Anywhere but here

by Jerry Oltion

  "Can you work it backwards?" he asked.

  "Huh?"

  "If you can't figure the distance from the velocity, how about picking a distance at random and figuring the velocity you'd wind up with when you got there? It'd give you at least an idea of how far out of the ballpark you were, wouldn't it?"

  "It's the damned angle," she said. "I could do it if we stayed the same distance from the center of the galaxy, but it's no easier figuring velocity than it is distance with that angle in there." He didn't see why not, but then the whole deal was beyond him anyway. If he'd gotten stuck out here on his own, he wouldn't even be trying to learn how to calculate anything; he'd just charge up the batteries and head down that nineteen-and-a-half-degree line until he saw something he recognized or ran out of juice, whichever came first. But interstellar distances weren't like distances back home; his method would probably leave them stranded out in the ass end of nowhere with no more clue where they were than they had now.

  "Hey, it's lunchtime," he said. "Let's give it a break and hit it again with some food in our stomachs."

  "All right," Donna said. She didn't seem very interested in anything but her math problem, but that was just her usual obsessive focus. If he put food in front of her, she would eat it. He went outside again to check the rain bucket and decided there was enough in it to boil some more noodles for lunch. The thought of noodles so soon after last night's disastrous run-in with them didn't sound all that good, but they really needed to see if they could use any local water at all, and Trent would rather find out in daylight than after dark again tonight. Maybe chicken-flavored ramen noodles would be enough like chicken soup to taste like comfort food rather than an experiment in alien cooking. There was no reason why they both had to get sick if the rainwater wasn't drinkable. He got a bottle of Earth water from the camper to use in Donna's noodles, then rinsed out the cook pot with a little of it and dried the pot good with a towel before he poured the rest of the bottled water into it. He got out the alien alcohol and started a fire, then hung the pot from the wire over the flames. It didn't take long to boil—this plastic wood burned hotter than real wood—but Trent let it boil for a few minutes longer before he added the noodles, just in case he hadn't gotten the pot clean enough. When her soup was ready, he poured it into a bowl and took it into the camper for her, then made himself another potful with rainwater. He let that boil for a good, long time, but when he realized that he'd boiled off about half of what he started with, he added the noodles and made soup with it. It smelled good. It tasted good, too. It even warmed up his insides the way it was supposed to. But a couple of hours later he was on his knees out in the meadow again, calling dinosaurs even worse than the first time. Not even rainwater was safe.

  31

  They didn't see any animals that day. The rain continued to fall, and the waterwheel continued to spin. Trent checked the battery's charge every couple of hours and watched it nudge upward, until by nightfall it was almost at thirty percent. That was better than he'd expected. A couple more days at that rate and it would be fully charged.

  He swapped out that battery with the other one just before dark and installed the partially charged one in the pickup. Might as well have a real light in the camper tonight, and give the fridge a chance to cool off again. Not that it had ever warmed up much in this weather. It was cold enough to see their breath even inside the camper.

  They forwent a fire that night even so. Neither one of them felt much like sitting outside in the rain, even by a fire. So they just closed up the camper and let their body heat warm it up as much as it was going to before they went to bed. Donna wanted to stay up and study some more, but Trent challenged her to a game of poker instead, and they wound up drinking beer and playing for matchsticks until they were both tired enough to sleep. They only had one beer each, because the beer and the bottled water they'd brought with them were the only things on this planet that they knew they could drink, but with the waterwheel recharging the batteries, Trent figured they would make another try for home before they died of thirst anyway, even if Donna didn't come up with the distance.

  They woke up to snow on the ground. There were just a couple of inches, but it completely transformed the valley, making it seem twice as open as before. It was much brighter, too, even though the sky was still cloudy.

  Trent put on his jacket and checked to make sure his generator was still working. There were little knobs of ice on the ends of the arrows holding the slo-mo shells, but the stream hadn't frozen, and the wheel was still spinning merrily. The battery read almost forty percent charged. There were no paw prints near the camper, but there was a set running uphill along the top of the stream bank. They looked surprisingly like cat or dog prints, with pads and claws in the right places and the same left-right gait as anything you'd expect to see on Earth. They veered toward a clump of bushes and there was a messed-up patch of snow right there, intersecting a smaller set of prints. The small prints didn't continue on.

  The sky cleared as the day progressed. Sunlight on the snow was bright enough to make Trent squint even with sunglasses, but the snow didn't last long under its intense rays. By mid-afternoon it was all gone, and the stream was running hard and fast. Trent wouldn't want to cross it now unless he had to. The waterwheel was spinning about twice as fast as it had been that morning, though; he would probably have to swap out a fully charged battery by nightfall.

  He kept his eye out for cupids, and it wasn't long before he spotted a couple riding the thermals off the sides of the valley. Most of them already carried arrows in their claws, belying his earlier prediction that they couldn't do that for long. They were either stronger fliers than he'd given them credit for, or they were hungry enough to put out the energy so they could attack at first sight of something edible. Apparently to them "edible" meant anything in motion. Trent was standing under the tree just across the stream from the waterwheel and watching one circle its way down the valley when it suddenly straightened out and made a bombing run straight toward him. He was at the edge of the tree's canopy, where he'd thought he was safe, but he backed up a couple of steps when he saw the cupid coming. It released its arrow anyway, and he dodged to the side before he realized that the arrow was going to fall way short of him. He watched it fall, then watched it hit what the cupid had been aiming for all along: the waterwheel spinning steadily in the rushing stream.

