"With all those humans in there?"
"They'll be too busy to notice us. Right, Thing?"
"Right."
There is a place so far up there is no down. A little lower, a white dart seared across the top of the sky, outrunning the night, overtaking the sun, crossing in a few hours an ocean that was once the edge of the world.
Masklin lowered himself carefully to the floor and crept forward. The humans weren't even looking in his direction.
I hope the Thing really knows how to drive this plane, he thought.
He sidled along toward the panels where, with any luck, Angalo was hiding.
This wasn't right. He hated being exposed like this. Of course, it had probably been worse in the days when he used to have to hunt alone. If anything had caught him then, he would never have known it. He'd have been a mouthful. Whereas no one knew what humans would do to a nome if they caught one.
He darted into the blessed shadows.
"Angalo!" he whispered.
After a while a voice from behind the wiring said, "Who is it?"
Masklin straightened up.
"How many guesses do you want?" he said in his normal voice.
Angalo dropped down.
"They chased me!" he said. "And one of them stuck its arm -"
"I know. Come on, while they're busy."
"What's happening?" said Angalo as they hurried out into the light.
"The Thing is flying us."
"How? It's got no arms. It can't change gears or anything -"
"Apparently it's being bossy to the computers that do all that. Come on."
"I looked out the window," bubbled Angalo. "There's sky all over the place!"
"Don't remind me," said Masklin.
"Let me just have one more look -" Angalo began.
"Listen, Gurder's waiting for us and we don't want any more trouble -"
"But this is better than any truck -"
There was a strangled kind of noise.
The nomes looked up.
One of the humans was watching them. Its mouth was open and it had an expression on its face of someone who is going to have a lot of difficulty explaining what they have just seen, especially to themselves.
The human was already getting to its feet. Angalo and Masklin looked at one another. "Run!" they shouted.
Gurder was lurking suspiciously in a patch of shadow by the door when they came past, arms and legs going like pistons. He caught up the skirts of his robe and scurried after them.
"What's happening! What's happening?"
"There's a human after us!"
"Don't leave me behind! Don't leave me behind!"
Masklin was just ahead of the other two as they raced up the aisle between the rows of humans, who paid no attention at all to three tiny blurs running between the seats.
"We shouldn't have... stood around... looking!" Masklin gasped.
"We might... never... have a chance... like that again!" panted Angalo.
"You're right!"
The floor tilted slightly.
"Thing! What are you doing!"
"Creating a distraction."
"Don't! Everyone this way!"
Masklin darted between two seats, around a pair of giant shoes, and threw himself flat on the car pet. The others hurled themselves down behind him.
Two huge human feet were a few inches away from them.
Masklin pulled the Thing up close to his face.
"Let them have their airplane back!" he said.
"I was hoping to be allowed to land it," said the Thing. Even though its voice was always flat and expressionless, Masklin still thought that it sounded wistful.
"Do you know how to land one of these things?" said Masklin.
"I should like the opportunity to learn -"
"Let them have it back right now!"
There was a faint lurch and a change in the pattern of the lights on the Thing's surface. Masklin breathed out.
"Now, will everyone act sensibly for five minutes?" he said.
"Sorry, Masklin," said Angalo. He tried to look apologetic, but it didn't work. Masklin recognized the wide-eyed, slightly mad smile of someone very nearly in their own personal heaven. "It was just that ... do you know it's even blue below us? It's like there's no ground down there at all! And -"
"If the Thing tries any more flying lessons we might all find out if that's true," said Masklin gloomily. "So let's just sit down and be quiet, shall we?"
They sat in silence for a long time, under the seat.
Then Gurder said, "That human there has got a hole in its sock."
"What about it?" said Angalo.
"Dunno, really. It's just that you never think of humans as having holes in their socks."
"Where you get socks, holes aren't far behind," said Masklin.
"They're good socks, though," said Angalo.
Masklin stared at them. They just looked like basic socks to him. Nomes in the store used them as sleeping bags.
"How can you tell?" he said.
"They're Hi-style Odorprufe," said Angalo. "Guaranteed 85% Polysomething. We used to sell them in the Store. They cost a lot more than other socks. Look, you can see the label."
Gurder sighed.
"It was a good Store," he muttered.
"And those shoes," said Angalo, pointing to the great white shapes like beached boats a little way away. "See them? Crucial Street Drifters with Real Rubber Soul. Very expensive."
"Never approved of them, myself," said Gurder. "Too flashy. I preferred Mens, Brown, Laced. A nome can get a good night's sleep in one of those."
"Those Drifter things are Store shoes, too, are they?" said Masklin, carefully.
"Oh, yes. Special range."
"Hmm."
Masklin got up and walked over to a large leather bag half wedged under the seat. The others watched him scramble up it and then pull himself up until he could, very quickly, glance over the armrest. He slid back down.
"Well, well," he said, in a mad, cheerful voice.
"That's a Store bag, isn't it?" he said.
Gurder and Angalo gave it a critical look.
"Never spent much time in Travel Accessories," said Angalo, "but now that you mention it, it could be the Special Calfskin Carry-on Bag."
