Nowhere Land

by K. A. Applegate

  Wylson held up her hand, trying to get control of the group. I think we should . . . We should . . . She frowned and then grinned and then shrugged. I dont know what we should do.

  Hey. You know what? 2Face said.

  What? Violet asked, just as serious.

  Um . . . I dont remember.

  Violet grinned. Me, neither.

  Helium. And nitrous oxide, Olga said. Other gases, too.

  Huh?

  I think the gas in this . . . Um . . . Olga began, and then evidently lost her train of thought.

  You know who was great? Yago asked no one in particular. That guy . . . the funny one. You know?

  Anamull nodded solemnly. Curly.

  Yeah! Yago said, snapping his fingers. Only his name was Dave.

  Curlys name was Dave?

  I think whatevers in here is getting to us, 2Face said.

  Nitrous oxide, Olga agreed. Laughing gas.

  The Blimp is failing, Tamara said. We should be ready to get out.

  She wasnt laughing, but she did sound as much like a Munchkin as anyone.

  2Face was working on something funny to say when a spear pierced the flesh wall behind her and stopped, quivering sluggishly.

  Whoa, she said.

  Follow me, Tamara grated.

  She is fine, Tate confided to 2Face with a finger to her lips.

  Tamara slid through the horizontal opening into the next chamber, carrying the baby easily in the crook of one muscular arm.

  Lets go.

  We represent the Lollipop Guild and we we-e-elcome you to Munchkin Land.

  The Blimp was dying, Billy knew that. He could feel it as if it were happening to him. He had driven the Blimp far past the limits of its strength. If he drove it any further he would kill it.

  Im sorry, he whispered.

  The question was whether he, himself, would survive the Blimps death. Did the connection go both ways? Did the Blimp reach into him as he had reached into it? Could the Blimp die and yet leave Billy alive?

  He wasnt very much afraid of death. There had been too many times when hed begged for death, prayed to an absent God for the gift of death.

  And even if he survived the Blimps end, there was the baby. The baby hated him. Feared him. Billy didnt know why, but he felt it, a seething, relentless malice.

  But that was okay, too. Maybe the baby would kill him. Maybe not. Maybe death, maybe life. Maybe the line wasnt as sharp and clear as that.

  Still, hed like to see the ships.

  He opened his eyes. The Blimps vision, which he had shared, was strange and wonderful in its own way, but not very useful. Better to look through his own eyes now. Not that he could be sure of what he saw even then.

  Was that the sea? Was that not blue? A very Earthly blue?

  He felt, through the Blimps skin, the wild, running battle between MoSteel and Jobs and the Riders. He was aware, the way a human might feel his tummy rumbling, that people were moving around within the Blimp.

  If the Blimp died, the gas would be released in a rush. The collapsing air sacs would trap those inside.

  Had to keep it alive. Had to keep it moving toward that hallucination of an ocean, toward that blue mirage.

  Im sorry, Billy said again.

  The Blimp had no words to answer, barely a thought at all. It was tired. Puzzled. Why couldnt it stop? Why couldnt it rest? The Blimp was only vaguely self-aware. It never knew when it crossed the line between possible recovery and certain death.

  Billy drove the Blimp forward, feeding his own power into it, draining himself with the effort.

  The Blimps cilia kicked and it bounded forward again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN I SURFED HURRICANE TONYA BACK IN 09.

  One minute they were skimming across copper streams and waving grass. The next minute they saw ahead of them deep, blue-green sea, foam-tipped waves, and strange statues rising up amid the waves.

  Jobs and MoSteel reached the boundary between environments and their board fell like a stone. They plunged into icy water. Jobs tasted salt.

  He bobbed to the surface just in time to see the Blimp collapse with a final shudder. It wallowed like a Macys Parade balloon that had been half-deflated.

  Billy Weir toppled from high atop the Blimp and rolled down the side into the water. MoSteel swam toward him, fighting three-foot waves.

  Jobs treaded water. The cold would render him numb eventually, he knew. This was not the warm, shallow sea of the Rider default environment. They had entered a new nodal zone, a new environment. And this felt like ocean deep and cold and rough.

