Visitors

Chapter 7 Paths and Slices

Noxon wasn’t despairing yet, exactly. He and Param had accomplished quite a lot. The easiest part was for Noxon to master the stuttering forward jumps that Param did when she sliced time, so that he could race through hours and days in just a few minutes.

But he was not a whit closer to being able to do it backward. Not simply going into the past—he could already make backward leaps just by attaching to some path and joining that person or animal in its time. What he couldn’t do was get time flowing the other direction and then slice through it in that direction. He wasn’t even sure it was possible.

And Param, for her part, was now better at what she already did—she learned a bit from the way Noxon’s facemask helped him slice time in greater and greater swaths. Her gift really was the most remarkable, because alone of the timeshapers she had always been able to make jumps forward rather than back.

The drawback was that her forward jumps were only a fraction of a second at a time; but she did a lot of them in rapid succession, and could keep it up for hours. When she did, though, she remained trapped in the place where she was when she began the process—not visible to others, but if they knew where she was when she disappeared, they could make a good guess where she was now. Her physical movements through space were greatly slowed while she was slicing time, and if someone brought something dense, like a metal bar, and passed it into her body and held it there, she would burn up slowly from the heat of it. And if she came out of her time-slicing with the metal in her, it would tear her apart.

But as Noxon’s facemask helped him learn to make longer jumps between slices, and Param learned to do it along with him, it meant that even with a metal bar held in the midst of her body, she spent far less time with it, and surely the would-be murderer was bound to conclude that nothing was happening because she wasn’t where he thought she would be.

If they accomplished nothing else, that was a good thing. It made her safer. It also meant that when they had need of her ability to race forward through time, she could do it more quickly and efficiently.

But it wasn’t enough. Noxon had half-expected to fail at his task, learning to reverse the flow of time for himself. But he had not expected to fail at helping Param learn how to slice into the past. She wouldn’t be reversing the flow of time—in the moments she spent in realtime, she and her body and clothing and whatever else she held with her would still be progressing in the normal direction of timeflow.

She followed him so easily when Noxon sliced forward with facemask efficiency. But when he jumped backward while holding her hand, she had no idea how he had done it. And when he jumped backward in time without holding her, he simply left her behind.

“It’s all right,” she consoled him. Time after time she said it, and Noxon believed she meant it. She, too, had not expected to succeed.

They began to spend more of their time just talking, either about their lives in such different upbringings, or about things they had learned in their studies. They had no one else to talk to, most of the time, because even though they had to depend on the Larfolders for their food, they never knew what time—what year, what month, what day—they would be in when their bodies told them it was time to eat.

Fortunately, they could always slice forward until they saw somebody preparing a meal, and it was a part of Larfolder culture that they always welcomed the unexpected mealtime guest.

One day, after such a meal, which had, in Larfolder fashion, turned into a storytelling session, with lots of singing and chanting of old songs and legends and stories, Noxon could see that Param was tired. “We’ve had a long day,” he said to the Larfolders.

The Larfolders laughed, and one of them said, “How would you know?”

That was a good question. And yet it was one that didn’t really matter. They ate when they were hungry and slept when they were tired—those were their times and days and nights, since no calendar or clock could contain them.

Noxon walked away with his sister. She held his arm and leaned on him. “I’m going to sleep as we walk,” she said. “And when I wake up tomorrow, I’m going to make you take me back eight hours or ten so I can sleep that time again.”

Noxon chuckled. “The Larfolders seem to make the most of their time on land. They have no voices underwater, and no ­spoken language. They come here to remember being human.”

“Oh, I love being with them,” said Param. She shuddered. “Their singing drowns out the noise, as much as is possible.”

“The noise?”

She shook her head. “I’m so tired I was almost talking to myself.”

“But I want to know. The Larfolders aren’t all that noisy. It’s not as if they have drums or horns.”