"For the Discerning Executive?" Gurder added. "Yes. Could be."
"Have you wondered how we're going to get off?" said Masklin.
"Same way as we got on?" said Angalo, who hadn't.
"I think that could be difficult. I think the humans might have other ideas," said Masklin. "I think, in fact, they might start looking for us. Even if they think we're mice. I wouldn't put up with mice on something like this if I were them. You know what mice are like for widdling on wires. Could be dangerous when you're ten miles high, a mouse going to the bathroom inside your computer. So I think the humans will take it very seriously. So we ought to get off when the humans do."
"We'd get stamped on!" said Angalo.
"I was thinking maybe we could sort of ... get in this bag, sort of thing," said Masklin.
"Ridiculous!" said Gurder.
Masklin took a deep breath.
"It belongs to Grandson Richard, 39, you see," he said.
"I checked," he added, watching the expressions on their faces. "I saw him before, and he's in the seat up there. Grandson Richard," he went on, "39. He's up there right now. Reading a paper. Up there. Him."
Gurder had gone red. He prodded Masklin with a finger. "Do you expect me to believe," he said, "that Richard Arnold, the grandson of Arnold Bros. (est. 1905), has boles in his socks?"
"That'd make them holy socks," said Angalo. "Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You don't have to glare at me like that."
"Climb up and see for yourself," said Masklin. "I'll help you. Only be careful."
They hoisted Gurder up.
He came down quietly.
"Well?" said Angalo.
"It's got R. A. in gold l
etters on the bag too," said Masklin. He made frantic signs to Angalo. Gurder was looking as though he had seen a ghost.
"Yes, you can get that," said Angalo, hurriedly. " 'Gold Monogram at Only Five Ninety-nine Extra,' it used to say on the sign."
"Speak to us, Gurder," said Masklin. "Don't just sit there looking like that."
"This is a very solemn moment for me," said Gurder.
"I thought I could cut through some of the stitching and we could get in at the bottom," said Masklin.
"I am not worthy," said Gurder.
"Probably not," said Angalo cheerfully. "But we won't tell anyone."
"And Grandson Richard, 39, will be helping us, you see," said Masklin, hoping that Gurder was in a state to take all this in. "He won't know it, but he'll be helping us. So it'll all be right. Probably it's meant."
Not meant by anyone, he told himself conscientiously. Just meant in general.
Gurder considered this.
"Well, all right," he said. "But no cutting the bag. We can get in through the zipper, all right?"
They did. It stuck a bit halfway, since zippers always do, but it didn't take long to get an opening big enough for the nomes to climb down inside.
"What shall we do if he looks in?" said Angalo.
"Nothing," said Masklin. "Just smile, I suppose."
The tree frogs were far out on the branch now. What had looked like a smooth expanse of graygreen wood was, close up, a maze of rough bark, roots, and clumps of moss. It was unbearably frightening for frogs who had spent their lives in a world with petals around it.
But they crawled onward. They didn't know the meaning of the word "retreat." If it came to that, they didn't know the meaning of the word "bromeliad." Or "frog." Or any other word.
4
HOTELS: A place where traveling humans are parked at night. Other humans bring them food, including the famous bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. There are beds and towels and special things that rain on humans to get them clean.
From A Scientific Encyclopedia for the Enquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri.
Blackness.
"It's very dark in here, Masklin." "Yes, and I can't get comfortable." "Well, you'll have to make the best of it." "A hairbrush! I've just sat down on a hairbrush!"
"We will be landing shortly."
"Good."
"And there's a tube of something -"
"I'm hungry. Isn't there anything to eat?"
"I've still got that peanut."
"Where? Where?"
"Now you've made me drop it."
"Gurder?"
"Yes?"
"What are you doing? Are you cutting something?"
"He's cutting a hole in his sock."
Silence.
"Well? What of it? I can if I want to. It's my sock."
More silence.
"I shall just feel better for doing it."
Still more silence.
"It's just a human, Gurder. There's nothing special about it."
"We're in its bag, aren't we?"
"Yes, but you said yourself that Arnold Bros. is something in our heads. Didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, then?"
"This just makes me feel better, that's all. Subject closed."
"We're about to land."
"How will we know when -"
"I am sure I could have done it better. Eventually."
"Is this the Florida place? Angalo, get your foot out of my face."
"Yes. This country traditionally welcomes immigrants. "
"Is that what we are?"
"Technically you are en route to another destination."
"Which?"
"The stars."
"Oh. Thing?"
"Yes?"
"Is there any record of nomes being here before?"
"What do you mean? We're the nomes!"
"Yes, but there may have been others."
"We're all that there is! Aren't we?"
Tiny colored lights flickered in the darkness of the bag.
"Thing?" Masklin repeated.
"I am searching available data. Conclusion: no reliable sighting of nomes. All recorded immigrants have been in excess of four inches high."
"Oh. I just wondered. I wondered if we were all that there was."
"You heard the Thing. No reliable sightings, it said."
"No one saw us until today."
"Thing, do you know what happens next?"
