"I think it's imperative we find her before we make Sea-home," the first voice said. "She could slip off the ship easily."
"You're absolutely right. Van," Wilkes said. "But one thing worries me. The story he told Darla about Hogan was to throw us off the track, of course, but he may have given her to one of the other passengers after all."
"Then, what the girl told us isn't true?"
"No, she's probably telling the truth, but Jake may have taken her from the hiding place and then given her to someone else, just to further muddle things." Wilkes laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, all of this is predicated on the assumption that the creature is the Roadmap, and we only have Darla's word on that. Frankly, I'm still a little skeptical."
"Darla?" Van said. "Can you convince him?"
"She's the Roadmap," Darla said flatly. "But before you get anything useful from Winnie, I want some assurance that you'll let him go."
"That was the agreement, Darla-darling, but… Corey, we can't speak for the Reticulans, can we?"
"No," Wilkes said. "He's their sacred quarry. There are ceremonies to be performed, obligations to discharge."
"Then what we agreed ― you're backing out?"
"Not us, Darla."
"I assure you," Darla said coolly, "that you'll get no further help from me interpreting for Winnie."
Wilkes was unruffled. "Oh, that may not be quite the problem you think it is. Granted, it's your field, and all, but I may be able to find someone else."
"In the Outworlds?"
I could almost hear Wilkes' Cheshire-cat grin. "Don't worry, Darla, we'll let him go. And I'm sure I can persuade the Rikkis to let him loose. They relish the hunt even more than they do the kill. But they will continue to track him down."
"Then it's agreed," Darla said quietly.
A shadow moved in front of me, but I didn't take my eyes from the light.
"I want to hear more about the maps," Wilkes said. "You said you wrote something down."
A rustling of paper. Then Wilkes said, "Well, this looks like the Perseus arm… and here's the Orion, I suppose. Uh-huh. Fine. So, it's a simplified map of this part of the galaxy, so far as anyone knows. And these lines are major Skyway routes?"
"Yes."
"What about these Xs all over the place?"
"Open clusters, I think. Winnie calls them 'tangle-many-trees.' Thickets."
"How charming. But there has to be more to it than this. What about this… this epic poem you mentioned? Can you recite some of it?"
"I'll try. Winnie's pidgin English is awfully difficult to render into something coherent. But parts of it go like this:
"These are the Paths through the Forest of Lights, and this way you shall go to find Home. In the land of bright water, keep the sun at evening on the right hand and follow the path to the great trees at the edge of the sky….'"
"That's a portal, I take it?"
"Yes. 'Pass through them but do not touch, for they clutch like the' ― and here's an untranslatable word, but I think it's the name of a plant that preys on small animals ' ― and you will come to the land of white rock that is cold to the touch.'"
"Now, that sounds like Snowball to me," Van said.
"Yes." Wilkes wasn't sure. "Go on, Darla."
"'Again, at evening keep the sun, which is small and dim, at the right hand and follow the Path to the great trees which grow here out of the white rock. Pass through them, but do not touch, for they clutch…' That stanza keeps repeating. Anyway, it goes on like that, endlessly."
"Not coherent?" Van laughed. "It even scans."
Silence, except for the sound of pacing.
Finally, Wilkes said, "I'm not sure I buy it."
"Corey, Darla's telling the truth."
"I don't doubt her. Van. I simply doubt that this could be the map. Why hasn't anyone got wind of this before? Winnie couldn't be the only member of her race who's privy to this mythology."
"No," Darla said, "but she could be one of an exclusive group of initiates. A secret order. Primitive human tribes have them."
"I see what you mean. But why haven't the exopologists gotten any hint of this?"
"Lack of basic field research," Darla explained. "It's tough to get a permit to study anything on Hothouse."
"And we know why that is," Van said. "The Authority doesn't want any scientific corroboration that the Cheetahs are truly sentient and deserve protection."
More pacing. "But how long will the knowledge stay secret?"
"I'm not worried," Van said. "I doubt that the Authority will ever lift its de facto ban on exopological field studies on Hothouse as long as the planet is a source of drugs. Of course, there's always a chance someone may find out, but it's a calculated risk."
