Race Against Time (4 page)

This development complicated things even more. Obviously Ala was from that third zoo, sent to him by mistake. What a blunder! But at any time the Standard authorities would untangle their mix-up and act to correct it. Whatever he had to say to this girl he would have to say quickly—and she had no idea of the situation! Yet she was a potential ally. He might never have a chance to talk with another purebred specimen, other than Betsy. This was his opportunity to establish a rapport between zoos—one that might help to free them all. He had to take advantage of this incredible break. He had to get through to her!

Something nagged the back of his mind but wouldn't jell. Be methodical, he told himself. Haste makes waste, or whatever. Do this properly, avoid further confusion, save crucial time.

"What is the date? The year?" he asked her. Once that common ground had been established, he could show her how it failed to jibe with other facts.

"The twentieth day of Zu'lkadah, nine hundred seventy-six," she said.

"Nineteen seventy-six! That's fifteen years ahead of me!" he exclaimed. It had not occurred to him that his date might fail to match hers! It was the world of the Standards he expected to differ from the world of the purebreds.

"Nine hundred seventy-six," she said clearly. "Are you mocking me with your talk of a thousand years hence?"

John hesitated, appalled at the time chasm that he suddenly found between them. A thousand years! How could he discuss twenty-fourth-century concepts—or even the twentieth century's—with this girl from the Dark Ages? But he had to try, for he might have no more than a thousand seconds to make intellectual contact. "That month—Zulwhatchims...."

"Zu'lkadah. Next month I take the hajj, bareheaded and wearing just two pieces of cloth, as prescribed," Ala answered.

"Where—where do you live?"

"Mopti. But after the hajj I will go to Jenne, to the university."

University—it was the lone familiar term in a linguistic morass. "Mopti? Is that a city? In what state, what country?"

She glanced at him as though he were babbling. "In the lakes region, of course. On the Niger, in Songhai."

He caught hold of another word. "The Niger? Isn't that a river in Africa?"

Again that perplexed glance. "Yes, of course. Songhai is the greatest empire in Africa, and the richest under Allah. Surely you know that?"

Allah! "You're not Christian?"

"An infidel? You
are
mocking me!" She was angry now, and prettily so. "Tribal gods are one thing, but—" She stopped walking and faced about, her ear decorations swinging out grandly. "I should not have walked with you. I must go back and find out what happened to the proper caravan. I was to travel to Bornu, to Kanem, to see Humé. How I came to this heathen place I cannot say. I supposed you were a Peul slave messenger, or even a bonded Moroccan, because of your strange pallor. I see now that you are no honest tribesman of Africa, but a foreigner, perhaps even a Portuguese slaver. I will not soil my hands on you." She concluded her speech and started back toward the town.

John dived to block her path. "Ala, I'm not mocking you! I'm trying to—look, I'm a white-skinned Christian American who lives almost a thousand years after you. Supposedly. You can see I'm different and my whole town is different.
How is it possible that we two are together now?"

She was silent for a moment, and he hoped she was realizing that on the face of it their meeting was impossible in the real world. Once she saw that, she would be ready to listen to his explanation and to verify it for herself.

"I see you are different," she said at last. "I do not see you living a thousand years hence. Let me go."

He had not been touching her, but now he put his hand on her arm just below the white sleeve. He felt the immediate tension of her small, firm muscle. "I'm
not
living a thousand years later! That's the point. We can't coexist in the—the framework the Standards have given us—so we're actually—"

"The palm leaf despises the hippo," she said.

Amazed, John let his hand drop. She brushed by him, walking swiftly away. John was jolted back to action. It was as though her mysterious remark had cast a spell over him, momentarily—but he couldn't let her go. Not yet.

Again he got in front of her and barred the way. "Haven't you seen the Standards? Tan people, under that white-painted surface, that shellac. Under the black, for you, I guess. They control us. They—"

"The palm leaf despises the hippo," she repeated, staring regally past him.

"Oh, dry up!" he exclaimed. "I'm trying to help you!"

