The Celestial Steam Locomotive (The Song of Earth) (19 page)

“Our tribe is doomed anyway. If they seek the math creature—as they will—our fate will take a less direct route. That will result in our surviving on just a few more happentracks. By helping them, I’m increasing our chances of survival.”
 

“I’m sorry, Eloise.”
 

“And besides “
she admitted,
“I want to meet the math creature.”
 

Zozula led, the Girl followed and Manuel brought up the rear, with Eloise riding beside him. The extra load did not seem to bother the shruglegger, who strode powerfully on. There was an air of disappointment about the Triad on the first day of their return journey. Privately, Zozula doubted whether Eloise was going to be much help to the Mole. From the glimpse he’d had of the Lazy Children’s incredible imaginings in the Greataway, she could make matters worse. But at least she was telepathic... He swung round in his saddle suddenly, wondering if she was reading his mind at that moment.
 

She smiled at him innocently. She had been describing her previous travels to Manuel. It seemed that she’d spent several weeks with a Polysitian island chief before being taken back to her tribe in some disgrace, which she did not specify. Manuel asked her what the Polysitian girl looked like...
 

A slim girl walked through his mind.
 

“What was that!” He almost fell from the saddle in surprise.
 

“That was a Polysitian girl. That’s what you wanted to see, wasn’t it?”
 

“But... I expected you to describe her, in words. Instead I
saw
her. Did you do that?”
 

“Of course.”
 

“But I thought you only read minds.”
 

She laughed. “If I can build a city in the Greataway, it’s not difficult to build a girl in your mind, Manuel.”
 

“I... suppose not.” He regarded her in awe and fell silent, savoring the remains of the vision she had given him.
 

In midafternoon they camped in a clearing and Manuel built a fire. The sun was high and hot, the clouds wispy as though shredded by their passage over the eastern mountains. Zozula, blundering about the camp, was ill-tempered and short of breath. The Girl and Eloise lay against a grassy bank panting as though they, and not the shrugleggers, had been doing the carrying. The beasts themselves huddled under a tree in the shade, hanging their heads and sweating.
 

Only Manuel seemed unaffected, gathering wood, whistling, picturing the girl Eloise had drawn for him. Belinda
had
looked a little like that...
 

“There’s no damned air in this jungle.” Zozula collapsed in the shade, gasping.
 

“Snake clouds,” explained Manuel.
 

“Snake clouds?” Zozula exclaimed. “Aren’t those the clouds that tell you the Chokes are coming?”
 

“That’s right, but we have plenty of time. The Chokes won’t be here for two days at least.”
 

Zozula climbed to his feet, eyes widening in alarm. “
You
may have plenty of time. You people have adapted to this. But what about us? Have you thought of that?”
 

Manuel hadn’t. He regarded them in dismay. Zozula was right. “Well, you didn’t say anything,” he said defensively. “The snake clouds started on the day we left the Dome. I assumed you knew all about them.”
 

“We don’t all live Outside in this poisonous air, Manuel. Things are a little more civilized in the Dome.”
 

“I can’t breathe properly right now,” said the Girl anxiously. “What do your people do when the Chokes get bad, Manuel?”
 

“They go to Life Caves,” Manuel muttered.
 

“Well, let’s go to one, then.”
 

“I don’t know where there are any, except near the village.”
 

“Oh.” She subsided, gasping.
 

“What does your tribe do, Eloise?” asked Manuel.
 

To save time, she built them a picture of a delta backwater with the tree branches woven to form a vaulting canopy, leaves threaded into the holes and bamboo walls between the trunks. The water was covered with a solid mat of oxygen-producing lifeweed—the same stuff that had littered the beach when Belinda came to Manuel. On the shore around the backwater lay the Lazy
 

Children. At first there were a number of babies in the picture, but Eloise hastily removed them.
 

“We’re too far away from the delta now,” said Zozula. “There’s only one thing to do. We’ll have to travel all night and all day tomorrow and hope we reach the Dome before we run out of air.”
 

Even as he said it, he knew it was hopeless. They didn’t have time.
 

By late afternoon they were moving again, urging the shrugleggers to greater efforts. The beasts were clearly faltering, their chests heaving, their fur soaked with sweat. They moved through the forest in a solid phalanx, drawing strength from one another, sometimes even leaning against one another.
 

Suddenly Eloise said, “What do the animals do in the Chokes?”
 

Manuel explained. “They’ve adapted. The guanacos and such like migrate to the best places nearest the ocean. Then they just stand and wait it out. They do the same thing when the air is rich, too. In normal times they wander about in the foothills.”
 

“Those are open-ground animals. What about the solitary ones that live in the jungle? They can’t migrate.”
 

“I don’t know. I know nothing about the jungle.”
 

“I think the animals have their own places here,” said Eloise.
 

“Maybe, but I don’t know where they are.” Manuel’s mount was stumbling, threatening to dump him and Eloise onto the swampy ground.
 

“I do,” said Eloise. “There’s one near us now. I can feel the animals.”
 

“What’s that?” Zozula aroused himself from his torpor. “Animals? My God, haven’t we got enough problems without animals?”
 

“I think these animals are harmless,” Eloise said, guiding Manuel’s shruglegger northward...
 

It was a vaulting grotto of muted green, here and there starred with crimson where the last rays of the sun reflected from a leaf or touched a lofty branch. Neatly circular in the center of the clearing lay a large pool, the surface almost completely blanketed by aqualilies. Stimulated by the devitalized air, the aqualilies throbbed with delayed photosynthesis, pouring a heady brew of life into the grotto. With it came an elusive, almost soporific fragrance from a multitude of pink waxen flower cups. The forest creatures lay around breathing quietly.
 