Again, a shadow crossed my field of vision.
"Corey, you may have your doubts about Winnie's map, but I have my own as to whether this is the best way to go about preventing this map, or any map, from getting wide circulation. This Paradox business, I mean."
"Do you still think we can do anything back in T-Maze?"
Van sighed. "No, I suppose not. From what Darla's told us, Grigory wasn't any closer to ferreting it out of the dissident network than we were. That's why he went after Jake. Right, Darla?"
"Grigory was never convinced that the map was more than a myth," Darla said. "But it's true that the map is in the hands of the dissidents. Jake as much as gave it to them when he plunked it down on Assemblywoman Miller's desk."
"And why in the name of God did he do that?" Wilkes wondered, more to himself than to anyone. "At any rate, this was after he returned from his… quest, heroic journey, back from the future or the past or wherever the hell he went." Wilkes began pacing again. "But Miller is in a psych motel, isn't she?"
"She doesn't have the map, nor does she know where it is," Darla said. "By now it's probably been copied and recopied several times over. No telling how many people have it now."
"Which is why," Wilkes said pointedly, "we're doing it this way. Stop Jake here, intercept him and get the map, and it never gets back to T-Maze. Things go back to the way they were before."
"Or the whole universe disappears, us with it," Van said gloomily.
"In that case, we'll never know what hit us. As painless a death as you could hope for. But that's doubtful. Paradox is built into the Skyway, if you believe legends, and I do. The universe can surely survive a Paradox or two."
"But… it already happened," Van persisted, unconvinced. "They have the map. I just don't see how we can change that one immutable fact. And as long as the dissidents have it and the Authority doesn't, everything's fine. Why fiddle with it?"
"How can you think like that, when at least a dozen dissident leaders were arrested not a few days ago? The Authority's closing in. Van."
"Yes, I suppose it is," Van said dejectedly. "I was hoping against hope that somehow we could avoid all this."
"So was I," Wilkes said. "But even if what Darla says is true and the Authority doesn't know about the Roadmap yet, surely Grigory will be able to convince them sooner or later."
"That's what I don't understand. How can he convince them if he isn't convinced himself? Darla?"
"You must understand," Darla explained, "that Grigory had been acting pretty much on his own. He was kicked upstairs to his job, and he resented it, but his professional dedication was unswerving. You know how he1 is, Van. It's essentially a public-relations job, investigating strange phenomena and manufacturing explanations for public consumption. Not a day goes by when someone doesn't report having a visitation from the Roadbuilders. You've heard the stories. Usually no reliable witnesses, no corroborating evidence. Just wild stories. The Roadbuilders will return someday and make the road free again, abolish all oppressive governments, open up the entire Skyway to every race. That sort of thing. If you believe the stories, the Roadbuilders have handed out hundreds of maps to humans and nonhumans alike, but no authentic artifacts have ever materialized. It was Grigory's job t
o debunk all the stories, kill the hope that generates them, the hope that people have of someday getting the Authority off their backs. That's why the Authority can't really bring itself to believe in the map unless it has its nose nibbed in it. I agree with Van that Grigory ― if he's alive, which I doubt ― won't be able to convince the Authority, even if he comes to believe in the map himself, which I also doubt."
Wilkes said, "And this Eridani creature is the key to the whole thing. Is that what you'd have us believe?"
"As far as I can tell, she is."
"Well, I have no problem with that," Van said. "There's certainly something to it. Maybe it's not a complete map, or an accurate one, but it's a map."
"As I said," Darla told them, "I haven't had the time or the
opportunity to study Winnie's drawings. You'll have to make the final judgment, based on the evidence."
"If only we had more to go on," Wilkes complained.
"Only Winnie can give us more information," Van said. "But we have to find her first."
"We'll find her," Wilkes said confidently. "Darla, can you be sure that Winnie's joumey-poem clearly reveals that there's a way back to T-Maze through Reticulan territory?"
"No. That fragment was all I had time to translate. Lots of distractions, and then Jake spirited her away. But back on the island I specifically asked her if she knew a way home. That's when she started reciting the poem."