“Oh, not their sounds. I love the sounds of life. And nature. And civilization. Wind in the trees, frogs croaking, crickets chirping. But also crowds of people, the bustle of the city. I love that! I wish I had lived in Odinfold when billions of people lived so close together in their great cities. But now they didn’t even exist. They never happened. That makes me sad.”

Noxon was almost turned aside to try to console her sadness. But not this time. He was intrigued by her talk of noises. “So there’s no noise in a big city?”

She laughed. “Of course there is. That’s why I never talk about this thing I call noise. It’s not really noise because I’m the only one aware of it. At Flacommo’s, though, I loved to spend my days in remote parts of the house where nobody had been in years. It was so much quieter there. Never silent, but… you know.”

Noxon thought he did, though he tried to conceal his excitement, for fear of dashing her hopes if he turned out to be wrong. “So you needed to be away from people.”

“Oh, people are fine, people drown out the noise! All the talking and clattering, it was such a relief. But in those rooms where people gathered all the time, the noise was almost unbearable when those rooms were empty. It’s as if the rooms stored up all the noises that had ever been in them, and when there was nothing to distract me, I had all these… tunes or rhythms or whatever they were.”

“So slicing time was how you got away.”

She shook her head against his shoulder and gave one laugh. “No,” she said. “That was the worst of all. Not a breath of real sound. Just those memories of all the stored-up sounds. I couldn’t even sing to myself, except silently in my own head and that didn’t actually help much.”

“When you’re slicing time, there can’t possibly be any sound,” said Noxon.

“I know that,” said Param. “I think my schooling was at least as good as yours, privick boy.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. I had Ramex teaching me.”

“So did I, under another name. Though not as much as he was with you, of course.”

“Did you ever tell him about these noises?”

“I only told you by accident. Like I said, they aren’t real noises. I think they’re a sign that I’m crazy.”

“The way I see paths everywhere,” said Noxon. “Paths that nobody else sees. I’m definitely out of my mind.”

“Yes, just like that,” said Param. “Except that it turns out your paths are real. People really did move through the world right where you see the paths.”

“But I can’t shut out the paths by closing my eyes or turning my back,” said Noxon. “They’re still there. But I don’t really see them, it’s another sense entirely. So they never get in the way of my seeing things that are really there.”

“I know,” she said. “Just like my noises. They’re always there, more in some places than in others, but they don’t stop me from hearing real noises and sounds and talking and music. And plugging my ears doesn’t change them in any way. Only going to rooms with less noise stored up makes the sheer clangor of it ease up and give me some peace.”

Noxon stopped walking. “I’m so glad you were tired enough to tell me this,” he said.

“Yes, just one more thing that’s wrong with poor Param.” She said it wryly, but Noxon knew she also meant it.

“I don’t think it’s anything wrong,” said Noxon. “I’ve always told you that I don’t see the paths with my eyes. I just compare it to seeing. I use the words of seeing to describe the way I sense them, because there are no words for pathsight.”

Param was not slow. “But how could I hear a path?”

“How can I see a tune?” asked Noxon. “For all I know, we’re using different words, different comparisons, to talk about the exact same thing. As if somebody were trying to describe an orange to someone who had never eaten one. You might try to explain the look of it. Or you might try to talk about the taste or the smell or the feel of it in your hand. But it’s still an orange that you’re talking about.”

“But—”

“No, no, Param, don’t give me a list of reasons why I can’t be right about this. Let’s just do the science. Let’s compare how these things work. Is the noise just—well, just a porridge? Or can you hear individual—voices? Tunes?”

“Lots of individual ones. Bouncing off all the walls.”

“Really? An echo?” asked Noxon.

“No, but coming from different directions and going in ­different—”

“Like paths through the room.”

“No, I don’t see—”

“Stop saying ‘no’ and just describe what it’s like. You move through the room, and some get louder?”

“Yes. Some get really loud and some are always faint. But when I get closer they all get louder than they were, and then they fade and others rise.”

“As if you were crossing a stream, with its own particular tune, but then you step from one stream into another.”