  The arrow struck dead-on in the middle of the motor's cylindrical case, and Trent expected it to bounce off harmlessly, but instead there was a big flash of electricity and the arrow burst into flame.

  "Son of a bitch!" he yelled, rushing out from under the tree, but the stream was too high to walk across on the rocks. He had to wade through the tail end of the pool, struggling to keep his footing in the current while he kept watch overhead for a second shot aimed at him.

  He made it to the other bank before the cupid came around with another arrow. He wasn't carrying the rifle, but he had the pistol strapped to his hip; he drew that and fired in one fluid motion, but didn't hit anything, so he steadied the gun in both hands and took careful aim, and his second shot hit a wing. Silver scales flew and the cupid dropped the arrow, banking away to glide awkwardly into the tree over the pickup.

  Donna came running with the rifle. "Are you okay?" she yelled.

  "Yeah, I'm fine," he called back over the rush of water. "But the motor isn't." Then he realized she wasn't wearing her helmet. "Hey, get back under cover! There's cupids out here." She didn't listen to him, but she kept her eyes on the sky while he climbed up on the rocks above the waterfall and kicked the burning arrow off the motor. It snapped at the edge of the case, and the flaming part sizzled out in the water. The tip was still embedded in the case, and now he was close enough to see what had happened: the cupid had managed to hit a vent hole that led straight to the motor's windings.

  A rifle shot made him flinch and nearly fall off the rocks, but he caught himself on the motor and looked up to see Donna just l
owering the gun from her shoulder. He looked up in the sky and saw a cupid veering away, a little puff of scales fluttering down below it.

  "Got him!" Donna yelled.

  "Good shootin'!" Trent yelled back.

  He holstered his pistol so he could use both hands, then unplugged the battery and tossed it as gently as he could across the stream to land on the far bank. No way was he going to carry that across. If he slipped and lost it in the stream, they could kiss their escape from here goodbye, even if Donna did figure out the math.

  The wheel was still turning. Trent heard the tip of the arrow grinding away at the windings inside the motor. The motor was already ruined beyond repair, but he couldn't bear to let it tear itself apart any worse than it already was, so he started to untie it, intending to swivel it around until the shells tied to the tire no longer caught the falling water, but the rifle cracked again and Donna screamed, "Look out, I missed!" Then it cracked again and Trent looked up just in time to see an explosion of scales and the cupid itself tumbling out of the sky, the arrow beating it to the ground by only a second or two. There were four or five more cupids coming, all carrying arrows in their claws. Trent abandoned the motor and scrambled across the stream as fast as he could go, picked up the battery, and fled with Donna to safety under the tree closest to the waterwheel.

  He heard a metallic clank behind him, then another. The new guys were peppering the motor with arrows. One hit the tire and Trent winced as he imagined it puncturing that, too, but it bounced off and clattered onto the rocks.

  "Let's see that," he said, reaching for the rifle. Donna handed it over and he walked to the edge of the tree's canopy, sighted on one of the birds, and fired, but he missed and the cupid kept coming, dropping its arrow onto the motor along with the others. It took two more shots to hit another cupid, and two more to get another. That seemed to convince the others that this wasn't a good place to be; they flapped away without dropping their arrows, and disappeared up the valley.

  "Valentine, my ass," Trent said. "We ought to call a flock of those bastards a vandalize."

  "Did they ruin the motor?" Donna asked.

  "Yeah." He handed her the rifle and headed back toward the stream.

  "Where are you going?"

  "They'll be back. Or other ones will spot the motion. I'm going to stop the wheel while I've got the chance."

  He waded across the stream again, climbed up on the rocks, and finished untying the motor, then swiveled it around. The tire came to a fast stop; there was a lot of friction on that axle. Trent wanted to take it back under cover even though it wasn't moving now, but there was no way he could get it across the stream with the water running as high as it was, so he just rotated the motor so its control box was as protected as possible and tied it down again with the wheel out of the waterfall, then he crossed the stream again and carried the battery back to the camper.

  He checked the charge level: a shade over fifty percent. That was only one of two batteries, so it was just a quarter of the pickup's full charge, but they could get home on that if they didn't have to make too many jumps.

  Right. Considering the trouble Donna was having with the calculations, they were going to need all the power they could get and then some.

  Well, there were three more motors. One had a messed-up control box, but the box on the motor that the cupids had just ruined was still good. Trent looked at the pickup, already missing a wheel, then out at the stopped water-wheel. Then with a sigh he got out his tools and set to work unhooking the next motor.

  While he was doing that, Donna walked out to the edge of the tree's cover and looked across the stream for a while, then went into the camper and came back out with the parachute and began unfolding it on the ground under the tree.