"We will pass through Immigration and Customs. Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of a subversive organization?"
Silence.
"What, us? Why are you asking us that?"
"It is the sort of question that gets asked. I am monitoring communications."
"Oh. Well. I don't think we have. Have we?"
"No."
"No."
"No. I didn't think we were. What does 'subversive' mean?"
"The question seeks to establish whether you've come here to overthrow the Government of the United States."
"I don't think we want to do that. Do we?"
"No."
"No."
"No, we don't. They don't have to worry about us."
"Very clever idea, though."
"What is?"
"Asking the questions when people arrive. If anyone was coming here to do some subversive overthrowing, everyone'd be down on him like a pound of bricks as soon as he answered 'Yes.' "
"It's a sneaky trick, isn't it?" said Angalo, in an admiring tone of voice.
"No, we don't want to do any overthrowing," said Masklin to the Thing. "We just want to steal one of their going-straight-up jets. What are they called again?"
"Space shuttles."
"Right. And then we'll be off. We don't want to cause any trouble."
The bag bumped around and was put down. There was a tiny sawing noise, totally unheard amid the noise of the airport. A very small hole appeared in the leather. An eye appeared.
"What's he doing?" said Gurder.
"Stop pushing," said Masklin. "I can't concentrate. Now it looks like we're in a line of humans."
"We've been waiting for ages," said Angalo.
"I expect everyone's being asked if they're going to do any overthrowing," said Gurder wisely.
"I hardly like to bring this up," said Angalo, "but how are we going to find this shuttle?"
"We'll sort that out when the time comes," said Masklin uncertainly.
"The time's come," said Angalo. "Hasn't it?"
Masklin shrugged helplessly.
"You didn't think we'd arrive in this Florida place and there'd be signs up saying 'This way to Space,' did you?" said Angalo sarcastically.
Masklin hoped his thoughts didn't show up on his face. "Of course not," he said.
"Well, what do we do next?" Angalo insisted.
"We ... we ... we ask the Thing," said Masklin. He looked relieved. "That's what we'll do. Thing?"
"Yes?"
Masklin shrugged. "What do we do next?"
"Now that," said Angalo, "is what I call planning."
The bag shifted. Grandson Richard, 39, was moving up the line.
"Thing? I said, what do we do -"
"Nothing."
"How can we do nothing?"
"By performing an absence of activity."
"What good is that?"
"The paper said Richard Arnold was going to Florida for the launch of the communications satellite. Therefore, he is going to the place where the satellite is now. Ergo, we will go with him."
"Who's Ergo?" said Gurder, looking around.
The Thing flickered its lights at him.
"It means 'therefore,' " it said.
Masklin looked doubtful. "Do you think he'll take this bag with him?"
"Uncertain."
There wasn't a lot in the bag, Masklin had to admit. It contained mainly socks, papers, a few odds and ends like hairbrushes, and a book called The Spy with No Trousers.
This last item had caused them some concern when the bag had been unzipped just after the plane landed, but Grandson Richard, 39, had thrust it in among the papers without glancing inside. Now that there was a little light to see by, Angalo was trying to read it. Occasionally he'd mutter under his breath.
"It seems to me," Masklin said eventually, "that Grandson Richard, 39, isn't going to go straight off to watch the satellite fly away. I'm sure he'll go somewhere and sleep first. Do you know when this shuttle jet flies, Thing?"
"Uncertain. I can talk to other computers only when they are within my range. The computers here know only about airport matters."
"He's going to have to go to sleep soon, anyway," said Masklin. "Humans sleep through most of the night. I think that's when we'd better leave the bag."
"And then we can talk to him," said Gurder.
The others stared at him.
"Well, that's why we came, isn't it?" said the Abbot. "Originally? To ask him to save the quarry?"
"He's a human!" snapped Angalo. "Even you must realize that by now! He's not going to help us! Why should he help us? He's just a human whose ancestors built a store! Why do you go on believing he's some sort of great big nome in the sky?"
"Because I haven't got anything else to believe in!" shouted Gurder. "And if you don't believe in Grandson Richard, 39, why are you in his bag?"
"That's just a coincidence -"
"You always say that! You always say it's just a coincidence!"
The bag moved, so they lost their balance again and fell over.
"We're moving," said Masklin, still peering out the hole and almost glad of anything that would stop the argument. "We're walking across the floor. There's a lot of humans out there. A lot of humans."
"There always are," sighed Gurder.
"Some of them are holding up signs with names on them."
"That's just like humans," Gurder added.
The nomes were used to humans with signs. Some of the humans in the Store used to wear their names all the time. Humans had strange long names, like Mrs. J. E. Williams Supervisor and Hello My Name Is Tracey. No one knew why humans had to wear their names. Perhaps they'd forget them otherwise.
"Hang on," said Masklin. "This can't be right. One of them is holding up a sign saying RICHARD ARNOLD. We're walking toward it! We're talking to it!"
The deep muffled rumble of the human voice rolled above the nomes like thunder.
Hoom-voom-boom?
Foom-hoom-zoom-boom.
Wings Page 4