“I know you’re only using ‘stream’ instead of ‘path’ so I won’t say no.”

“I’m trying to find out if you can lay hold on them.”

“How do you lay hold on a sound?”

“How do I lay hold on a path?” asked Noxon. “My paths never looked like people or animals—but they were, when time slowed down. When Umbo sped up my brain processes so the world around me seemed to slow down. Now the facemask does that for me.”

“Well, it can’t do it for me,” said Param. “And I don’t want a facemask.”

“Yes you do,” said Noxon. “You cry yourself to sleep because nobody ever got you one.”

“It certainly made you prettier.”

“Didn’t you notice how my facemask is so much prettier than Rigg’s?”

“Oh, of course you say that now that he’s off on his expedition, so nobody can actually compare.”

During this banter, Noxon had picked a nearby path—without slowing it down to see who it was. It was at least a century old, but that made it far newer than the few other paths in the vicinity. The Larfolders didn’t feel at home in the woods, so few of their paths ever came here.

“So is there any noise here?”

“There’s always some noise,” said Param.

“But I mean, are there any particular noises?”

“A few. Nothing very loud.”

“Is there one that’s louder than any of the others?”

“Yes,” she said instantly. “But it’s not loud loud.”

“Do you know where it’s coming from?”

Param thought. “Well, yes. I think I always know. That’s how I can avoid them when I just want some peace. It’s over this way.”

But she closed her eyes when she said this, and her eyes were still closed when she pointed.

She pointed at that newest path.

“Let me see if I can hear it too,” said Noxon. “Let’s go stand right in the middle of this particular tune.” He led her to the path.

“You’re seeing a path and you think they’re the same.”

“No, I’m positive they’re not the same at all,” said Noxon, “so I’m going to get you to confirm that by telling me we’re not standing in the middle of it right now.”

“Well we are,” said Param. And then she began to gasp. For a moment he thought she was feeling faint. And then he realized she was laughing. No, crying.

“It is not possible,” she finally said.

“Let’s go to one of those fainter tunes,” said Noxon.

“They’re not really musical.”

“And my paths aren’t really colorful. But I call the differences among them colors. And you called them tunes, didn’t you?”

“That’s how I think of them. And yes, we’re standing in another of them now.”

“It’s a very old path,” said Noxon. “But you hear it.”

“It’s not loud, but yes.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you and I are both pathfinders.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I wish Umbo had ever done his slowing-down trick on me!”

“Every time he dragged you around in time, he was doing it,” said Rigg. “You just weren’t expecting it to turn your tunes into anything, so you didn’t notice.”

“I wish he were here to do it now!” said Param.

“He’ll be back, sooner or later,” said Noxon. “But maybe we can do something ourselves. Let’s stand here—beside this path. This tune. Look at my hand. Where I’m placing it. The tune is right there, isn’t it?”

Param looked at his hand, which he was holding out from his body. “I never realized how precisely I knew where they were. You don’t expect to know where sounds are, but yes, I always knew which way to go to get away from a particular noise, or the noisiest ones, anyway.”

“I’m going to use the facemask to help me see the actual person. I always see the people now, a little. But I’m going to see her clearly.”

“Her?”

“Some things are pretty obvious, the way I see paths now. General size and body shape. I’d say it’s an old woman. And I want to pick a moment when she’s already past this point. Say nothing, do nothing, so we don’t alert her and make her turn around and see us.”

“There’s nobody there.”

“I haven’t done it yet. But look toward where you know that tune is. Where it passes between those trees.”

“I’m looking.”

“I can see her now, very clearly, taking a single step. And now I’m bringing us into resonance with her, very precisely, so she’s frozen in midstep. You’re not going to do something stupid like letting go of my hand, are you?”

“Unless I feel like it.”

“No more talking now. We’re going to jump to her time.”

And with that, Noxon fixed himself on the woman and made the jump into the past.