"A way home," Wilkes repeated. "Hmm."
"I think he's coming around."
It was like a camera coming into focus, suddenly, and there in front of me was the tall, white-haired man I'd seen at Sonny's, Dr. Van Wyck Vance, wearing a midnight-blue jumpsuit. He was smoking a cigarette wrapped in tan-colored paper, blowing smoke at me. I looked at him. It was just like the last time; I was abruptly awake, aware… but this time I could recall clearly what had happened when I was under. The entire preceding conversation settled into my forebrain as if it had been recorded and just now fed in.
Wilkes was seated in an armchair to my right, Darla on the bed across the room. Vance was standing in front of me.
"Hello, Jake," Wilkes said.
I nodded, then turned to Vance.
"I don't think we've been introduced," he said. "I'm Van Wyck Vance."
"I know," I told him. "I've met your daughter, Daria. She speaks highly of you."
They turned to Darla, who shook her head.
"How did you know?" Vance asked.
"A little birdie told me."
Vance took a thoughtful puff on his cigarette, then shrugged. "Well, you said he was resourceful, Corey."
"Yes, he is," Wilkes said.
Darla said, "Jake, Daria is a name I rarely go by. Van always called me Darla."
"Her mother named her," Vance said, sitting down next to his daughter. "I never cared for it. I remember when she used to come home in tears ― her schoolmates were teasing her by calling her 'Diarrhea.' Remember, Darla-darling?"
"I'm glad to say I've repressed that."
Vance laughed.
I was sitting in another armchair with nothing binding me, and I thought now would be a good time to get up. I started to.
"Roadmap!" Wilkes said sharply.
I was startled enough to plop back down, then looked around for someone with a gun. Nobody was holding one on me. I felt weak. My head felt like a ball of fuzz sitting on my shoulders.
"You won't be able to get up, Jake," Wilkes informed me. "I planted the posthypnotic suggestion while you were under. Actually, I should say posthypnogogic. This thing doesn't induce a standard hypnotic trance." He held up a thin bright-green tube about half a meter long. "Subjects are ten times more suggestible under it. Even consciously being aware of the plant doesn't break the spell."
"The Reticulans are very good at mind-control technology," Vance said.
"Unfortunately," Wilkes said, "they don't know enough about human physiology yet to make this thing really useful. Twrrrll tells me they're working on it, but we're still as much a mystery to them as they are to us. If you were a Rikki, Jake, you'd be my obsequious slave, and would tell me anything I'd want to know, or do anything I'd want you to do. As it is, all the wand does to humans is either knock 'em out or turn them into shambling hulks in a highly suggestible state ― and I'm not enough of a psychometrician or a hypnotist to always get the results I need." He brandished the wand at me in the manner of a headmaster reprimanding a wayward pupil. "You're a tough customer, mister, I'm not at all sure I could make you tell me where you've hidden your little alien friend ― and even if I could, I have the sneaking suspicion I'm going to need your active cooperation to actually get hold of her. You've got her stashed with somebody on board, somebody ― a group, I bet ― with whom we can't readily punk around. A gaggle of Buddhist nuns… boy scouts… the damn Archbishop of Sea-home and his acolytes. I wouldn't be surprised. You're slippery, Jake. Slippery. No, I'm afraid I'll have to resort to old-fashioned methods of persuasion. Meantime…" He stroked the wand lovingly. "This gizmo will keep you right where I want you."
Vance said, "I suppose a truth drug wouldn't do either?" Wilkes shook his head disdainfully, continuing to caress the wand.
"Ingenious little things," he went on. "Very powerful. The effect can cover a city block. You adjust the field-strength here." He fiddled with one end of the rod, which was ringed with a wide silver band. "This doodad here. The only drawback is that the effect can be thwarted by taking a simple tranquilizer. Of course, if the subject doesn't know that…"
"Tranquilizer?"
"Yes. You'd think the opposite would be true, wouldn't you? A high-altitude pill of some kind. An antidepressant. The way I understand it, that does almost no good at all."
"Almost," I said, feeling foolish.
