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back."
"How many?"
"Four. They looked like military vehicles. I tried calling on every channel
and frequency but got no response."
"Right."
"Damn," Roland said.
"Son of a Roadbug's concubine," Sam muttered. "Speaking of which, here comes
one."
Traffic merged into one lane to let the Skyway Patrol vehicle pass. It shot
by.
"Which potluck do you plan to shoot?" Yuri asked.
"The cutoff should be coming up fairly soon," I answered. "You're welcome to
come with us if you wish."
"Thank you. We shall."
"You think we can trust him?" Sam said. "He could be with the other bunch.
His story could be a clever lie to get close to us."
"I doubt it. I've always heard rumors about the Authority sending out suicide
expeditions to explore potluck portals. If he's playacting, he's giving a good
performance. Sounded pretty desperate."
Carl came through over the security channel,
"Jake, I caught the tail end of the conversation on the skyband. You think
this guy's legit?"
"Yeah, I think. Would you let Sean and Liam in on it? And ask Sean to give
him a call. Maybe he can pick up a clue."
Carl did so. After a brief conversation with Yuri on the skyband, Sean
switched back to the security channel. "I don't recognize his voice, Jake, and
the accent's wrong for his being a Talltree loggermate. But that's neither
here nor there."
"Nevertheless," I said, "I think he's okay."
"But he's Authority," Sam countered.
"Yeah, that makes me a little uncomfortable, but I don't think he's a cop. Do
you?"
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"Who knows? Does it make a difference? When he finds out who you are, he
could be trouble."
"I don't know. He says they've been outside T-Maze for over two years. How
could he have heard of me?"
"A point," Sam conceded. "And it is a distress call . . . But dammit, we're
not exactly languishing in the bosom of safety either. We're running out of
room on this lifeboat."
"Lifeboat ethics aside," I said, "there's always room for one more--or two or
three."
Sam grumbled and gave in. A few moments later, "Hey, I'm scanning that
Roadbug. He's veering off to the right. He must be on the cutoff."
I got on the horn to let everyone know we'd be executing a right turn in
about half a minute.
"Any traffic following the Bug?" I asked.
"Doesn't look like it. If it's a potluck road, stands to reason there
wouldn't be."
"Right."
"You think those Terran buggies will be following us?" Sam asked.
"Does a bear defecate in the sylvan glade?"
"Depends on the bear."
"Let's see what these animals do."
The cutoff swept in a lazy arc to the right; the Roadbug had already lost
itself in the smog. I watched as Sean and Carl made the turn, also noting that
our new soi-disant friend was following, then got on the horn.
"Okay, crew, let's squeeze hydrogen."
I tromped the power pedal.
"Won't we be tipping our hand?" Carl wanted to know.
"I got a plan," I said.
"You're the general."
"Don't you forget it, soldier."
"Yes sir, General MacArthur."
"McCarthy? Who's that?"
"No, not McCarthy . . . Aw, never mind."
I thought a moment. "First World War?" I asked.
"Second," Carl said.
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"Right. Knew I'd heard the name." I decided that now was as good a time as
any. "Carl, when were you born?"
"August third, 1946."
After a moment, I said, "Serious?"
"Yeah."
"Right. Carl, I think I believe you."
"Why should I lie?"
Indeed.
"What abort what's-his-name . . . Yuri?"
"What's he doing?"
"Looks like he doesn't know what to do. Probably thinks we're trying to ditch
him."
"We are, in a way. Actually, I'm really interested in what he does."
"Got you."
Sam said, "He's not calling us on the skyband, if that means anything."
"It might," I said. "Are you scanning back there for any pursuit?"
"Yup. Nothing so far."
"Want to send up a drone?"
"The terrain's pretty flat. Probably won't need it. Just what is your plan,
if I may ask?"
"Don't really have one," I answered, "unless we can find a place to pull
off-road and lay low."
"That might be a problem. Nowhere to hide out there--no hills or big rocks to
speak of."
"I was thinking, though," I went on, "maybe we could go off-road far enough
to lose ourselves visually in the smog, then power down and sit. Maybe just
listen for passing traffic. If we hear anything go by, we wait a little and
double back to the main road, take another portal."
"Damn good idea," Sam said. "Damn good idea. Son, you show half a brain now
and then. Let's do that thing."
About five klicks down the road, we did that thing. Nothing showed on the
scanners as we turned off, and the screens stayed clear until we shut
everything down. We couldn't see the road, but the outside directional mike
would betray anything passing. Yuri had silently followed us, driving what we
now saw to be a blue and white Omnivan, a good double-threat road/off road
vehicle. It looked battered and travel-weary, though still serviceable. The
ports were caked with dust, but we could see two dim figures in the front
seats.
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We sat, listening to the low moan of the wind. Everyone was quiet.
About ten minutes went by. Then Sam said, "Ask Carl who he thinks will win
the National League pennant this year."
"Hmph." I reached forward and tapped the main screen. "Juice up the scanners.
Make one sweep uproad on low power."
Sam did so.
"Nothing," I said. "Not a ding-blasted thing. I thought for sure . . ."
"So did I," Sam said. "I'm also sure they would have scanned us taking the
cutoff, if they were interested."
"Can't figure it. Maybe they were what Yuri thought they were-aliens in
salvaged Terran vehicles."
"Looks that way."
I got on the horn. "Carl, who's going to win the National League Pennant this
year?"
"Well, I'm a Dodger fan." He laughed. "Are you kidding? Baseball's one with
the dodo, isn't it?"
"Last time I heard, they were restarting major-league play back in North
America."
"Really? I hadn't heard."
"1946, huh?"
"Nineteen hundred and forty-six, A.D."
"I take it you were born on Earth."
"Yeah. Los Angeles, California."
"How did you get out here, one hundred fifty odd years later?"
"l was kidnapped by a flying saucer."
Chapter 16
Ask a stupid question.
Language is strange in what it carries as baggage through the centuries and
what it lets drop by the wayside. Though the phrase "flying saucer" hasn't
fallen into desuetude, its original meaning has fallen through the bottom. In
contemporary usage, you get conked on the head and "see flying saucers," i.e.
suffer temporary visual disturbances. "Get off your flying saucer" means quit
deluding yourself and come back to reality. Ask anyone what a flying saucer
actually is and you'll probably get a blank look, as you would if you asked
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what buck refers to in the phrase "pass the buck." (A hint: buck, in this
instance, is not slang for dollar, a unit of defunct currency.)
Originally, "flying saucer" meant only one thing: an extraterrestrial
spacecraft. If you believe the accounts of the period, Earth's skies virtually
crawled with them from about the middle of the twentieth century to about the
third decade of the twentyfirst, when the section of Skyway on Pluto was
discovered. After that, reports of sightings tapered off. Officially and
generically, these phenomena were termed "UFOs"--Unidentified Flying Objects.
"Saucer" arose from the fact that many of the objects took the shape of
airborne crockery. I know all this because I once prepared a term paper on
popular delusions for a college course entitled "The Masses and Collective
Consciousness." (I don't remember anything about the course itself, which I
suspect is no great loss.)
Out here on the road between the worlds, people don't see flying saucers.
They see all kinds of things: time-tripping doppelgangers of loved ones who
have recently died, vehicles that are modern-day versions of the Flying
Dutchman complete with spectral occupants, vehicles driven variously by Jesus [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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