Yunubey grunted, apparently unsurprised. “Ask them if they know whether the wormhole really is dead, or if it’s just hiding.”
It was a good question. Wormholes turned off whenever they were surrounded by anything other than breathable air. The Americans and Indonesians used that fact to control traffic to Junction.
“I think it’s gone for good,” said Anne after Misha had relayed the question.
Misha translated that while Yunubey looked at him as if the Russian was a misaligned gear in a toymaker’s drive mechanism.
“She only thinks she knows. Tell her to only tell me the facts of what happened.”
Anne and Daisuke did, starting with how they’d spotted the other ATV, backtracking to what they were doing out on the glasslands, pausing to more precisely translate the concept of ‘a date’, then forward to the shape of the glasslands and the kenzen crater.
They ended up reenacting the destruction of the wormhole with Daisuke’s steepled fingers representing the tip of the pyramid and Anne’s fist, the wormhole.
As he listened, Yunubey’s fingers tightened around his spear.
“It expanded to swallow a whole column of rock and I guess it…choked?” Anne finished.
“Forbidden!” Yunubey spat.
“Yes,” said Misha, “but please don’t—”
Yunubey flashed his spear up, pointed at Anne’s chest. “Swear that you had nothing to do with this malyelya.”
It was a new word for Misha. “Do you mean ‘making something bad’?” he asked.
Yunubey responded through gritted teeth.
“He wants you to swear that you had nothing to do with the, uh, desecration of the wormhole,” Misha translated.
“Desecration is right!” said Anne. “Of course we didn’t. We tried to stop them, but we were too late.”
In the light of the Nightbow, Yunubey’s eyes had become pits.
“Please don’t kill anyone,” Daisuke told him. “Don’t be angry.”
But Misha knew that Yunubey wasn’t angry. Yunubey looked like any of Misha’s handlers and commanders did when they’d made a hard choice.
“Can we kill Farhad in battle?” he asked. “Does he have guns?”
“I think so. I think he’s stronger than us,” Misha answered.
“Find out for certain.” The chieftain banged his spear on the ground and turned as if to walk away, the Nun equivalent of ‘That’s an order, soldier’.
“What did he say?” Daisuke asked.
Misha tugged at his beard. “He wants us to figure out a way to kill Farhad.”
“Ha!” Daisuke laughed, which surprised Yunubey enough to turn back around.
Daisuke pounded his fist into his hand. “We can’t give up. I have a way we can achieve our goal. We stop Farhad and Moon from destroying anything. Misha stops the Nun from killing anyone. We go to the Howling Mountain and discover all the wonders there. We go home and use the things we learned to protect Junction. And nobody dies!”
Misha stumbled through a translation.
Yunubey sneered. “We will kill Farhad. Or else we will force him to go back to the Them’s country.”
“I tried that already,” Anne said, and Misha translated.
“Or else we will abandon him and go back home.”
Misha turned to look back the way they had come. “Do we have food for the trip back?”
“Yes.”
That was news to Misha, but he translated dutifully. “We can still turn back. The Nun will take us home.”
“No way are we running,” Anne said. “This has got nothing to do with our safety. We’re trying to stop Moon from laying waste to Junction. Any more than he already has. And, yes, Daisuke, quit looking at me like that. Without killing him, obviously.”
“Then how?” Misha asked. “You can’t reason with him. You won’t kill him. Are you suggesting we maim him?”
“Watch,” Daisuke said. “We should watch him. Tell Yunubey that you and I and Anne will follow Moon around. We won’t leave him alone. He can’t do anything.”
“A rotating guard?” asked Anne as Misha translated. “Moon won’t like that.”
Daisuke rubbed his hands together. “Only if he finds out about it.”
***
Moon knew something was wrong the moment he saw Anne. The biologist was sitting in what Farhad called the ‘breakfast nook’, a little table between the caravan’s middle door and the accordion joint that connected the two halves of the vehicle. Her head swiveled to track him as he passed her.