She looked uncertain. "Dry it?"

"Dry your damn palm leaf! Bake it under the sun all day, for all I care! If you won't listen, you won't listen."

He stood aside, but she did not move. "I will listen, John," she said softly, and she almost smiled.

John swallowed his anger and amazement and plunged in. "You are a purebred African. I am a purebred American. You were raised in an African village. I was raised in an American village. But you never saw any other villages, did you, and neither did I." He paused to take a breath, watching her face for reaction. He was guessing about her background, but her failure to object confirmed his belief. She
had
been raised in a zoo.

"You never saw those other villages because there
were
none," he continued. "They taught you geography, but it was all in texts, or whatever you use in Songhai. You never actually went anywhere. When you wanted to go, they made excuses, but they never let you out. They told you you would travel when you got older, or when you finished your education, or when you married. Always sometime in the future. They kept you close because they
couldn't
show you any real places."

She nodded slowly, her massive earrings flashing in the sunlight once more.

"And then they sent you to the man they had selected for you—Humé. Only someone slipped up, and you arrived at the American exhibit, and probably"—he paused, just now making the connection—"probably right now Humé is talking with Betsy. The white girl. Because we are the only purebreds in the world, and it's
not
earth. It's another planet, and everyone else is of mixed race. The people you know in your village—scratch their arms, and there's brown skin underneath, much lighter than yours. You've seen that, haven't you?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"And there are no animals. Except pets. You know what a dog is?" But of course she did; she had complimented Canute. When she nodded, he continued: "You know what a dog can do—and what it
can't
do?"

She nodded again.

"Well, watch this. Canute!"

Canute, sniffing around some large roots, lifted his head and bounded over with his tail wagging briskly. He was well over fifty pounds now—a lot of dog. John pointed to the nearest tree. "Climb!"

The dog hesitated, then climbed.

"Well, that's my case," John said. "We're all zoo specimens. If we continue the way the Standards—the brown-skinned people—want us to, we'll make fine exhibits. And maybe if we purebreds have children of our own someday, the Standards will take them away to be raised in other exhibits, just as we have been raised. Must be pretty interesting, watching a freak person in his natural habitat. A real moneymaker."

"They don't use money," Ala said.

"You know what I mean. They can see us somehow, all the time. They—" He stopped, realizing what she had said. "You knew! You know about the Standards!"

"Who did you think spoke to your keepers?"

"Who—" He had a moment's confusion. "That's it! That was what was nagging me! That phone call saying you were at the bus station! You couldn't have done that unless—"

"I had the coachman do it," she admitted. "I did not know how to use your speaking tube. 'Inform the man I'm here,' I said, and so he spoke and then went away in his hollow dragon. He was a Standard."

A white-painted Standard or a black-painted Standard? he wondered, but decided not to get entangled in such details now. "Why didn't you just tell me at once, if you knew?"

"I did not trust you. Your aspect is alarmingly pale, you know."

John was furious. "All this time you made me waste! They'll discover their mistake anytime."

She shrugged. "If Allah wills. What can we do, John?"

"We can escape! Betsy and I have—but why should I trust you, either?"

She faced about again and resumed walking in their original direction as though nothing were wrong. John, ashamed of his outburst, had to fall in beside her. "I give you my secret: three numbers," she said, looking straight ahead.

"Look, I'm sorry I...."

"Can you remember them?"

So she wouldn't let him apologize! "Numbers! What good are they?"

"They are called coordinates." That word was obviously alien to her. "Of my village and two others. When you escape, seek them out. That is all I can do for you; I know no more."

Coordinates of other zoos! This was invaluable information. "I'm sorry," he said urgently. "You were right to be cautious. Let me write down your figures."

"No. They can see us. They could read your paper. You must remember the numbers, as I do."

He nodded soberly. "I'll memorize them."

"0544071364," she said. "377—"

"Hey! I can't remember all that!"

"You must. 3777767256. 0000150055. Those are the three. Mine is the third."

"But those aren't coordinates! They're just numbers! I can't make head or tail of them!"

