But they crawled onward. They didn't know the meaning of the word "retreat." If it came to that, they didn't know the meaning of the word "bromeliad." Or "frog." Or any other word.
4
HOTELS: A place where traveling humans are parked at night. Other humans bring them food, including the famous bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. There are beds and towels and special things that rain on humans to get them clean.
From A Scientific Encyclopedia for the Enquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri.
Blackness.
"It's very dark in here, Masklin."
"Yes, and I can't get comfortable."
"Well, you'll have to make the best of it."
"A hairbrush! I've just sat down on a hairbrush!"
"We will be landing shortly."
"Good."
"And there's a tube of something –"
"I'm hungry. Isn't there anything to eat?"
"I've still got that peanut."
"Where? Where?"
"Now you've made me drop it."
"Gurder?"
"Yes?"
"What are you doing? Are you cutting something?"
"He's cutting a hole in his sock."
Silence.
"Well? What of it? I can if I want to. It's my sock."
More silence.
"I shall just feel better for doing it."
Still more silence.
"It's just a human, Gurder. There's nothing special about it."
"We're in its bag, aren't we?"
"Yes, but you said yourself that Arnold Bros. is something in our heads. Didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, then?"
"This just makes me feel better, that's all. Subject closed."
"We're about to land."
"How will we know when –"
"I am sure I could have done it better. Eventually."
"Is this the Florida place? Angalo, get your foot out of my face."
"Yes. This country traditionally welcomes immigrants. "
"Is that what we are?"
"Technically you are en route to another destination."
"Which?"
"The stars."
"Oh. Thing?"
"Yes?"
"Is there any record of nomes being here before?"
"What do you mean? We're the nomes!"
"Yes, but there may have been others."
"We're all that there is! Aren't we?"
Tiny colored lights flickered in the darkness of the bag.
"Thing?" Masklin repeated.
"I am searching available data. Conclusion: no reliable sighting of nomes. All recorded immigrants have been in excess of four inches high."
"Oh. I just wondered. I wondered if we were all that there was."
"You heard the Thing. No reliable sightings, it said."
"No one saw us until today."
"Thing, do you know what happens next?"
"We will pass through Immigration and Customs. Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of a subversive organization?"
Silence.
"What, us? Why are you asking us that?"
"It is the sort of question that gets asked. I am monitoring communications."
"Oh. Well. I don't think we have. Have we?"
"No."
"No."
"No. I didn't think we were. What does 'subversive' mean?"
"The question seeks to establish whether you've come here to overthrow the Government of the United States."
"I don't think we want to do that. Do we?"
"No."
"No."
"No, we don't. They don't have to worry about us."
"Very clever idea, though."
"What is?"
"Asking the questions when people arrive. If anyone was coming here to do some subversive overthrowing, everyone'd be down on him like a pound of bricks as soon as he answered 'Yes.' "
"It's a sneaky trick, isn't it?" said Angalo, in an admiring tone of voice.
"No, we don't want to do any overthrowing," said Masklin to the Thing. "We just want to steal one of their going-straight-up jets. What are they called again?"
"Space shuttles."
"Right. And then we'll be off. We don't want to cause any trouble."
The bag bumped around and was put down. There was a tiny sawing noise, totally unheard amid the noise of the airport. A very small hole appeared in the leather. An eye appeared.
"What's he doing?" said Gurder.
"Stop pushing," said Masklin. "I can't concentrate. Now it looks like we're in a line of humans."
"We've been waiting for ages," said Angalo.
"I expect everyone's being asked if they're going to do any overthrowing," said Gurder wisely.
"I hardly like to bring this up," said Angalo, "but how are we going to find this shuttle?"
"We'll sort that out when the time comes," said Masklin uncertainly.
"The time's come," said Angalo. "Hasn't it?"
Masklin shrugged helplessly.
"You didn't think we'd arrive in this Florida place and there'd be signs up saying 'This way to Space,' did you?" said Angalo sarcastically.
Masklin hoped his thoughts didn't show up on his face. "Of course not," he said.
"Well, what do we do next?" Angalo insisted.
"We... we... we ask the Thing," said Masklin. He looked relieved. "That's what we'll do. Thing?"
"Yes?"
Masklin shrugged. "What do we do next?"
"Now that," said Angalo, "is what I call planning."
The bag shifted. Grandson Richard, 39, was moving up the line.
"Thing? I said, what do we do –"
"Nothing."
"How can we do nothing?"
"By performing an absence of activity."
"What good is that?"
"The paper said Richard Arnold was going to Florida for the launch of the communications satellite. Therefore, he is going to the place where the satellite is now. Ergo, we will go with him."
"Who's Ergo?" said Gurder, looking around.
The Thing flickered its lights at him.
"It means 'therefore,' " it said.
Masklin looked doubtful. "Do you think he'll take this bag with him?"
"Uncertain."
There wasn't a lot in the bag, Masklin had to admit. It contained mainly socks, papers, a few odds and ends like hairbrushes, and a book called The Spy with No Trousers. This last item had caused them some concern when the bag had been unzipped just after the plane landed, but Grandson Richard, 39, had thrust it in among the papers without glancing inside. Now that there was a little light to see by, Angalo was trying to read it. Occasionally he'd mutter under his breath.