He didn’t bother wishing her a good morning. Moon just turned to the espresso machine opposite the table, feeling Anne’s eyes on the back of his neck as he measured out coffee grounds and tamped them into the portafilter. His hair stood on end, as if electrified by her hatred.
Anne clearly wasn’t just pissed that Moon had conducted his experiment without an ecological impact study first. That temper tantrum she’d thrown yesterday didn’t have its roots in any rational policy of environmentalism. Anne was an animal, snarling at the intruder in her territory.
And what happens when an animal attacks an intelligent human? The thought brought no comfort. Where would Moon’s intelligence be in twenty years? He twisted the knobs on the machine and filled the kitchen with noise. Let Anne hate him. Moon had work to do.
The walk down the length of the caravan to the bridge reminded Moon uncomfortably of the previous night’s dream. Corridors and confusing streets. Moon had been a ghost, sliding as if on tracks around some hybrid of Meyrin, Switzerland, and Cambridge, Massachusetts. He’d been looking for his body, but couldn’t think where it could be. Had he died in bed or in a hospital or in the lab? What would the most efficient search pattern be? And the street layout kept changing.
Anne’s fiancé was waiting for him on the bridge.
“Good morning,” said the entertainer, sweet and false as diet soda. “What are we going to do today, Moon?”
“The same thing we do every day, Daisuke.” That was Aimi. She giggled as if she’d made a joke, and although Moon didn’t get it, he found the corners of his mouth tugging up. More animal complications.
“Heh, but actually we’ve all got marching orders this morning. Farhad thinks a more structured schedule will prevent any more unpleasant misunderstandings.” Aimi patted the chair next to her. “Sit,” she said. “And drink your coffee while I tell you the plan.”
Moon did so, looking out past the empty driver’s seat over the new biome.
The barren, broken rock under the caravan’s front bumper acquired a layer of red clay. Ahead, green stains on the clay developed into elaborate spirals, which merged into a thick, grasslike carpet that extended into the hilly distance. Water glimmered out there, then dark woods, and finally, on the horizon, a blunt blue cone. The Howling Mountain.
“I want to help,” Daisuke announced. “Professor Moon, if you plan to go out into that grass, I’d like to accompany you.”
That offer would have rung false even if Moon hadn’t seen the expression on Anne’s face this morning. So the idiots thought they could keep him from his next experiment, did they?
Moon considered saying, ‘I don’t need company,’ or something, but why bother? What good would communication do here?
“It might be dangerous out there,” said Daisuke. “You should never go into unknown bush alone.”
Moon sipped his coffee.
Aimi cleared her throat. “Yes. That’s why Farhad wants Turtle to accompany Anne on her field expedition today. We want to begin surveying this biome as soon as possible. And Turtle is a tremendous fan of Anne’s and he wants to see her work.”
Aimi winked at Daisuke before turning to Moon. “This morning you’re assigned to Misha and the Nun. The toymakers apparently need some kind of refurbishment before they can cross into this biom
e, and your technical skills will be useful there.”
Toymakers? Moon knew three programming languages and wasn’t entirely at a loss when it came to repairing electronic equipment, but the toymakers were just wooden tubes filled with worms. What was he supposed to do with them? He opened his mouth to say so, but Aimi met his eyes and he lost his train of thought.
“All right,” Daisuke said. “Should I go with Moon or with Anne?”
“Actually, Farhad and I have something to discuss with you here.” Aimi smoothed back her hair. Was she nervous? “Actually it’s Anne.”
Daisuke’s brows came down. “Anne is right.”
“Well, you know I agree with you, but this is a difficult situation. I don’t want to—” Aimi glanced at Moon and frowned. “Why don’t you go see Misha now?”
Moon jerked in his seat. What was she playing at? Aimi wasn’t on the side of the idiots, was she?
Human relationships! Are you on my side? Can I trust you? No! Obviously, always, no. Physics you could count on. Your understanding might be imperfect, but at least there was something that you could understand. There was solid ground out there, somewhere, if only Moon could find it.
