"Given us a home in a shoebox," said Masklin.
"And given us a home in a shoebox," said Gurder automatically. "No! I mean, maybe. I mean, why not? A decent hour's sleep for a change. And then we -"
"We'd be carried around in his pocket," said Masklin.
"Not necessarily. Not necessarily."
"We would. Because he's big and we're small."
"Launch in three hours and fifty-seven minutes," said the Thing.
Their temporary camp overlooked a ditch. There didn't seem to be any winter in Florida, and the banks were thick with greenery.
Something like a flat plate with a spoon on the front sculled slowly past. The spoon stuck out of the water for a moment, looked at the nomes vaguely, and then dropped down again.
"What was that thing, Thing?" said Masklin.
The Thing extended one of its sensors.
"A long-necked turtle."
"Oh."
The turtle swam peacefully away.
"Lucky, really," said Gurder.
"What?" said Angalo.
"Its having a long neck like that and being called a Long-Necked Turtle. It'd be really awkward having a name like that if it had a short neck."
"Launch in three hours and fifty-six minutes.'"
Masklin stood up.
"You know," said Angalo, "I really wish I could have read more of The Spy with No Trousers. It was getting exciting."
"Come on," he said. "Let's see if we can find a way."
Angalo, who had been sitting with his chin in his hands, gave him an odd look.
"What now?"
"We've come too far just to stop, haven't we?"
They pushed their way through the weeds. After a while a fallen log helped them across the ditch.
"Much greener here than at home, isn't it?" said Angalo.
Masklin pushed through a thick stand of leaves.
"Warmer too," said Gurder. "They've got the heating fixed here." [5]
[5] For generations the Store nomes had known that temperature was caused by air conditioning and the heating system; like many of them, Gurder never quite gave up certain habits of thinking.
"No one fixes heating Outside, it just happens," said Angalo.
"If I get old, this is the kind of place I'd like to live, if I had to live Outside," Gurder went on, ignoring him.
"It's a wildlife preserve," said the Thing.
Gurder looked shocked. "What? Like jam? Made of animals'?"
"No. It is a place where animals can live unmolested."
"You're not allowed to hunt them, you mean?"
"Yes."
"You're not allowed to hunt anything, Masklin," said Gurder.
Masklin grunted.
There was something nagging at him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Probably it was to do with the animals after all.
"Apart from turtles with long necks," he said, "what other animals are there here, Thing?"
The Thing didn't answer for a moment. Then it said, "I find mention of sea cows and alligators."
Masklin tried to imagine what a sea cow looked like. But they didn't sound too bad. He'd met cows before. They were big and slow and didn't eat nomes, except by accident.
"What's an alligator?" he said.
The Thing told him.
"What?" said Masklin.
"What?" said Angalo.
"What?" said Gurder. He pulled his robe tightly around his legs.
"You idiot!" shouted Angalo.
"Me?" said Masklin hotly. "How should I know? How should I know? Is it my fault? Did I miss a sign at the airport saying 'Welcome to Floridia, home of large meat-eating reptiles up to twelve feet long'?"
They watched the grasses. A damp warm world inhabited by insects and turtles was suddenly a disguise for horrible terrors with huge teeth.
Something's watching us, Masklin thought. I can feel it.
The three nomes stood back-to-back. Masklin crouched down, slowly, and picked up a stone.
The grass moved.
"The Thing did say they don't all grow to twelve feet," said Angalo, in the silence.
"We were blundering around in the darkness!" said Gurder. "With things like that around!"
The grass moved again. It wasn't the wind that was moving it.
"Pull yourself together," muttered Angalo.
"If it is alligators," said Gurder, trying to look noble, "I shall show them how a nome can die with dignity."
"Please yourself," said Angalo, his eyes scanning the undergrowth. "I'm planning to show them how a nome can run away with speed."
The grasses parted.
A nome stepped out.
There was a crackle behind Masklin. His head spun around. Another nome stepped out. And another. And another. Fifteen of them.
The three travelers swiveled like an animal with six legs and three heads.
It was the fire that I saw, Masklin told himself. We sat right down by the ashes of a fire, and I looked at them, and I didn't wonder who could have made them.
The strangers wore gray. They seemed to be all sizes. And every single one of them had a spear.
I wish I had mine, Masklin thought, trying to keep as many of the strangers as possible in his line of sight.
They weren't pointing their spears at him. The trouble was, they weren't exactly not pointing them, either.
Masklin told himself that it was very rare for a nome to kill another nome. In the Store it was considered bad manners, while Outside... well, there were so many other things that killed nomes in any case. Besides, it was wrong. There didn't have to be any other reasons.
He just had to hope that these nomes felt the same way.
"Do you know these people?" said Angalo.
"Me?" said Masklin. "Of course not. How could I?"
"They're Outsiders. I dunno, I suppose I thought all Outsiders would know each other."
"Never seen them before in my life," said Masklin.
"I think," said Angalo, slowly and deliberately, "that the leader is that old guy with the big nose and the topknot with a feather in it. What do you think?"
Masklin looked at the tall, thin old nome who was scowling at the three of them.
"He doesn't look as if he likes us very much."
"I don't like the look of him at all," said Angalo.
"Have you got any suggestions, Thing?" said Masklin.
"They are probably as frightened of you as you are of them."
"I doubt it," said Angalo.
