. I sniffed his breath, felt his pulse, then touched my fingers to his forehead.

  “Not a stroke. And not drunk. He’s overheated—get his shirt open and bring water. Where the devil is Paddy?”

  Before I had an answer to that question, Will Reynolds was sitting up and looking about him. We had damp cloths on his wrists, temples, and throat.

  “What happened?” he said.

  “What do you remember?” I wanted to be sure that he was functioning normally.

  “Over there.” He pointed up at the brow of a dune, into the eye of the sun. “I saw them marching over the top of it and I stood up to shout to you and Gerald. Then I woke up here.”

  “Saw who?” said Jackie. She looked at me. “I was sitting there, and I didn’t see a thing.”

  “The patrol, or whatever it was. A line of men and pack-horses and camels, one after another, parading across the top of the dune. There must have been fifty of them.” He turned to Gerald. “That’s one idea of yours out of the window. You said there was a negligible chance that we’d have trouble with Chinese patrols, and we run into one the first day. I guess they didn’t see us down here.” He tried to stand, then swayed and leaned back against me. “What’s happened to me?”

  “Just rest there,” I said. “You’re all right, Will. You’ve got a slight case of heatstroke. Take it easy today, and tomorrow you’ll be back to normal.”

  The nature of his overheated fancy worried me. Had he, half-asleep, somehow overheard Paddy reading to me this morning, and built the idea of desert caravans into his subconscious? Now Paddy himself was returning from almost the direction that Will had pointed, shuffling along between two dunes and wearing a coolie hat that covered his head and shielded his shoulders. His walk told me that he was not sober.

  “Where have you been?” Sebastian’s voice was more than excited. It was demented.

  Paddy’s face had a blurry, unfocused look. “I thought I saw something.” He made a vague gesture behind him. “Cut there, between the dunes. Some body,” he corrected, with the precision of the drunkard.

  Add that to Will Reynolds’ statement, and you had something to catch Sebastian’s full attention.

  “Who was it?”

  Paddy shook his head, but before the gesture was complete Sebastian was running off between the dunes, following the weaving line of Paddy’s footsteps. Then he went scrambling up the steepest slope of the nearest mountain of sand. Three minutes later he was back, slithering down amid a great cloud of
dust.

  “Of all the bloody bad luck!” When he got too agitated his upper-class accent began to fall apart. “One patrol per thousand square miles, and we run smack into it.”

  “You saw it?” I asked.

  “I saw their dust, and that was enough.” He ran to camp and began to throw things anyhow into the trucks. “Come on, we’re getting out of here. If we head north we can run clear of them.”

  I folded down the parasol. “What about Reynolds? He’s not fit to navigate.”

  “He can travel in the second truck.” Sebastian hesitated for a moment, staring first at Paddy and then at Jackie. I could read his thoughts. Who was going to drive that one, if he navigated for me?

  “Will Reynolds has the track through the dunes clearly marked on his radar images,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Miss Sands could call the turns for me.”

  “Do it.” The trucks were loaded, and already he was hustling dazed Will and drunk Paddy into the second one. “And don’t stop unless you need to consult with us. We’ll be right behind you.”

  I swung up into the driver’s seat and put my hand on the dashboard. We were in the hottest part of the afternoon. The gray exposed metal would blister skin. As Jackie moved to the seat beside me, and muttered her protest at the heat of the leather, I leaned out again. “What time do you want to make camp?” I called to Sebastian. “Sunset?”

  “No. There should be a decent moon tonight. Keep going as long as you can see and stay awake.” The engine behind me started, growling into low gear. His voice rang out above it. “There may be other patrols. We have to reach that valley—soon.”

  For the first hour it was the silence of people with too much to say. Jackie kept her head down, pored over the images, and called off the turns clearly and correctly. I stared at the land ahead, drove, sweated, and wondered why I had such a terrible headache.

  “Will you do me a disgusting favor?” I asked at last.

  “What? While you’re driving?”

  “Dig down into the knapsack behind you, and give me a cigar.”

  “Yuck.”

  When she reached out to put the lit cheroot in my mouth I turned to nod my thanks. She had wiped the makeup off her face with paper towels, and patches of sweat discolored the armpits and back of her white cotton dress. The dress itself had become dust-gray. Trickles of perspiration were running down her brow and cheeks.

  “It will start to cool off in about two hours,” I said.

  “Two more hours of this. God.” While I was still looking at her, she reached up with both hands and pushed the mass of dark hair deliberately off her head.

  “You wear a wig,” I said brainlessly.

  “No. I wear six of them. A look for all occasions. Or almost all.” She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “My God, that feels good.”

  Her hair was short, almost boyish, a light blond showing the first lines of gray. Without the wig her face had a different shape, and oddly enough she looked younger.

  She stared back at me with only a trace of embarrassment. “Well, Sam-I-Am, there’s the dreadful truth. Next comes the glass eye and the wooden leg.”

  “Slipping down the ladder rung by rung. Have a cigar.”

  “I’ve not come to that yet. But I’d sell my best friend for a glass of chilled orange juice.” She laughed. “You know, it’s hard on Will, but I’m glad that I’m not riding in that other truck. Paddy’s sloshed all the time, and I think Gerald is going crazy.” Her cheerful manner didn’t quite convince.

  “You had a fight with Gerald,” I said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Guessing. You were both too keen for you to ride with me. And you looked exhausted this morning. You had a fight with him last night, after you left me.”