  The Riders had all stopped at the edge of their environment. He could see them hovering, watching, frustrated, but either unable or unwilling to cross the boundary. After a while they began to turn away.

  Where were all the others? Jobs saw MoSteel holding onto Billy, keeping his head above water, but where were the others?

  A horrible thought: Had they fallen off? Were they back in Rider territory?

  Then a gash appeared in the back end of the droopy, sodden Blimp. Tamara appeared first, with the baby. The others piled out after her, laughing.

  MoSteel was back with an unconscious Billy in tow.

  Are they laughing? MoSteel demanded, incredulous and a bit offended.

  Seems like, Jobs said.

  They plunged into the sea, one after another. But when they came up for air they werent laughing anymore.

  Billy Weir opened his red-rimmed eyes. He looked horribly weary, haggard. MoSteel continued to support him as the three of them made their way to the others.

  What . . . Wylson began, then choked when she caught a mouthful of salt water.

  New environment, Jobs said. Mother has all these nodes, right? Back there in Rider country that was the default because wed destroyed that node. Destroy the node and the region controlled by the node goes to its default. But now were in a new nodal zone, new environment.

  The Riders dropped back, Violet pointed out.

  I think maybe its a territorial thing, Jobs suggested.

  Were going to freeze pretty soon, Yago said through chattering teeth.

  I saw statues or something when we were coming out of the Blimp, 2Face said, shivering.

  Me, too, just ahead. Can we make it? Burroway worried.

  Lets get going, Wylson decided. Then she hesitated, looked at the Blimp, folds of its flesh rippling in the breeze. Is there any way we can use this thing?

  I think we used it all it could stand, Tate said.

  Tamara, with the baby on her back, was already

  swimming powerfully. The rest fell in behind her, breasting the waves as well as they could. It was very quickly obvious who the strong swimmers were and who could do little more than tread water. Billy was swimming on his own, somewhat recovered, so Jobs and MoSteel and Tate helped the frightened Anamull and sluggish Olga.

  Once clear of the Blimp, the nearest of the statues came into view. It was an amazing sight, utterly out of place. A statue of a man, all white marble. Jobs guessed that it towered close to a hundred feet above the waves. It rested on a pedestal. When the waves hit, they crashed up and over the top of the pedestal and foamed around the statues ankles.

  Looks familiar, Jobs gasped between mouthfuls of water.

  Its David, Violet said, managing to sound amazed at his ignorance even while gargling.

  Some painting?

  A painting ? You dont know David? Michelangelos David ?

  Ive heard of Michelangelo, Jobs said defensively.

  Its David, Violet sputtered. You know, as in Goliath?

  Whats it doing in the middle of the ocean?

  Mothers mixing media, Violet said. Painting. Sculpture. Together.

  They swam on and Jobs contemplated this fact as well as he could while dragging a nearly useless, shivering, chattering, fear-babbling Anamull along with him. Mother was mixing media? Combining images derived from the data stores on the shuttle?

  That couldnt be good news. At lea
st an environment derived from a painting might have some internal consistency. What if she started mixing elements of painting with photography? Good lord, he didnt want to think about some of the photos that Mother may have downloaded into her database. Human history was full of horrors captured on film.

  The waves that were manageable out in the open were much less so up close to the statues base. A three-foot wave made an amazing impact when it was suddenly stopped by a marble wall.

  It was obvious to Jobs that it was going to be terribly difficult to get everyone up to the relative safety of the platform. Maybe impossible.

  Jobs felt his strength beginning to ebb. The cold was like a drug. Like when hed gone under general anesthetic to have his pancreas replaced.

  He felt fear like a knife in his stomach. They were going to die here, wallowing in the icy water. Even if they managed to climb atop the platform, so what? There was no food up there, no shelter. Plenty of water, but it was all salty, deadly to drink.

  Jobs released Anamull without realizing hed done it and sank beneath the surface. It was quiet down there. Down under the surface. All those legs kicking, all those billowing garments.

  He watched, as if from far away, as his own mind argued over the relative merits of just continuing to sink or trying to survive only to die later. There was something to be said for having control over the fatal moment.