Param must not have been able to help it. Her gasp was of pure startlement. The woman stopped and started to turn. In fact, she was whirling around to see what was so close behind her. But Noxon had facemask reflexes now, so he saw what she was doing and jumped back a little farther in time, before she could have caught even a glimpse of them. She would think she was startled at nothing, some random forest sound, and laugh at herself for thinking someone was there.

Noxon pulled Param away from the woman’s path. “You couldn’t have been that surprised,” said Noxon. “I told you that you’d see an old woman’s back. And she’s a Larfolder, so you can hardly have been surprised at her mantle.”

“No, no, that’s not why I gasped. I’m so sorry I did that, I couldn’t help it.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because I realized that she was the tune. The tune was streaming back from behind her. She was making the tune.”

“Making the path, you mean.”

“How could I live all these years without noticing that the tunes were streaming along behind people?” Param sank to the ground. “But I did know. I did realize it. As a little girl, I told Mother, ‘I don’t like his noise, he has a bad noise,’ and she told me to hush and never talk like that again, so I didn’t. ‘He’s not making a noise, don’t be rude,’ that’s what she taught me. So I stopped noticing. Or stopped admitting that I noticed. But there were noises that I definitely associated with people. The noise of Flacommo was all over the house. And I knew Mother’s tune by heart, I knew where she had been. But I never thought it was this specific. That she passed by this place or that place at a certain time.”

“But she did. You’re not stupid for not realizing all this. Do you think I knew what I was seeing? Father helped me understand it. He didn’t know that I could jump to those times—Umbo and I discovered that—but he helped me understand that I was seeing—no, that I perceived—different people and different animals, and that some were more recent than others. I think of the recent ones as being brighter, but for you they’re—”

“Louder,” said Param.

“You’re such a pathfinder,” said Noxon, with mock contempt.

“I need me an Umbo!” she cried out in joking frustration.

“When we jumped, though. Could you feel what we were doing?”

“Not really. I knew when we jumped, I know that we jumped. But I don’t know what you’re doing when you do it.”

“Just like I didn’t know what you were doing as you sliced time. So let’s start picking paths and jumping to them, and you see if you can start to get what I’m doing. Because there’s no reason to think you don’t have the same ability to hold on to a particular point in the path. A particular moment in the tune.”

“I see one problem,” said Param. “We’re going to practice by going back and back, to ever older tunes. Paths. But we don’t have Umbo as an anchor, to bring us back.”

“We need us an Umbo,” he said, echoing her joke. Then he caught himself. “It’s not funny. We always needed Umbo. How did we ever make him feel that we didn’t?”

“Because I told him we didn’t,” said Param. “And he believed every nasty thing I ever said. How could he still want to marry me, the way I treated him?”

“Because love forgives much. Not all, but a lot.”

“I like him now. I’m used to him and I like him. And now I see that I need him.”

“If he were here, it would be easier. But remember who you are and who I am. So what if we go a few centuries into the past? We’ll just slice our way forward again.”

“We’re already a century in the past,” she said.

“How do you know that?” asked Noxon.

“You said.”

“Did I? I don’t remember. I thought maybe you just knew.”

“Maybe I did. I just remember how long it took Umbo and me to slice forward to when the Visitors’ ship was here.”

“And don’t you and I slice ten times faster?”

“More like a hundred times. Let’s go back a few more times and then come back to the present.”

Noxon laughed. “Param, what in the world does ‘present’ mean to you? To me, this is the present. Wherever I am. But you didn’t mean now.”

“I meant the time and place we just left. The one we’ve been coming back to.”

“We’ve been back and forth through a hundred different days in the same two-year period.”

“One of those, that’s what I mean. A couple of years before the Visitors come.”

“All right. That’s the ‘present,’ and we’ll slice back to that after a few more tries.”

It took several days of jumping back together, then slicing forward, before Param finally said that she thought she had an idea of what he was doing. Since that was about how long it had taken Noxon to really understand what her slicing was about, he was encouraged.

Then one day, they jumped before he was ready. They didn’t jump to the exact moment he had chosen. But they had attached to the same man’s path. And Param had done it.

