The Celestial Steam Locomotive (The Song of Earth) (36 page)

So: Manuel and Belinda, pursued.
 

Because there is an infinity of happentracks, there is an infinity of Rainbows, an infinity of Manuels and an infinity of Belindas.
 

A terrible thing was going to happen to Manuel on most of these happentracks. Although all the tracks would differ in varying degrees, the result would be the same. There would be two main branches of the track, and Manuel would lose Belinda on each. On the shortest, most direct track it would happen like this:
 

Manuel said, “Through here.” He drew Belinda down a narrow animal trail that twisted among shrubs so dense that he could not see more than five meters ahead, so tall that he could not see to either side. The pursuers were very near, crashing through the undergrowth all around them. Manuel caught a glimpse of a shaggy creature charging by so close that he could almost have touched it as he pulled Belinda to the ground. The bearback riders did not need to follow the trails.
 

Then they had gone and the couple were running again. Belinda was keeping up well; her breathing didn’t seem to be troubling her these days. The trail twisted and turned, and soon Manuel had lost all sense of direction. Small animals scuttled from under their feet, plump creatures with bright eyes in their chipmunk faces, cute smallwishes not unreal enough to be banished to the Land of Lost Dreams. Manuel glanced at one as he passed. It held a nut in its paws and it winked at him.
 

Belinda dragged him to a sudden halt.
 

“Oh!” she gasped.
 

A giant figure barred their way. A bear, all dank fur and slavering jaws, and on its back a Bjorn-serkr.
 

The man roared, a brainless sound. He was not looking at Manuel. Manuel didn’t matter. For all the Bjorn-serkr knew, he was just another smallwish, and an unattractive one at that. No, the hunter was watching Belinda and his teeth were bared in a fierce grin of expected pleasure. Thus have victorious warriors looked, all through the ages.
 

“Move aside, you!” he said to Manuel. “You’ve played your part.”
 

Manuel stayed, staring up belligerently, still holding onto Belinda.
 

“I said move!” shouted the man impatiently.
 

A short silence, then: “Better do what he says, honey,” said Belinda.
 

Manuel whirled round. Her voice was changed. Fear hit him in the stomach. He let go of her hand as though it were a viper.
 

Belinda had changed.
 

Her hair, still fair but perhaps even fairer now, was shorter. It hardly reached her shoulders. Her eyes were bigger, the lashes improbably long, the eyebrows bold arches. Her cheeks were plumper and her breasts and belly much fuller. Even her clothing was different—a white dress now hugged her figure. Her stance was not Belinda either. She stood sideways, one leg a little in front of the other, looking over her shoulder at the Bjorn-serkr, a long look from under lowered eyelashes. She was beautiful, and Manuel stared at her with sick revulsion. The Bjorn-serkr watched her with impatient lust.
 

Manuel didn’t recognize her for what she was, of course. He was a Wild Human, unused to the changing fashions of the Dome. Had he lived in the present day, however, he would certainly have appreciated those famous lines from The Song of Earth:
 

A villainess named Marilyn destroyed the human race.
 

What kind of fools were people then, to venerate that face?
 

To him, she had the face of a Gorgon.
 

She was moving past him now, going to the Bjorn-serkr with her arms outstretched. He was climbing down from his bear. Manuel toyed with the idea of killing them both. He knew he couldn’t, though, so he walked away in shame.
 

And the other happentracks, were they any less painful?
 

Manuel said, “Through here.” He drew Belinda down a narrow animal trail that twisted among tall shrubs. For the next hour they dodged the hunters in this fashion, following the winding trails while the Bjorn-serkrs crashed around in fruitless search and eventually gave up. Someone among them found a reserve of psy and created another eland and another green-robed blonde, and they all pounded away into the distance.
 

Manuel and Belinda reached a stream that flowed quietly through a glade and stopped to refresh themselves.
 

“You remember my home, Pu’este? I think it must be south of here.” He spoke thoughtfully, glancing at the sun, his arm around Belinda’s waist. “It’s a good place, Belinda. I think you’ll like it there. The people in the village... Old Chine, he’s not a bad fellow. And the priest, Dad Ose... And do you remember the Quicklies that came along the beach... ?” He fell silent, lost in nostalgia. Now he had Belinda back and his quest was over. He could take her home.
 

“Avalayna...” said Belinda.
 

“Much better than Avalayna. Although we can call in at Avalayna first, if you think it’s up that mountain.” He was eager to please. He didn’t want to lose her, didn’t want her even to consider going their separate ways. That would be unthinkable.
 

They slept in the forest at the base of the mountain that night. The trees were curiously unformed and straggling, although Manuel didn’t think anything of it at the time. They ate pink mushrooms that tasted like peaches and hung from the smooth bark of the trees like lanterns, glowing in the evening light. There was no grass underfoot, just dusty soil. They found a drift of leaves near a rock face and curled up in their crackling fragrance for the night.
 

The morning was bright and cool, and they made quick love once more in the bouncing couch of leaves before dusting themselves off and washing in a spring at the foot of the rock face. Manuel added some smooth clothlike bark to his clothing and made Belinda do the same. She looked pretty the way she was, but they might soon be meeting people. Then they breakfasted and began their climb.
 

They reached the cloud by midmorning. Suddenly it was cold and damp, so they went slowly, suspecting that the mist concealed sheer drops on either side of the path. At last they reached an opening in a rock: Some kind of entrance, because the path ran to it with precipitous cliffs on either side. It was dark in there and Manuel hesitated, feeling misgivings.
 

Belinda tugged at his hand. “Let’s go back.”
 

“Not after coming this far.”
 

There are many kinds of doors, and Manuel didn’t recognize this one for what it was. He stepped through.
 

Instantly a voice spoke, startling him.
 