  Everyone looked strange, disconnected from him. Just a bunch of kicking legs. They were all going to die, anyway. They didnt deserve to survive. The human race should have died out entirely five hundred years earlier. This was just a mockery of H. sapiens.

  Then his air ran out and in a panic he surged back upward. The fear adrenaline gave his muscles a temporary new lease on life.

  They were close to Davids pedestal, close enough to feel the way the sea surged upward as it pressed against the base. He grabbed Anamulls shoulder. Sorry, man.

  We have to ride the wave in, MoSteel gasped from not too far away.

  Well be squashed like bugs, Burroway moaned.

  I cant do it, Shy Hwang cried pitifully. I cant even feel my legs.

  2Face swam to her father, a gesture, Jobs assumed, of filial love. He was wrong.

  Dad, shut up, 2Face snapped. You, too, Burroway. All we get is whining from you. From both of you!

  Her father gaped, his round head like a cork on the water. Burroway looked like he was trying to gather up his dignity and deliver a stinging retort, but 2Face cut him off.

  Anyone wants to die, fine, die. Not me, she said. Im riding the next good wave in. If I can do it, so can the rest of you.

  You know how to do this? MoSteel asked her dubiously.

  Swim team, Mo, 2Face said tersely. And I surf.

  Where, on those lame little ripples you get down in Florida? MoSteel teased. Those arent waves.

  I surfed Hurricane Tonya back in 09, 2Face said.

  MoSteel laughed. All right, hermana, lets do it together.

  The combination of 2Faces grim determination and MoSteels devil-may-care excitement exerted a calming influence on the soggy and shivering refugees. Jobs, like all the others, found himself fascinated, able to shut out for the moment the question of his own survival. If MoSteel and 2Face made it, maybe they all would make it.

  2Face and MoSteel waited, glancing over their shoulders, judging the swell, waiting, waiting, then a nod of mutual agreement.

  They took off, swimming hard, arm over arm, legs churning, matching speed with the onrushing wave. 2Face was almost too fast, she threatened to get ahead of the crest and slide down the slope. She pulled back, matched speed with MoSteel, rose on the swollen wave, and shot forward. There came the crash and thunder of thousands of gallons of water breaking green and white across the platform.

  It was impossible to see anything at first. Then the wave receded and there they were, clinging to Davids marble feet. There was a bright smear of red on 2Faces lip, washed away by the salt water draining from her hair.

  MoSteel stayed on the platform, but 2Face jumped back in to help guide the others in, one at a time.

  It was a race against time. The cold was taking its toll. People stopped talking, conserving energy. Faces turned a pale blue. Hands were dead, feet might as well be amputated.

  By the time he was hauled aboard the platform, Jobs felt more dead than alive. He had helped others to escape, always claiming to be fine, claiming he was good. And he was at first, living on the fear of his near-surrender. But then he started losing it, losing touch not only with his body but with his mind. At some point he was no longer in this artificially created ocean, but back in Monterey, back under the buttery sunlight, warm, out in the backyard, lawn chair, soda, tunes playing . . .

  MoSteels grip was like iron, fingers digging painfully into Jobss upper arms. Come on, migo, come on, be okay now.

  Jobs returned to a consciousness only slightly warmer. He was buried within a heap of bodies, arms and legs everywhere. He was cuddled between Olga and Violet. Body heat. That was it. They were all trying to regain some warmth.

  The sun helped. The sky was mostly clear except for some scattered puffs of white cloud. The sunlight helped, and the bodies packed around him helped, but then would come a wave washing over them and everyone would shiver again.

  Jobs still couldnt feel his hands, but he wanted to stand up, to see what was what. He tried to move, but realized that he was providing warmth and protection to the others as much as they were to him.

  No one talked. Someone was moaning. Violets pale face was close to his own; he was breathing her breath. Her eyes were closed. When the wave came she flinched.

  Jobs twisted his stiff neck and looked up. The statue was overwhelming. The legs were like tree trunks. Despite himself, Jobs laughed. It was idiotic, an absurd place to die.