"Why, are you on something? You did seem to be semiaware while you were under. Good try, Jake."
"Seemed like a hell of a good idea at the time."
"I'm curious, though. Did you actually know about the dream wand? Did you happen to be awake that night when we walked in at the commune?"
"Commune?"
"The religious — group's place. When a subject's already in normal sleep, there's no awareness of going under."
I looked at Darla briefly. She looked slightly confused, so I thought it would be better not to mention the wand's use at the Militia station.
Wilkes picked up the byplay and looked at Darla, then at me. "Something?" he asked.
"We do have the mystery of Jake's escape from the Militia station to explain," Vance reminded him.
"Oh, yes. Twrrrll was sure he detected another wand in operation there. But that was most likely the Ryxx, don't you think?"
"How did they get hold of a dream wand?"
"Oh, the Ryxx are master traders. They probably paid the right price to a renegade Rikki and got it. Or they may have a similar technique of their own. Besides, we did see two Ryxx nearby."
Vance grunted noncommittally.
"Who knows?" Wilkes conceded. "They may not have done it, but they have just as much reason as we do to keep the map secret. Granted, it's hard to understand why they didn't grab Jake as soon as he came out, or try to, anyway. But they didn't.
And I'm not going to waste time wondering why. Someone got him out of there, for whatever treason."
I said, "May I ask a question?"
"Sure," Wilkes said.
"Why did you come to the Teelies' farm that night?"
"You'd have to see to understand. Darla, would you call Twrrrll in here?"
Darla didn't get up. Vance rose and said, "I will." He went to the connecting hatch, opened it, and called the alien's name.
After a moment, Twrrrll came in. It struck me how tall he was, how sickly thin his limbs were, and how they contrasted with his seven-digited, powerful hands, hands that could envelop a human head and squeeze. His feet were huge as well. He wore no clothing except for crisscrossing strips of leatherlike material that wrapped his thorax like a harness.
<
br /> "May I be of serrrvice?" the alien asked.
"Jake would like to see the mrrrllowharrr," Wilkes said.
"Verrry well."
It was a strange sensation to see him undrape an invisible something from his shoulders and cradle it in his hands. Stranger still to watch him stroke it with two fingers and trill to it softly. As he did so, something even more unsettling was happening to my perceptual apparatus. It wasn't like watching something flicker into existence out of thin air. No, not like that at all;
for the thing was there all the time. Everyone has had a similar experience. You look and look for a misplaced object, something you just had a minute ago but inexplicably misplaced, like a pennon a desktop. You search and search and can't find it, until someone points it out for you and it's right under your nose. The thing in the alien's hand existed, was there, but the fact simply had not registered in my brain. All at once the animal materialized, but I knew it had been there all along. I had seen it, but had not recorded it as a datum.
"It still amazes even me, Jake," Wilkes said.
It was a match for the caterpillar-snake thing Susan had accidentally killed at the farm, its pink brain-bud glistening moistly in the overhead light. I felt queasy, desperately hoping my worst fears were unfounded.
"It was with you all the time, Jake. On your jacket, most of the time. Probably right under your collar, tucked away safe and snug."
I felt like throwing up. "How?" I said in a strangled voice.
"Strange survival tactic. Marvelous, really. Not visual camouflage, but perceptual camouflage. God knows how it's done, but the animal makes its predators forget it's there. Some extrasensory power, no doubt. Your perception of it gets shunted directly to the preconscious, bypassing the primary perceptual gear. Is that basically the way it works, Twrrril?"
"Yes. We would use different terrrminology, perhaps. But yes."
'Trouble is, me mrrrllowharrr is very sluggish, which makes it vulnerable when it gets underfoot. Isn't that what happened at the farm?"
I took my eyes from it.
"Darla?"
"Yes. One of the Teelies accidentally stepped on it."
"We were hoping that's what happened, and that you hadn't become aware of it somehow. Its hold on the mind isn't absolute. We couldn't locate the carcass, but Twrrril convinced us to take a chance and plant another one, this one's mate. We put it on your jacket, which you conveniently left outside your sleeping egg."
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