Aftermath

36

Strolling with Wilmer on the surface of Earth, beneath the light of a rising moon; during the long journey home Celine had dreamed of such an evening. There was no place in her imaginings for mud, exhaustion, and nervousness that drove her along as fast as the sticky ground would permit.

They trekked east from the Legion of Argos stronghold, relying on moonlight to guide them across a meadow and a small stream; on, through dense and clinging thickets over the brow of an endless hill; on and finally down, into the flat and swampy floodplain of a broader river.

As the first flush of pink separated eastern sky from dark horizon, Celine stopped and turned.

“It’ll soon be light enough for them to see us. We have to make a choice. We can keep going and hope to find a main road or a house. Or we can look for a hiding place and wait until it’s dark before we walk again.”

Wilmer pointed ahead, to a scattering of dark patches in the grass across the river. “Cows. They must belong to somebody.”

That was all she could expect from him: information, but not opinion. He was saying, without words, You are the leader. You make the decision.

Celine crouched down onto her haunches. Her thighs and calves ached. She could feel deep fatigue, physical and mental. If they found a road or a farmhouse within a mile, fine; if not, she would have to rest anyway. The riverbank, with its tall sedges and rushes and easy access to water, was a better choice than open fields.

“We’ll stay here until it gets dark.”

Wilmer nodded and walked forward to the river’s edge. He took one step into the water, then moved sideways.

Celine saw what he was doing. No footmarks, no trail that could be followed. She stepped into the water and went after him.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Nah.”

“You grew up in the Outback.”

“Yeah. But I never went outside the house if I didn’t have to. Books were my thing. I read about all this stuff.”

He was crabbing along the bank through shallow water. The place he chose was a dense clump of waist-high reeds, twenty feet across. Anyone lying in the middle of that would be invisible from every direction except straight above. If the Legion had helicopters, Celine and Wilmer were out of luck.

“Fill up on water before we go,” she said. “Guzzle. It’s our last chance before evening.”

They drank from the river, eased ashore, and flattened a patch big enough for two people. Celine examined the ground before she lay down. Soft mud. Sharp-edged grasses and reeds. Low thorny plants, with spiky leaves and fruit like little green tomatoes. Tiny frogs, no bigger than a finger joint. Insects, buzzing and flying and crawling. Add to that the fear of discovery and capture and the promise of a hot and cloudless day. Rest would be difficult.

Wilmer stretched out full length and was asleep in less than a minute. Celine stared down at him. How could he do that? He must have no imagination, none at all.

She lay down beside him. She did not remember closing her eyes.

When she woke the light was different. She sat up, stiff in her neck and in the arm she had been lying on. The sun had moved across the sky, now it was hovering above the wooded hill to the west.

Wilmer was in the same position, but sometime during the day he had squirmed around. The top of his head wore a cap of dried mud, and brown streaks covered his cheeks. He looked like a figure from the past: primitive, relaxed, at ease with Nature.

Stone Age Wilmer. She let him sleep on, while she cautiously stood up and looked around them. If anyone had asked her to describe Earth in a single phrase, until today she would probably have said it was a water world. Now the right answer was obvious. Earth was a life world. It was fertile, fecund, rioting with runaway living things. Within forty yards of where they lay she could see scores of different kinds of plants and animals. They were competing, cooperating, reproducing, growing, dying, eating, and being eaten.

She sat, marveling at the mystery of her home planet, until the light faded and it was time to wake Wilmer.

When they set off again, Celine soon learned that she had made the wrong choice. A blacktop road ran parallel to the river, no more than half a mile from where they had lain. Their hideout was too far away to hear traffic, but as they walked toward the road they saw and heard battered trucks chugging along it.

Celine faced another decision. A motor vehicle could take them away, much faster than they could go on foot; but a car or truck could also be a Legion of Argos search party.

She turned to Wilmer. “Stay out of sight unless I tell you it’s all right. If they get me, keep heading east. Try to get to Washington and warn people about what Pearl Lazenby is doing.”

She walked out onto the road, turning when she got there to make sure that Wilmer was invisible in the shadows. The first car that came along was driven by a woman in her fifties. She gave one frightened look at the muddied scarecrow waving from the shoulder of the road, and speeded up.

Celine spent the next ten minutes rubbing mud off her face and clothes and doing what little she could with her tangled hair. Maybe it worked, or perhaps the driver of the little blue pickup was a brave woman.

She braked and leaned out of the open window. “In trouble?”

“Sort of. We were in an accident” — no point in making things complicated by talking about the Mars expedition or the Legion of Argos — “we need to get to a telcom.”

“Lucky if you find one these days that works. But I can take you to a telcom nexus in Woodridge.” The woman cocked her head at Celine. “You said we}”

“Two of us.” Celine faced into the darkness at the side of the road and called, “Wilmer.” She turned back to the woman. “He looks a mess, but he’s all right.”

The woman watched Wilmer shamble out of the darkness. “I’ll take your word for it, ma’am. But if you need a ride again, I suggest you don’t take turns standing in the road. And don’t feel insulted, mister, but I’d rather you didn’t trek that mud into the front here.”

“No worries.” Wilmer hoisted himself over the tailgate, while Celine climbed into the passenger seat.

“We really appreciate this. How far is Woodridge?”

“Eight or nine miles. Where you heading?”

“Washington.”

“That’s a hundred or more. No way you’ll do it tonight. You’d best stay in Woodridge.”

“Is it safe?”

That earned Celine a puzzled look from the driver. “I always thought so, though these days who knows? Five men shot in Charlottesville last week, but that was for riots and looting. Let’s put it this way. I doubt you’ll see anything in Woodridge as scary as your buddy in the back there.”

“You weren’t scared by him.”

“You think so?” The driver reached down to her left and produced an old but well-polished gun. “I think maybe this helped.”

She dropped them off in the middle of town. As Celine got out she said, “We really appreciate this.”

The woman squinted up at her. “You’re not on the run, are you? You don’t seem the type.”

“Not from the law. We’re just looking for somewhere safe.”

“Aren’t we all?”

The telcom nexus doubled as a transport repair center.

“Lucky for you,” said the man who ran it. He was outside, working on the engine of a big diesel runabout. When Celine rapped on the hood he emerged from under it with black oil smears on his hands, shirt, and forehead. “If it weren’t for these fix-ups, I’d be long closed. The telcom system’s unreliable. Hardly anybody tries to use it.”

“We have to,” Celine said firmly. “We have to reach the office of international space activities in Washington.”

“Do you now.” The mechanic wiped his hands on his pants. “You got money?”

“Not a penny.”

“So how you propose to pay?”

While Celine was considering her answer, Wilmer said, “We’ll tell you a story. It’s worth more than the price of any telcom call.”

The man looked Wilmer and Celine up and down. “You know, I might just be inclined to believe that. Let’s go inside. Australian, aren’t you? Then I reckon you won’t say no to a beer while you’re talking.”