  "What are you doing there?" he asked.

  "Looking for a section big enough to hang over the waterwheel and cover it so cupids can't see it," she replied.

  He slid out from under the pickup. That was an excellent idea, except they'd cut down the closest trees on that side of the stream. "What can we tie it to?" he asked.

  "That tree right across from it, on this side. If we go high enough, we can just stake it to the ground over there. It'll hang at a slant, but there's plenty of parachute. We can cover the whole stretch between the tree and the opposite bank, and that way you don't have to worry about getting bombed when you go out there to check the battery, either."

  Trent looked at the parachute, then at the stream, then at Donna. "You're a genius." She blushed. "Hah. Tell me that when I figure out where the hell we are."

  "I don't care if you ever do that," he said, pulling her into a hug. "You just keep figurin' out stuff like this, and you're genius enough for me."

  "I don't—"

  He stopped her protest with a kiss.

  "I just—"

  He kissed her again.

  When he was sure she felt good and appreciated, he crawled hack under the truck, and he found himself actually whistling as he finished unbolting the motor. There were worse things in life than being stranded somewhere exotic with someone like Donna.

  While he worked on the motor, she folded the parachute in thirds and stitched it together with one of the shroud lines so the rips wouldn't leave any openings for cupids to shoot through, then she carried the parachute and an arrow up to the tree beside the waterfall, tied a shroud line to the back of the arrow, and tossed it over a branch. It took a few tries to get it looped over the right crook in the branch, but she eventually got it and tied the line to the tree trunk, then she did another line closer to the middle of the tree, and another one on the other side.

  "Okay," she said to Trent, who was done with the motor by then and was just watching her with open admiration. "I think it's ready to stretch across the creek." The only cupids in the sky were a long ways off, but even so, Trent and Donna wore their armor and carried their guns while they unraveled the parachute behind them. When they got to the stream, Trent holstered his pistol and waded across, then Donna tossed him the coiled shroud lines and held the parachute out of the water while he pulled it across and tightened it up. It rose into the air, a glowing white roof leading upward at a gentle slope, clearing the waterwheel by three or four feet while hiding it completely from overhead.

  He pounded arrows in the ground and tied the shroud lines to them, then stood back and admired their handiwork. It flapped softly in the breeze, but the stakes held.

  "Cupids coming," Donna said. He looked up and saw four of them spiraling closer, no doubt attracted by his and Donna's movement. Or maybe it was the parachute itself that attracted them. That wouldn't be such a good deal if it drew cupids into the area. He splashed back across the stream under its cover and he and Donna waited under the tree to see what they would do. They were definitely interested in the parachute. They swooped low over it and banked around for closer looks, and one of them tried to land on it until the cupid realized that it wasn't solid enough to support its weight. The cupid croaked indignantly and flapped into the air again, plucked another arrow from a treetop, and flew away, and within a minute the others had lost interest as well.

  "I think it's a winner," Trent said as he watched them go.

  He was getting tired of slogging back and forth across the stream, so while Donna watched for cupids he sawed down another tree and made a log bridge, positioning it so he could reach the motor while he was standing on the log. Then he carried the new motor across and swapped it for the old one, which was easier said than done since he had to remove the tire with all its arrows and slo-mo shells tied to it, then mount it on the other motor, but with Donna's help he was able to get it with only a couple knuckles bruised and one lug nut dropped in the water. He fished around for it with his hands, but couldn't find it before they started going numb from the cold.

  "The hell with it," he said. "Three is enough to hold it. But next time we go star-hopping, remind me to bring some extras."

  Donna said, "Who knew that interste
llar exploration would require so many lug nuts?"

  "It's never the stuff you plan for that gets you," he said. "Well, let's give this a try." He swung the motor around until the slo-mo shells dipped into the waterfall, and smiled when it started spinning again. He went back to the pickup and got the battery they'd used through the night, and when he plugged it in, the wheel slowed under load and the battery's charge light came on.

  "All right," he said. "We're back in business."

  32

  Trent spent the rest of the day taking the damaged motor apart and fishing out the pieces of arrow and wire. It would never work as a motor again, but with the guts removed it would at least hold a tire and freewheel so they could drive.

  Donna went back to work on the computer, and around sunset she came out of the camper with a puzzled look on her face.

  "What's up?" Trent asked. He was mounting the motor back on the pickup.

  "I've got a number," Donna said. She should have been bouncing up and down with that news, but she just stood there, frowning.

  "What's the matter?" Trent asked. He slid out from underneath the truck and got to his feet.

  "I don't trust it."

  "Why not?"

  "It's twenty thousand. Even. What are the odds that a glitch in the navigation program would send us exactly twenty thousand light-years away?"

  "Sounds pretty likely to me," Trent said. "One digit and a bunch of zeros. A bit gets flipped in the ten-thousandth place, and here we are."

  "But that's not what it looks like in binary. It's nowhere near an even number in binary."

  "Maybe the part of the program with the bug in it isn't written in binary." She shook her head. "None of it's actually written in binary, but that's how the numbers are stored. If something went wrong with one of them, it would show up as an even number in binary, not decimal."