  “No. After dinner, and before I sat with you by the lamp. I suppose that’s why I came to you—I wanted to avoid more contact with him.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It worked. He didn’t try to come to my tent. But I had a terrible night anyway. I’m normally a great sleeper. Head on pillow, and I’m gone. Only last night….”

  With most people I’d have suggested a sleeping pill. Jackie would no doubt have given me a lecture on drug abuse.

  “Horrible dreams!” she went on. “I got up feeling like a wet Kleenex.”

  “Me too. Did you hear things outside?”

  “Yes!”

  “People talking, and animals, and music?” I slowed the truck and stared at her.

  She frowned back at me. “No. Nothing like that. I heard storm noises, and rushing water, and horrible sounds like buildings falling over. In fact, in the middle of the night I was so scared I opened my tent and looked out to see what was happening. I thought there must be flash floods or something. But everything outside was quiet. I decided I must have been asleep without knowing it. And yet I still couldn’t sleep. What’s happening, Sam? Is it all nerves?”

  Before I would accept that, I’d believe something more mundane, like bad food or water. Or even—I couldn’t stop the thought—deliberate drugging or poisoning. Gerald Sebastian controlled all the water supply from the distillation unit. Was it no more than alcohol with Paddy, and heat stroke with Will Reynolds?

  “You said Gerald was going crazy. What did you mean by that, Jackie?”

  And now she did seem embarrassed. Her eyes moved to stare at the truck’s radiator emblem. “I wish I hadn’t said that, even though it’s true enough. I don’t think you have a very good opinion of me. So it probably won’t surprise you to find out that Gerald and I are lovers.”

  “Surprise, no. Upset, maybe.”

  A quick sideways flash of her eyes in my direction. “Thanks, Sam. That’s kind when I’m not looking my best. You know, that’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me. You pretend to be a human icicle, but you’re not. I’m glad. But I want you to know the Gerald wasn’t the reason I’m on this expedition. I’m serious about the SETI work, and I wanted to come here long before he and I started anything.”

  “I believe you. Henry doesn’t know?”

  “Know, or care. He’s fascinated by Gerald, thinks he’s brilliant.”

  “So do I. He is.”

  “The Gerald Sebastian that I met in New York certainly was. He knew where he was going, how to get there, just what he wanted.”

  “Present company included?”

  “I guess so. But once we reached Pakistan he changed completely. He’s a monomaniac now. All day yesterday in the truck, while he drove, he talked and talked and talked.”

  “Of course he did. Jackie, this is his baby.”

  “You don’t understand. He didn’t talk about the expedition, the way he had in Hong Kong. Or rather he did, but not in a sensible way. He went on and on about Atlantis—about the rivers and lakes there, and the flower gardens, and fruit trees, and white sailboats moving along streets like Venetian canals. Sam, he was totally dippy. As though he thought he had been there himself, and knew just what it was like. I tried to tell him, he had to get hold of himself, but it was useless. He couldn’t stop. And Paddy was no help at all. He just sat there in the truck with a dreamy look on his face.”

  I remembered my discussion with Gerald Sebastian regarding Aurel Stein’s failure to take the ring and gold tablet from the statue. He had seemed wildly excited, but as rational as you could ask. “I’m sorry, Jackie. I can’t see Sebastian that way.”

  “Nor could I, three days back. Sam, he’s your colleague and your boss. But Gerald and I were lovers, for Heaven’s sake. Less than a week ago we couldn’t get enough of each other. But last night after dinner, when we went to his tent….”

  I could complete that thought, and also the whole proposition. Gerald hadn’t wanted to make love to Jackie; Jackie needed her self-esteem; therefore, something must be seriously wrong with Gerald.

&n
bsp; “Oh, don’t be an idiot, Sam.” And I hadn’t said a word. “It’s not that he’s tired of me, or got other things on his mind. Anyway, I wouldn’t get bent out of shape about Gerald and sex. I’m telling you, he’s gone crazy.”

  It was her inconsistency that convinced me. She had wanted Sebastian in her tent right after dinner, but later she wanted to avoid him altogether.

  Perfect, I thought. I’m on an expedition with a crazy leader, a drunk interpreter, a brain-fried navigator and a wild lady who thinks we will find little green men in the middle of the Takla Makan. Disaster on wheels.

  And with all that to worry about, what thought poked its way again and again into my forebrain? Of course. It was Jackie’s comment that I was a human icicle.

  We had stopped talking. Maybe she thought I didn’t believe a word she’d said, and was waiting for a chance to talk about her with Sebastian. Maybe she felt as exhausted as I did. My head was still aching, and I drove by instinct, following the route that Jackie gave me without thinking or caring where it led. The sun set, the moon came up, and we were able to cruise on without stopping. The temperature went from hot to cool to cold. About eight-thirty, Jackie stirred in her seat.

  “I can go without dinner, Sam, but I have to have warm clothes. My legs are beginning to freeze. You have to stop.”

  I emerged from my reverie. The dunes were all around us. At night they became frozen ocean breakers, looming high and dark above the moving truck. Sometimes my tired eyes could see long shapes scudding across their flanks. Was this the illusion that had fueled Gerald Sebastian’s sea-fantasies?

  “How much farther to go?”

  Jackie had put her wig on again and sat hugging herself. “No more than forty miles. Two hours, at the rate we’ve been going. But I don’t care. I want to stop and rest.”

  I let us coast to a halt. “Gerald will never agree to it. When he’s this close he’ll want to get there tonight. In less than two hours the moon will set and it will be too dark to drive.”

  “We’ll be there in the morning.”