  Sail! a voice cried. I see a sail. More than one.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN ITS A BEAUTIFUL MACHINE, BUT ITS JUST A MACHINE.

  The ship came on, gliding, breasting the waves, its mountain of sails full. Was it heading for them, or just passing by? Was it a rescue, or just happenstance?

  Violet Blake hoped for rescue. Mother owed them, didnt she? Or it?

  The sea had calmed at last. The waves no longer crashed over the platform. No one was exactly dry yet and no one was likely to be dry as long as the stinging salt spray was carried on the wind. But no one was in danger of freezing any longer. The sun was out. The marble was cold but not icebox cold. If only the wind would die out, they might even achieve some degree of warmth. But then again, if the wind died, the ship would stop.

  All eyes were on the ship. MoSteel had managed to climb to Davids knee, and he kept watch from beneath his shading hand.

  I still dont see anyone on it, he reported.

  You know anything about this? Jobs asked Violet, coming up behind her.

  Not really. There were an awful lot of paintings done with sailing ships and vast expanses of open ocean. Could be any of them. Mother could have downloaded a thousand paintings from our data.

  I know that statue over there, Jobs said.

  The Thinker ? Violet asked wearily. I think everyone knows that statue, Jobs.

  The famous Rodin statue was about a mile off, maybe a little less. It was simply planted in the ocean. A muscular male figure bent forward, elbow on knee, chin on fist, thinking.

  See that one? Violet pointed. Thats called The Fourteen-Year-Old Dancer. Its by Degas. The originals a bit smaller.

  Its all pretty creepy, Jobs said.

  I just hope the ship doesnt run into the Dancer .

  I dont like Mother doing this, Jobs muttered.

  Violet didnt ask him what he meant. She liked Jobs, but the guy was only really talkative when the subject was computers and if she got him started . . . She had no interest in computers, not even in Mother assuming Mother really was just a computer, as Jobs plainly believed.

  How are we going to get on the ship? Violet wondered.

  Jobs shrugged. I don
t know that we are, Miss Blake. It may not pass close enough.

  You dont think its being sent to us?

  Jobs shrugged. Whoever or whatever Mother is, and I basically think Four Sacred Streams told the truth and shes a computer in need of repair, shes way over my head. I dont know what shes doing.

  There are small boats on the ship, MoSteel called down. Then he shinnied down. He looked at his raw hands with interest. Mustve lost my calluses while we were in hibernation.

  Wylson and Yago pushed closer. There was plenty of room on the platform, but the people still stayed close together for warmth.

  So? Whats your report? Wylson demanded in the all-business voice her daughter intensely disliked.

  MoSteel hid a smile. Seems to be coming this way. I didnt see anyone. But there are small boats, lifeboats

  Captains barge, Shy Hwang interrupted. A launch, a jolly boat, the Captains barge, maybe more boats.

  Okay, Wylson said dubiously.

  If we could get a couple of us, maybe four or five would be better, over on the ship we could maybe launch one of the small boats, use it to ferry people over, MoSteel explained.

  Wylson nodded. We should send our strongest swimmers. She nodded at MoSteel. You, of course. 2Face. Yago.

  Yago snorted. Im not jumping back in that water. Its freezing.

  Youre a strong swimmer.

  Im needed here, Yago said without elaborating.

  Violets mother hesitated, like she was going to argue, then let it go with a petulant sigh.

  Tamara? One of us could hold the baby.

  Ill go, Tate said quickly. Tamara has the baby to think about. Ill go instead.

  Tamara didnt bother to respond, just looked bored and indifferent.

  Violet frowned. That was not the first time that Tate had seemed solicitous of Tamara. Was Tate trying to curry favor with Tamara?

  I can go, Jobs said.

  MoSteel shook his head. No, man. You stayed too long in the drink the last go-round. Youve paid your dues. Besides, youre not all that great in the water.

  Jobs didnt argue. He seemed to accept his friends judgment. They had an interesting relationship, Violet thought. In anything intellectual MoSteel deferred happily to Jobs, and in anything physically challenging Jobs did the same in reverse. Instead of a friendship based on shared interests they had a friendship based on entirely separate territories. The only thing they had in common was that they liked each other.