She clung to him and wept in relief and joy.

“Well, you’re one of us now for sure,” said Noxon, trying to joke her out of her crying.

“I’m not sad, I’m happy,” she said. “And that’s exactly why I was crying. I’m one of you now. I can do what you and Umbo do.” And then, as if correcting herself. “And Rigg.”

“It’s all right that you think of me as Rigg. I am Rigg. I’m just the one who volunteered to change names so people didn’t get confused.”

“And it’s working,” said Param. “I’m never confused.” With that she did begin to laugh. A little hysterically, but definitely a laugh.

So Noxon had learned how to slice like Param, and now Param was beginning to take hold of paths, too. What Umbo was actually doing when he jumped, Noxon had no idea. Since Umbo never saw paths or heard tunes, apparently he just sort of flung himself into the past. And Umbo was the only one who could affect other people’s timeflow without touching them. So Noxon didn’t know if anybody else could ever learn Umbo’s skill. But all four could now jump into the past.

Noxon had also been practicing, surreptitiously, the little thing that only the Odinfolders had been able to do—move objects in time and space. He had first tried it in the starship in Vadeshfold, soon after he mastered the facemask. He had moved Vadeshex himself—itself—just a tiny bit forward in time and in space as well, but if Vadeshex noticed it, he didn’t mention the fact.

Since then, Noxon played with it only when no one was watching, moving a pebble or twig or leaf just a little to one side, or a titch into the future. Until it came easily to him, and he began to move these small natural objects farther in both space and time.

So when he returned to the shore, where they usually slept, Noxon would quickly take inventory of items he had moved there. This twig, sent this morning; that colored pebble, which he sent from last week. Then he would throw them away into the distant past of another wallfold, where neither he nor anyone else was likely to take note of the fact. But it was good to get a feel for moving things over great distances and long time periods.

He could not hope to approach the precision of the mice, for if the Odinfolders were to be believed, they had moved genes from one person’s cells to another’s, across thousands of ­kilometers. Supposedly that was how Umbo had been conceived, with no genetic contribution at all from his purported father. Noxon was glad to be able to move visible things across relatively trivial distances and timespans, with anything approaching precision. If a pebble was less than a meter from the place whither he meant to send it, Noxon counted it as a bullseye.

And that was about all Noxon could expect to accomplish here on Garden. He had learned what Param knew, and helped Param learn what he knew. He had practiced a crude version of the timeshaping the mice could do. The things he still needed to learn, nobody knew, so nobody could teach him.

All he could do now was get himself back to the moment of transition, when one ship became nineteen. He had to look for that twentieth ship, the one moving backward. It might be the only object in the history of the universe that had ever moved upstream through time. It was quite possible that it blew up immediately and didn’t actually exist for longer than a micro­second. Or it might be that Noxon could be there in that moment and not see it. Not perceive the backward-flowing path.

Maybe the jump through the fold in space would make it impossible for him to see Ram Odin’s path. Seeing it, after all, would require spanning a lightyears-wide gap. The only reason he had any hope was that the ship’s computer had assured him that in that instant, there was no gap at all. There should be a ­single continuous path from every one of the nineteen Ram Odins back across the fold to the one original pre-jump Ram Odin. And somewhere—no, exactly where the original Ram Odin’s path was and reaching back to the Earth he had left behind—there should be another Ram Odin hurtling toward Earth, moving the wrong way through time. That backward Ram should be dancing circles around the forward one.

Either Noxon would see it and seize it, or he would not. But it was time to graduate from his and Param’s school of mutual ignorance, and find out whether he could do the only thing he could think of that had a chance of saving this world without wiping out the other.

A few more days of practice with Param, to make sure she really had it without any help from him at all, and then he could go. There was no reason to wait. Not even to say good-bye to Umbo or Rigg or Loaf or Olivenko. They knew he was going, and if he waited for anything it would be a sign of his own dread. He couldn’t let fear slow him down now.