“You wish to pass?”
 

He stared into the darkness. Soon he could make out the figure of a man—but was it a man? The jaw was so underhung that it was almost a snout, and rows of sharp teeth gleamed. The head was unbalanced by this so that the jaw—or snout—hung down on the chest. The eyes peered up from under heavy lids that blinked at slow, regular intervals. The man sat curled in a seat formed from the solid rock, his hands resting passively in his lap. The arms were very short and the hands gnarled, with thick, sharp nails.
 

“Let’s go back,” said Belinda again.
 

“That would be wise,” said the man. His voice was slow, and when he spoke his whole head moved as though governed by the huge jaw.
 

“We’re going through,” said Manuel.
 

“You might not like what you find.”
 

“We’ll take that chance, thanks.”
 

“Back where you’ve come from, there is everything you could possibly want.”
 

But Manuel was a real live Wild Human, and his curiosity was aroused. “That’s not true. I want to see what’s on the other side.” It had occurred to him that Pu’este might be there, or at least a quick way out of this strange land. Perhaps there was a railway station where he and Belinda could catch the Train home.
 

“You cannot conceive what’s on the other side.” The man’s head bobbed with slow words. Farther down the tunnel, tiny flecks of light swam in a blue haze. It was beautiful and somehow familiar.
 

The whole situation was familiar. Where had it happened before?
 

“Let us through,” said Manuel determinedly. Holding onto Belinda, he began to edge past the man.
 

With a quick slithering motion the man jumped down from his chair and crouched on all fours, barring their way. He looked as if he might bite.
 

“I say this for your own good. On the other side is pain, sorrow and death. That means nothing to you, I know. You cannot conceive the horror of these things, but believe me, you would not like them. They are not fun. They are not exciting.”
 

“I know what they are,” said Manuel.
 

He hadn’t felt pain for hours.
 

“I’m a real Wild Human,” said Manuel, remembering the Girl, and suddenly realizing he might still be in Dream Earth, but not realizing the significance.
 

The man on the ground said, “I believe you. In that case, there is nothing further I can say. Pass.”
 

So Manuel and Belinda left the crocodilian Reasoner behind and passed through the Do-Portal.
 

And Manuel’s hand was suddenly empty.
 

The Cuidadors stood around in silent sympathy. Even Juni felt sorry for the young Wild Human. Someone brought Manuel his Simulator, as an adult brings an unhappy child his favorite toy. Manuel switched it on and watched the storm clouds and the girl.
 

“She never was real,” he said. “I should have known. That kind of thing doesn’t happen to a fellow like me. I must have imagined that whole thing from start to finish. I smallwished her. Nobody like her could be real. It was all a dream...” And dreamlike, the storm-painting swirled.
 

“She was real,” said Selena urgently. “The first time you saw her, she was real, Manuel!”
 

“How do I know that?” He was not convinced. He was a simple tool in the hands of these gods and they were using him as they might use a trowel to fashion their purpose. They had the power to do whatever they liked with him—or with the whole of his world, if it suited them. “I’d like to see the Girl, now,” he said.
 

Zozula hesitated, avoiding his eye. “She’s still in there,” he said eventually, nodding at the Rainbow. “What! You mean you just left her in there all alone?”
 

“It’s been her home for a long time, Manuel.”
 

“You abandoned her! After dragging her all over the place, after all she’s been through to help you fix your damned Rainbow, you just abandoned her. Why? Was she too much trouble for you?”
 

Before Zozula could answer, Helmet, the electrician, said, “I must say, Zo, it does seem a little thoughtless. And we need her here in the Rainbow Room.”
 

There was a murmur of agreement and Zozula found himself faced by a hostile crowd. “Fetch her out of there, Zo,” said Juni.
 

‘The Girl will come to no harm,” said Zozula forcibly. “Believe me. Right now, our most important task is to diagnose the fault in the Rainbow and get it corrected.”
 

“We’ll need the Girl, too,” said Selena. “Eulalie gave her the knowledge.”
 

“What about your Mole?” asked Juni. “Didn’t you say he was a pillar of common sense who could talk the Rainbow’s language? Didn’t you go to all this trouble to get him out of there? Didn’t you say he would be the saving of the whole human race? Well, wheel him out! Plug him in!”
 

Impatiently, Zozula said, “The Rainbow’s rejected him once. It snatched his mind and hid it away in the Land of Lost Dreams without our even suspecting what had happened, leaving us with a brainless body. There’s no point in sending him in again until he’s good and ready. He’s got to adapt. He’s got to be taught about the real world so that the Rainbow will accept him like any other Dream Person, instead of seeing him as some kind of rival genius thinking in abstract concepts. And he is a genius, make no mistake about that. Eloise says she’s never known a mind like his—and she’s lived with some clever people. But the Rainbow has to
trust
him, can’t you see that?”
 

“So what are you doing about it?”
 

“Eloise is working on him now,” said Zozula.
 

The shining Thing had gone and the Mole calmed himself the best way he knew, by probing a new branch of mathematics. Things began to fall into place. Equations sprang into his mind. Problems solved themselves, clicketyclick, giving rise to new theorems.
 

Theorems proved themselves...
 

Oh!
 

Another Thing! Another Thing!
 

It was gone.
 

Theorems...
 

It was back! It flickered there, as though it were scared too. Cautiously now, the inquiring mind of the Mole approached it. It must be part of the overall scheme, otherwise it couldn’t
be.
Perhaps it was something external to his mind, like the discomforts he’d suffered recently.
 

The Thing was four-dimensional, not like the horror that had threatened him before. It meant him no harm. It possessed symmetry. It moved with an illogical free will. It sat uselessly in his mind like a disproved proposition, but at least it was friendly.
 

The Mole did something of supreme genius.