"Where I live it is hot," she said. "Palm trees, elephants—we
do
have an elephant—"

"What's that got to do with—" Then he made the connection. "You must live near the equator. And your number is full of zeroes. Maybe...."

"Do you remember them all now?"

"No. Give me the first slowly. I'll try to fix it in my mind. Then the other two. I'll figure out what they mean later."

She repeated the numbers, and he concentrated as though cramming for the years's most important exam—as perhaps he was. The second figure was easier because of the row of sevens, and the third was no trouble at all. Maybe he was getting the hang of it. "I think I have them," he said at last and hoped it was true.

By then they had circled to the main road. "It goes nowhere," John said. "I followed it one night. Runs into a forest and peters out into nothing. Yet Dad drives to work that way every morning."

"Drives to work?"

"Oops—you didn't have cars in nine hundred seventy-six! It—it's like riding an elephant, only it's metal. A metal elephant you sit inside."

She laughed. "The Standards don't use metal elephants, either."

"No. They have floating balls. But what did you make of the bus, if you don't know about driving?"

"Bus?"

"You were at the bus station. You must've come in a bus, and you saw the driver drive away."

"Oh, you mean the hollow dragon!" she considered. "I left on the elephant. Then"—she faltered—"I must have slept."

"So you don't really know how you got here? It figures."

"Perhaps on one of their floating balls."

"Probably. I have an identity key that will make one of them operate for me. If you ever see one of those balls coming down on your village, get over to it quickly; it'll mean I've escaped and figured out your location. I'm not fooling—the Standards never fly those balls in sight of a zoo." Then he had a disturbing second thought. "You
do
want to escape?"

"I want to take my hajj, John, my pilgrimage to Mecca, next month."

"Oh, sure. After that, I mean. And your—you know—Humé?"

"I do not know Humé," she said disdainfully. "But I may not be at my village. The university of Jenne...."

She was avoiding his question, refusing to commit herself, but she
had
given him the coordinates. "I may come anyway. If this foul-up that introduced us doesn't change everything."

"I'm glad it happened," Ala said.

John looked at her, surprised and gratified. "Yes! So am I."

They were in sight of Newton now, but it didn't matter.

Mom was gently shaking him awake. "John, it's breakfast time, and you aren't up yet! The eggs will get cold."

He sat up dazedly.
What had happened?

Mom was watching him with concern. "Do you feel all right, dear? You were talking in your sleep."

John rubbed his eyes. Canute was there, tail wagging. Everything was in order except his own head. The dizziness passed reluctantly, and chaotic images danced behind his eyeballs. "Guess I was dreaming, Mom," and for a moment he believed it. Then he caught himself repeating "0544071364" and knew that the black girl with the golden ornaments had been no fantasy. Somehow the Standards had erased that day and started over!

He must have been drugged. That would account for his unusual confusion upon waking and the fleeting nightmare visions. He usually woke clearheaded.

John played along. The ruse might have worked if he had not long since known about the Standards. He would have shaken off the memory of Ala, her Moslem religion, her thousand-year antiquity, along with the irrelevant notions. She would, indeed, have become a dream. But he
did
know about the Standards, and so did she. And now he had another major piece of the puzzle. Black purebreds as well as white purebreds! Each one in his or her own zoo....

One other thing: The Standards certainly could not have overheard yesterday's conversation, or they would have known that he knew about them and was plotting to escape. And they would never have tried this simplistic stunt or given him his chance to join with Betsy! So he had been right: They could see but not hear outside the developed town. That was good to verify, and it gave him renewed confidence.

But he could do nothing at the moment. If he gave himself away, it could lead to trouble for all the purebreds—himself and Betsy, Ala and Humé. He had to act natural now. Once he was free—if he got free, if his plan with Betsy worked....

He snapped his fingers as he trotted down the stairs. He
could
do something now! He could figure out that coordinates system so he would know exactly where to find Ala! But he was unable to concentrate, for Mom and Dad kept him occupied with one preparatory chore or another all morning.