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decision-making process?"
"I'm tired of everyone taking it for granted that I don't have an opinion. Or
not one that counts." Susan crossed her arms huffily. "And don't call me
'dearie'!"
"So sorry. And what is your opinion?"
"Thank you for asking. As a matter of fact, I agree with Jake. I think it's
about time he finds his legendary shortcut back home--wouldn't you agree?" .
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"I'm not sure," Darla said, her voice more subdued.
"Well, that's his Plan."
"Plan," Darla repeated, a note of sarcasm returning.
"Yes, Plan. Call it Fate, if you will. Use any word you want."
"I call it merte."
Susan's voice stiffened. "That is your privilege."
"Anyway, if you're agreeing with Jake, why the sudden need for
self-determination?"
"It's not sudden, and it's not a need. It's a--"
"Well, I do know you have plenty of those. Needs, I mean, and you're fairly
systematic about meeting them."
"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Susan said, voice tightened with rising
anger.
"Interpret it any way you wish," Darla said airily.
"On second thought," Susan said, "I know exactly what it means and it's just
the kind of shitty remark I'd expect from a scheming, hypocritical bitch who
can't--"
I heard a slap and looked back. Darla and Susan were tussling in their seats,
inhibited greatly by their safety harnesses. Each had a handful of the other's
hair, and Darla was trying mightily to land a left hook somewhere in the
vicinity of Susan's nose, while Susan was blocking nicely.
John rushed back and tried to disengage them,
"Ladies, really," he said. .
"Hey, look," I said lamely.
They stopped. Darla unstrapped, got up, and went aft. Susan unstrapped too
but stayed in her seat, looking angry and frightened and somewhat hurt, all at
once. Her eyes were moist.
Roland thought it all pretty funny. I didn't and was very disturbed. Also
surprised at how quickly the thing had flared up. I couldn't figure it. Darla
had seemed very out of character; Susan less so, but I hadn't thought her
capable of coming to blows with somebody. I hadn't seen who threw the first
punch, nor had I seen Susan throw any, but she would have come away with a
fistful of Darla's hair, roots and all, had the fight continued. I gave up
trying to understand it and attributed it to travel fatigue . . . for the time
being.
I got on the radio and told Sean and Carl where-we were heading, and outlined
the reasoning behind the decision. They all concurred, Liam and Lori included.
The fairy garden gave way to open country gradually sloping to the right
toward gray mountains. A small, hot sun, bluewhite in color, burned low in the
sky to our left. Ahead I could see the road split three ways, as Sam had
predicted. I upped our speed and headed straight.
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'`I'm still unconvinced we're doing the right thing, Jake."
I turned to Roland, who was still puzzling over the roadmap displays.
"I'm not convinced this is the best decision," I said, "but I think it makes
a hell of a lot more sense than trying to find our way back to a place we
don't want to go."
"The Outworlds?"
"Yeah. God knows what we'd stumble into. We could even wind up back on
Seahome. Imagine having to board that island-beast again."
"I don't want to imagine it. But have you considered the possibility that we
might luck our way back to Terran Maze?"
"Yes, I've considered it," I said, "but we won't find a backtime route
following standard roadmaps."
Roland sighed. "True. Still it seems that there should be some other
alternative to just blindly shooting potluck after potluck."
"If you think of one, let me know."
Roland sat back. "I will."
Chapter 15
Interchange world.
This one was big; bigger than most I'd seen. Like most, it was the desolate
moon of a gas giant. Judging from the apparent distance to the horizon, I
guessed this one to be about twice Luna's size, which made it a full-fledged
planet. It had an atmosphere, a haze of biotic soup. No life forms were
evident, but you never know; you could be walking along out there and some
sapient crystal could tap you on the shoulder and ask the time of day. Or if
you would like to rent his sister. Nevertheless, the place looked lifeless and
bleak: flatlands of dirty white ice cut by an occasional low spine of dark
rock running diagonally to the road. The sky was gray with a tiny molten point
tow and directly ahead. A distant sun. Forty-five degrees to the right, the
gas giant cut the grayness with a milk-white crescent.
We hit some traffic as our ingress spur merged with others. Outr alien
vehicles overtook us, wiggling and weaving between lanes. The shapes were as
various as they were strange, some rounded and bulbous, some starkly
geometrical, others sleek, low, and lean. A few were almost indescribable.
What looked like a loosely associated collection of giant soap bubbles wobbled
by, emitting a tinkling warning tone. Farther along, a miniature contraption
resembling a mechanical dog scampered past us like a runaway child's toy. A
glowing blue polyhedron paced us for a stretch, then accelerated and lost
itself in traffic.
We were on a straightaway running across the icy flats. The first cutoff
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likely would be about thirty kilometers distant. Signs appeared, asquiggle
with nervous lettering. We were in a civilized, organized maze. Whose, I
didn't know; I did not recognize the symbols as Nogon script. We had probably
left the Nogon Maze proper, and now were in the Expanded Maze to which it
belonged. Ragna's crazy maps had not made the demarcation clear.
"'What say we take the first cutoff?"
"Fine by me," Sam said.
"That all right with everybody?"
It was fine. I called Carl and Sean, told them what was up.
"Sounds okay to me, Jake," Carl told me. "Lori thinks it's a good idea, too."
"All the same to us," Sean concurred. "We'd as lief roll the dice now as
drive ten kiloklicks and do it then."
"Okay, then," I said. "We take the first cutoff. Acknowledge."
"Affirmative!"
"Ditto!"
I leaned back and eased off the power pedal. It's nice to have things
settled. Roll them bones.
"Sam," I said, "what about some music?"
"'You must be in a particularly good mood. What'll it be?"
I rarely play music while driving. Not that I don't like it-on the contrary,
I love music and find it uncomfortable when I can't devote my full attention
to it. I don't believe in using it as wallpaper. Other reasons: my tastes tend
toward classical, which makes me singular among my colleagues in the
fraternity of truck owner-operators. Though I don't really care what they
think, being known as a bit of a flake can be a liability, and since can't
stomach the glop that passes for pop music these days, I usually opt for
silence.
But in the wake of Darla and Susan's set-to, the silence had begun to feel a
little stony.
"What about a little Bach? Something from the Two-Part Inventions would be
nice."
"Comln' up "
"Wait. On second thought, maybe we should have something more appropriate to
the weird scenery. How about Bart¢k's Concerto for Orchestra?"
Sam complied with the request.
I looked back and found myself the object of bemused stares.
"Bart¢k?" Roland mouthed silently, eyebrows arched in detached, academic
surprise.
"You're a strange man in many ways," John commented.
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"John," I replied, "how would you like to walk to the Big Bang?"
"Apologies."
I wasn't really miffed by the remark. Used to it by now. So I drive a truck
and like serious music. So kiss my ass.
"I've always wondered," Sam said, "how I ever managed to raise a longhair for
a son."
"Sam . . ."
"What?"
"Never mind," I said.
Traffic thickened up a bit more and things got a little hairy as reckless
alien vehicles swerved and skittered all around us. I thumbed the warning
alarm a few times and swerved intimidatingly in return. Everyone decided to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]