He sucked down the last of his coffee. To hell with Aimi. And to hell with Farhad if he thought Moon would spend the morning playing with toymakers. Moon had his own plans. The bucket and shovel he needed were already in the ATV.
The air outside was colder and drier than yesterday, with a new scent like fish and smelling salts. The sun shone from the south-east, just slightly the wrong color.
Moon walked along the caravan to the rear, where the ATVs were mounted. He ducked under the window of the breakfast nook. No sign of Anne or Daisuke. All he needed. He might just be able to—
“Annyeonghaseyo.” An enormous shadow fell across him, as if one of the ATVs had detached itself from the back of the caravan and risen up on two legs. Misha.
No sense asking him what he wanted. Moon just stared at the Russian, who cracked his knuckles.
Well, what the hell was he supposed to do now? Dodge around to the back of the caravan and try to start his ATV before this goon grabbed him? Go back into the caravan and find a heavy wrench or something?
“Ah, Moon, there you are!”
Misha’s head jerked up and Moon spun to see Farhad hopping down from the caravan’s middle door. “What are you doing back here?”
“Trying to get to the ATVs,” said Misha.
“ATV, surely,” Farhad said. “Singular. I sent Boss Rudi out this morning to scout for sources of water.”
“What?” Moon said. “Did you send him in my ATV?”
“I sent him in my ATV,” Farhad said mildly.
Moon ground his teeth. “I mean,” he said, “the one I want to use.” He’d explained this all to Farhad. Had the old man forgotten? Some senile memory lapse? No, that Moon’s father, not Farhad. And Moon, himself.
“You are supposed to accompany Anne and Turtle on their biological survey,” said Farhad. “Remember?”
Senile indeed! Or insane! Another component of Moon’s life failing when he needed it!
But Moon couldn’t exactly say ‘Today I plan to desecrate another wormhole,’ with Misha watching. Damn these complications! “Which ATV did Rudi take?” he tried.
And failed. Farhad waved a hand. “Never mind about that. What you need to do this morning is build bridges with Ms. Houlihan. She is your colleague in the caravan and, outside it, she’s your superior. You’ll do nothing without consulting her first, is that clear?”
Moon’s lip curled.
“This attitude is going to be a problem. Come talk to me, son.”
Talk, talk, talk. It never made a difference. As a teenager, Moon had thought the problem was the Korean language. Maybe it wasn’t expressive enough. Then, in college, he’d decided his English must be imperfect. But his German too? His French? Finally, Moon had realized that no level of language proficiency would make another person agree with him. Other people were just too stupid.
No matter how well or thoroughly Moon expressed himself, the hairy stinking animal crouching behind the other person’s eyes would make some snap decision and that was it. Fire bad! Banana good! Further discussion was pointless.
Farhad took Moon by the shoulder and turned him away from the hulking Misha. Moon had no choice but to let the old man pass him to Anne, who was just emerging from the caravan’s central door.
“Thinking about prospecting those hills to the north-west?” Farhad asked. “Good, good. Moon and Turtle can help you carry sampling containers.”
“No,” both Anne and Moon said at the same time.
She recovered from the surprise first. “You think Turtle will distract me while Moon makes a run for it?”
Farhad gave her a look of put-upon patience. “He’s not going to make a run for it, Anne. Where would he run to?”
“This biome’s wormhole, obviously.”
Moon’s skin crawled. She knew.
“Why, are you trying to stop him? Keep an eye on Moon, perhaps, without him knowing?”
Now Anne looked like Moon felt. Secrets writhed like worms under an overturned rock.
The old man raised his hands. “All right. Come with me, Professor Moon.”
He made as if to climb back through the door, but Anne dodged in first and yelled down the length of the vehicle. “Hey Dice! Keep an eye on these dipshits, would you?”
“There’s no need for personal insults,” Farhad said. “I was planning to talk to Daisuke anyway. Have fun, Turtle.”
The Indonesian boy looked extremely guilty as he followed Anne out into the shaggy hills. That expression finally convinced Moon that Farhad was up to something.