"It seems to me," Masklin said eventually, "that Grandson Richard, 39, isn't going to go straight off to watch the satellite fly away. I'm sure he'll go somewhere and sleep first. Do you know when this shuttle jet flies, Thing?"
"Uncertain. I can talk to other computers only when they are within my range. The computers here know only about airport matters."
"He's going to have to go to sleep soon, anyway," said Masklin. "Humans sleep through most of the night. I think that's when we'd better leave the bag."
"And then we can talk to him," said Gurder.
The others stared at him.
"Well, that's why we came, isn't it?" said the Abbot. "Originally? To ask him to save the quarry?"
"He's a human!" snapped Angalo. "Even you must realize that by now! He's not going to help us! Why should he help us? He's just a human whose ancestors built a store! Why do you go on believing he's some sort of great big nome in the sky?"
"Because I haven't got anything else to believe in!" shouted Gurder. "And if you don't believe in Grandson Richard, 39, why are you in his bag?"
"That's just a coincidence –"
"You always say that! You always say it's just a coincidence!"
The bag moved, so they lost their ba
lance again and fell over.
"We're moving," said Masklin, still peering out the hole and almost glad of anything that would stop the argument. "We're walking across the floor. There's a lot of humans out there. A lot of humans."
"There always are," sighed Gurder.
"Some of them are holding up signs with names on them."
"That's just like humans," Gurder added.
The nomes were used to humans with signs. Some of the humans in the Store used to wear their names all the time. Humans had strange long names, like Mrs. J. E. Williams Supervisor and Hello My Name Is Tracey. No one knew why humans had to wear their names. Perhaps they'd forget them otherwise.
"Hang on," said Masklin. "This can't be right. One of them is holding up a sign saying RICHARD ARNOLD. We're walking toward it! We're talking to it!"
The deep muffled rumble of the human voice rolled above the nomes like thunder.
Hoom-voom-boom?
Foom-hoom-zoom-boom.
Hoom-zoom-boom-foom?
Boom!
"Can you understand it, Thing?" said Masklin.
"Yes. The one with the sign is here to take our human to a hotel. It's a place where humans sleep and are fed. All the rest of it is just the things humans say to each other to make sure that they 're still alive."
"What do you mean?" said Masklin.
"They say things like 'How are you' and 'Have a nice day' and 'What do you think of this weather, then?' What these sounds mean is: I am alive and so are you."
"Yes, but nomes say the same sorts of things, Thing. It's called getting along with people. You might find it worth a try."
The bag swung sideways and hit something. The nomes clung desperately to the insides. Angalo clung with one hand. He was trying to keep his place in the book.
"I'm getting hungry again," said Gurder. "Isn't there anything to eat in this bag?"
"There's some toothpaste."
"I'll give the toothpaste a miss, thanks."
Now there was a rumbling noise. Angalo looked up. "I know that sound," he said. "Infernal combustion engine. We're in a vehicle."
"Again?" said Gurder.
"We'll get out as soon as we can," said Masklin.
"What kind of truck is it, Thing?" said Gurder.
"It is a helicopter."
"It's certainly noisy," said Gurder, who had never come across the word.
"It is a plane without wings," said Angalo, who had.
Gurder gave this a few moments' careful and terrified thought.
"Thing?" he said, slowly.
"Yes?"
"What keeps it up in the –" Gurder began.
"Science."
"Oh. Well. Science? Good. That's all right, then."
The noise went on for a long time. After a while it became part of the nomes' world, so that when it stopped the silence came as a shock.
They lay in the bottom of the bag, too discouraged even to talk. They felt the bag being carried, put down, picked up, carried again, put down, picked up one more time, and then thrown onto something soft.
And then there was blessed stillness.
Eventually Gurder's voice said: "All right. What flavor toothpaste?"
Masklin found the Thing among the heap of paper clips, dust, and screwed up bits of paper at the bottom of the bag.
"Any idea where we are, Thing?" he said.
"Room 103, Cocoa Beach New Horizons Hotel," said the Thing. "I am monitoring communications."
Gurder pushed past Masklin. "I've got to get out," he said. "I can't stand it in here anymore. Give me a leg up, Angalo. I reckon I can just reach the top of the bag."
There was the long, drawn-out rumble of the zipper. Light flooded in as the bag was opened. The nomes dived for whatever cover was available.
Masklin watched a hand taller than he was reached down, close around the smaller bag with the toothpaste and flannel in it, and pull it out.
The nomes didn't move.
After a while there came the distant sound of rushing water.
The nomes still didn't move.
Boom-boom foom zoom-boom-boom, choom zoom hoooom...
The human noise rose above the gushing. It echoed even more than normal.
"It... sounds like it's... singing?" whispered Angalo.
Hoom... hoom-boom-boom boom... zoom-hoomboom HOOOooooOOOmmm. Boom.
"What's happening, Thing?" Masklin hissed.
"He has gone into a room to have water showering on himself," said the Thing.
"What does it want to do that for?"