The nostrils of crocodiles snuffled between the lily pads and bright frogs squatted on the pads themselves, ignored by their sometime hunters. Capybaras gathered on the shore, resting on their sides like fat mother pigs, while peccaries wallowed quietly in the shallows, also ignored by the crocodiles—and by the jaguars too, three of them, sprawled in forked branches. The smaller animals moved among all this, the cavies and pacaranas and the little rodents and snakes, and the birds perched almost motionlessly, just occasionally preening themselves before settling once more into sleep. It was a gathering place of the common and rare. A thylacosmilus lay beside a tree, flanks heaving gently, a marsupial remnant of some forgotten zoological recreation thousands of years ago, doomed to extinction for the second time in Earth’s history. And on the opposite side of the grotto, hidden and sensed only as a presence, lay an unimaginable creature: the familiar of a Dedo, which she had created for protection—huge and savage, the master of plains and jungle from whom the jaguars fled. Yet the creatures near this thing showed no fear. Nothing showed fear; nothing showed hunger.
 

The flowers poured out their perfume.
 

Eloise and the Triad found room for themselves among a group of flightless forest condors and lay down. Nobody spoke. Zozula’s testiness waned, and with it the Girl’s fear and Manuel’s guilt. Eloise, her unusual mind attuned to the peace in the minds all around her, went to sleep first, and the others soon followed.
 

They awakened occasionally during the next two days, looked around lazily, felt no hunger, thirst or fear, paid no heed to the threadlike shiftings in the soil beneath them and went back to sleep. It was three days before the flowers faded, and Zozula, awakening in shafts of noon sun, saw menace in the closeness of jaguars and anacondas and roused the others.
 

“We’d better get out of here fast,” he said. “We could get ourselves killed...”
 

All around them animals were moving, stretching, stumbling half-drugged into the forest, where the air was fresh and new. Overhead, a horse cloud momentarily obscured the sun. The humans left on the backs of their mounts; the thylacosmilus, old and emaciated, wandered away to die later; the jaguars yawned in their trees and felt the pangs of hunger, unsheathing their claws.
 

Not all the animals left. A multitude of small rodents remained, their legs trapped in the aqualily roots that now emerged from the top dusting of soil like worms, and, tightening, began to draw their prey toward the waters.
 

The little animals barely struggled, as though knowing that nothing is free and that the life-giving lilies had just as much right to the tribute of the forest as did the jaguar, if not more so.
 

Will this room suit you?” Zozula asked. It was close by Lord Shout’s chambers and the view was similar. Eloise blinked at the height and said, “I’ve lived in some odd places. Did you know, I lived on the Polysitian islands for a while, working for Or Wai’ki?”
 

“I didn’t know you people ever left your home.”
 

“How do you suppose we learned your language?”
 

“Oh, I see.” Annoyed at himself, Zozula asked, “What were you doing for this Or Wai’ki?”
 

“He wanted dreams. I gave them to him: warm sands, tall palms, the smell of roasting pork after the fun of the hunt. But he would always twist the dreams around to suit his own... peculiarities. He was disgusting... In the end I got the better of him.” She grinned briefly at the memory.
 

“Could I find those islands?” asked Manuel, thinking of the slim girl.
 

Eloise smiled. “Only the Polysitians can find their islands.”
 

“There will be a record of them in the Rainbow, Manuel,” said Zozula confidently. “Once we can train the Mole to interpret the data, we’ll have the answer to that mystery.”
 

Manuel was unconvinced. Belinda seemed to be moving farther away from him. Only a few days ago Zozula had been positive her tribe lived in the delta. Now she was on some mysterious Polysitian island. He looked at the Girl, who shrugged.
 

They went into the next room. The Mole had been disconnected from the Dream Earth terminals and brought back to his accustomed corner.
 

Eloise blinked—a habit of hers when surprised or shocked—and leaned suddenly against the wall. “Poor thing,” she whispered. Her own tribe contained some oddities, but this was beyond her experience.
 

“You’ll be well rewarded,” said Lord Shout hastily. “And Zozula will make sure you get everything you want during your stay here.”
 

“How... how long will you need me here?”
 

“As long as it takes,” said Lord Shout.
 

There was a silence while the Mole made paddling motions with his appendages.
 

Then: “I’ll help you look after him as well, if you like,” said Eloise. “You won’t need the nurse. And...” She pointed to the robot that had been standing against the wall, refusing all commands.
 

“You don’t have to.” Lord Shout looked at her wonderingly. “It wasn’t part of the deal.”
Surely she can’t want to
, he thought. The Mole sat quietly in his corner, making meaningless gestures.
 

Zozula, Manuel and the Girl left, sensing that this had become a private matter.
 

“How does he make his needs known?” asked Eloise once they were alone.
 

It was embarrassing to explain the croaks, grunts and limb-waving with which the Mole expressed himself, but Lord Shout explained nevertheless. As Eloise had correctly divined, it was a relief for him to share the burden.
 

“How do you know what he’s thinking?” asked Eloise.
 

“I don’t. I never have.”
For all I know, he hates me.
Not for the first time, the figure of the Mole appeared malignant as he squatted there.
 

“Haven’t you wondered?”
 

“All the time. But... I don’t really believe he does think. How can he? He has nothing to relate his thoughts to.”
 

“But his... his face keeps changing all the time. There’s something going on in there.” There was suppressed excitement in Eloise’s voice. “I’ll be able to tell you what it is.”
 

Suddenly Lord Shout was scared. “About Or Wai’ki,” he said, “you said you got the better of him. What exactly did you do?”
 

She smiled at the memory. “I dreamed him a man-eating ichthyosaur and had it go for him.”
 

“But couldn’t he have simply woken up?”
 

“It was a very strong dream,” she said, and her eyes were like diamonds. “By the time I let him awaken, he was... different.”