“Did Rudi take the ATV with my shovel and bucket?” Moon asked, voice low.
Farhad frowned at him and shook his head. He watched Anne and Turtle recede out of earshot, then whispered, “Wait at the south-west corner of the caravan. Stay low so we can’t see you on the bridge. And trust me, all right?”
Moon scowled, but Farhad winked at him. “I haven’t had this much fun since I smuggled myself across the Turkish border. Go. Make this time count.” He climbed back into the caravan, saying loudly, “All right, Daisuke, you have me and Aimi at your disposal. Let’s talk about how we can—”
Moon glanced at the hills and the rear corner of the caravan. Anne and Misha were both out of sight.
“Idiots,” he muttered. Wasting his time with their cloak-and-dagger nonsense. He should be halfway to the wormhole by now.
Keeping himself low to the ground, Moon scuttled around the front of the caravan and waited there, out of sight, thinking.
The Junction face of the Sweet Blood–Junction portal had been at the top of a mound. Its Sweet Blood face had been at the bottom of a pit. The same had been true of the Earth–Junction portal before humans had excavated around it. Why?
If matters were as simple as the sum of the gravitational vectors from both faces of the portal, you would expect every portal to be at the top of a mound. The particles of soil under the portal would be pulled upward increasingly as they got closer. But that wasn’t what was observed.
Instead, there seemed to be some relationship between the difference between the gravity of each face of the portal and its height above or below ground level. Relatively low-gravity Sweet Blood planet and Earth versus high-gravity Junction had generated pits on Sweet Blood planet and Earth, and mounds on Junction. The glasslands–Junction portal had rested in a shallow divot on the top of a column of rock, like a golf ball on its tee.
Except rest wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t as if the portals themselves had mass and were sinking into the land. Whether they were at the tops of mounds or the bottoms of pits, portals never actually rested against anything. They just sat there, fixed in empty space. Fixed how? Fixed relat
ive to what? Moon’s hands itched for the shovel.
And here came Rudi now, driving Moon’s ATV, bucket and shovel all ready for the next experiment.
Chapter Nine
The Mongol Feint
Moon wasn’t back by lunchtime. When Farhad signaled his walkie-talkie for the fourth time and nobody answered, Anne slapped her knees, stood, and walked off the bridge. Whatever the bad guys said to her, she ignored it.
“Come on, Dice!” she called over her shoulder. “Misha!” Thank God they still had the other ATV.
The stiff, grasslike stems that grew from ammonite-coiled rhizomes had lost some of their stiffness in the heat of noon. They flopped over like half-cooked spaghetti, paler than their morning pine-color, and squelched sadly when Anne stepped on them, releasing fishy-smelling grease. That would be the tertiary amines, which indicated all sorts of things about these plants’ relationship with nitrogen, but Anne wouldn’t be able to figure out that puzzle, because she had an idiot to catch.
Good thing the ammonite-grass was there. Sickly-green noodles lay squished in two parallel bars that curved off to the hilly north-west. Anne tried not to mourn the plants Misha killed as he drove them in the same direction.
The land rose and fell under them, not like the ripples in the glasslands, but in a random, water-sculpted way Anne couldn’t help but feel was more ‘natural’. Limp grass hung down the slopes of miniature canyons like sweaty hair, and crenellations crowned many of the rises. Anne watched the rectangular silhouettes slide past each other as the ATV drove, black against the lavender sky.
“Anne,” Daisuke asked after a while. “Are those castles on the hills?”
Each slab was three meters tall, flattened and roughly rectangular, and the rings they formed were more like henges than fortresses. Some tighter-coiling, shorter-noodled species of plant covered their faces and tops.
“No, they’re like trees,” Anne said. “Turtle and I examined one of them. The funny thing is that the ground around them is lower than the rest, like it was dug out….” She realized what Daisuke had done and whacked the dashboard. “Don’t distract me! I came here to rescue Moon, not look at aliens.”
Interchange Page 13