"I assume he wants to keep clean."
"So is it safe to get out of the bag now?"
" 'Safe' is a relative word."
"What? What? Like 'uncle,' you mean?"
"I mean that nothing is totally safe. But I suggest that the human will be wetting himself for some time."
"Yeah. There's a lot of human to clean," said Angalo. "Come on. Let's do it."
The bag was lying on a bed. It was easy enough to climb down the covers onto the floor.
Hoom-hoom booOOOOM boom...
"What do we do now?" said Angalo.
"After we've eaten, that is," said Gurder firmly.
Masklin trotted across the thick carpet. There was a tall glass door in the nearest wall. It was slightly open, letting in a warm breeze and the sounds of the night.
A human would have heard the click and buzz of crickets and other small mysterious creatures whose role in life is to sit in bushes all night and make noises that are a lot bigger than they are. But nomes hear sounds slowed down and stretched out and deeper, like a record player on the wrong speed. The dark was full of the thud and growl of the wilderness.
Gurder joined Masklin and squinted anxiously into the blackness.
"Could you go out there and see if there is something to eat?" he said.
"I've a horrible feeling," said Masklin, "that if I go out there now there will be something to eat, and it'll be me."
Behind them the human voice sang on.
Boom-hoom-hoom – BOOOooooMMM womp...
"What's the human singing about, Thing?" said Masklin.
"It is a little difficult to follow. However, it appears that the singer wishes it to be known that he did something his way."
"Did what?"
"Insufficient data at this point. But whatever it was, be did it at a) each step on life's highway and b) not in a shy way."
There was a knock at the door. The singing stopped. So did the gushing of the water. The nomes ran for the shadows.
"Sounds a bit dangerous," Angalo whispered. "Walking along highways, I mean. Each step along life's sidewalk would be safer."
Grandson Richard, 39, came out of the shower room with a towel around his waist. He opened the door. Another human, with all his clothes on, came in with a tray. There was a brief exchange of hoots, and the clothed human put down the tray and went out again. Grandson Richard, 39, disappeared into the shower room again.
Bub-buh hub-hub boom hoOOOOmm...
"Food!" Gurder whispered. "I can smell it! There's food on that tray!"
"A bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich with coleslaw," said the Thing. "And coffee. And orange juice."
"How did you know?" said all three nomes in unison.
"He ordered it when be checked in."
"Coleslaw!" moaned Gurder ecstatically. "Bacon! Coffee!"
"And orange juice," said Angalo. "Hah!"
Masklin stared upward. The tray had been left on the edge of a table.
There was a lamp near it. Masklin had lived in the Store long enough to know that where there was a lamp, there was a wire.
He'd never found a wire he couldn't climb.
Regular meals, that was the problem. He'd never been used to them. When he'd lived Outside, he'd got accustomed to going for days without food and then, when food did turn up, eating until he was greasy to the eyebrows. But the Store nomes expected something to eat several times an hour. The Store nomes ate all the tim
e. They only had to miss half a dozen meals and they started to complain.
"I think I could get up there," he said.
"Yes. Yes," said Gurder.
"But is it all right to eat Grandson Richard's sandwich?" Masklin added.
Gurder opened his eyes. He blinked.
"That's an important theological point," he muttered. "But I'm too hungry to think about it, so let's eat it first, and then if it turns out to be wrong to eat it, I promise to be very sorry."
Boom-boom whop whop, foom boom...
"The human says that the end is now near and he is facing a curtain," the Thing translated. "This may be a shower curtain."
Masklin pulled himself up the wire and onto the table, feeling very exposed.
It was obvious that the Floridians had a different idea about sandwiches. Sandwiches had been sold back in the Store's Food Hall. The word meant something thin between two slices of damp bread. Floridian sandwiches, on the other hand, filled up an entire tray and if there was any bread it was lurking deep in a jungle of cress and lettuce.
He looked down.
"Hurry up!" said Angalo. "The water's stopped again!"
Boom-boom hoom whop boom whop...
Masklin pushed aside a drift of green stuff, grabbed the sandwich, hauled it to the edge of the tray and pushed it down onto the floor.
Foom boom boom HOOOOooooOOOOmmmmmWHOP.
The shower room door opened.
"Come on! Come on!" Angalo yelled.
Grandson Richard, 39, came out. He took a few steps, and stopped.
He looked at Masklin.
Masklin looked at him.
There are times when Time itself pauses.
Masklin realized that he was standing at one of those points where History takes a deep breath and decides what to do next.
I can stay here, he thought. I can use the Thing to translate, and I can try to explain everything to him. I can tell him how important it is for us to have a home of our own. I can ask him if he can do something to help the nomes in the quarry. I can tell him how the Store nomes thought that his grandfather created the World. He'll probably enjoy knowing that. He looks friendly, for a human.
He might help us.
Or he'll trap us somehow, and call other humans, and they'll all start milling around and mooing, and we'll be put in a cage or something, and prodded. It'll be just like the Concorde drivers. They probably didn't want to hurt us, they just didn't understand what we were. And we haven't got time to let them find out.
The Bromeliad Trilogy Page 32