"Tell them you will not harm them."
"I'd much rather they told me they're not going to harm us."
Masklin stepped forward, and raised his hands.
"We are peaceful," he said. "We don't want anyone to be hurt."
"Including us," said Angalo. "We really mean it."
Several of the strangers backed away and raised their spears.
"I've got my hands raised," said Masklin over his shoulder, "Why should they be so upset?"
"Because you're holding a large rock," said Angalo flatly. "I don't know about them, but if you walked toward me holding something like that Pd be pretty scared."
"I'm not sure I want to let go of it," said Masklin.
"Perhaps they don't understand us."
Gurder moved.
He hadn't said a word since the arrival of the new nomes. He'd just gone very pale.
Now some sort of internal timer had gone off. He gave a snort, leapt forward, and he bore down on Topknot like an enraged balloon.
"How dare you accost us, you - you Outsider!" he screamed.
Angalo put his hands over his eyes. Masklin got a firm hold on his rock.
"Er, Gurder..." he began.
Topknot backed away. The other nomes seemed puzzled by the small explosive figure that was suddenly among them. Gurder was in the grip of the kind of anger that is almost as good as armor.
Topknot screeched something back at Gurder.
"Don't you harangue me, you grubby heathen," s
aid Gurder. "Do you think all these spears really frighten us?"
"Yes," whispered Angalo. He sidled closer to Masklin. "What's got into him?" he said.
Topknot shouted something at his nomes. A couple of them raised their spears, uncertainly. Several of the others appeared to argue.
"This is getting worse," said Angalo.
"Yes," said Masklin. "I think we should -"
A voice behind them snapped out a command. All the Floridians turned. So did Masklin.
Two nomes had come out of the grass. One was a boy. The other was a small, dumpy woman, the sort you'd cheerfully accept an apple pie from. Her hair was tied in a bun, and like Topknot's, it had a long gray feather stuck through it.
The Floridians looked sheepish. Topknot spoke at length. The woman said a couple of words. Topknot spread his arms above him and muttered something at the sky.
The woman walked around Masklin and Angalo as if they were items on display. When she looked Masklin up and down he caught her eye and thought: She looks like a little old lady, but she's in charge. If she doesn't like us, we're in a lot of trouble.
She reached up and took the stone out of his hand. He didn't resist.
Then she touched the Thing.
It spoke. What it said sounded very much like the words the woman had just used. She pulled her hand away sharply, and looked at the Thing with her head on one side. Then she stood back.
At another command the Floridians formed, not a line, but a sort of V shape with the woman at the tip of it and the travelers inside it.
"Are we prisoners?" said Gurder, who had cooled off a bit.
"I don't think so," said Masklin. "Not exactly prisoners, yet."
The meal was some sort of a lizard. Masklin quite enjoyed it; it reminded him of his days as an Outsider. The other two ate it only because not eating it would be impolite, and it probably wasn't a good idea to be impolite to people who had spears when you didn't.
The Floridians watched them solemnly.
There were at least thirty of them, all wearing identical gray clothes. They looked quite like the Store nomes, except for being slightly darker and much skinnier. Many of them had large, impressive noses, which the Thing said was perfectly okay and all because of genetics.
The Thing was talking to them. Occasionally it would extend one of its sensors and use it to draw shapes in the dirt.
"Thing's probably telling them we-come-from place-bilong-far-on-big-bird-that-doesn't-go-flap," said Angalo.
A lot of the time the Thing was simply repeating the woman's own words back at her. Eventually Masklin couldn't stand it anymore.
"What's happening. Thing?" he said. "Why's the woman doing all the talking?"
"She is the leader of this group," said the Thing.
"A woman? Are you serious?"
"I am always serious. It's built in."
"Oh."
Angalo nudged Masklin. "If Grimma ever finds out, we're in real trouble," he said.
"Her name is Very-small-tree, or Shrub," the Thing went on.
"And you can understand her?" said Masklin.
"Gradually. Their language is very close to original nomish."
"What do you mean, original nomish?"
"The language your ancestors spoke."
Masklin shrugged. There was no point in trying to understand that now.
"Have you told her about us?" he said.
"Yes. She says -"
Topknot, who had been muttering to himself, stood up suddenly and spoke very sharply at great length, with a lot of pointing to the ground and to the sky.
The Thing flashed a few lights.
"He says you are trespassing on the land belonging to the Maker of Clouds. He says that is very bad. He said the Maker of Clouds will be very angry."
There was a general murmur of agreement from many of the nomes.
Shrub spoke to them sharply. Masklin stuck out a hand to stop Gurder from getting up.
"What does, er, Shrub think?" he said.
"I don't think she is very sympathetic to the topknot person. His name is Person-who-knows-what-the-Maker-of-Clouds-is-thinking."
"And what is the Maker of Clouds?"
"It's bad luck to say its true name. It made the ground and it is still making the sky. It -"
Topknot spoke again. He sounded angry.
We need to be friends with these people, Masklin thought. There has to be a way.
"The Maker of Clouds is" - Masklin thought hard - "a sort of Arnold Bros. (est. 1905)?"
"Yes," said the Thing.
"A real thing?"
"I think so. Are you prepared to take a risk?"
"What?"
"I think I know the identity of the Maker of Clouds. I think I know when it will make some more sky."
"What? When?" said Masklin.
"In three hours and ten minutes."
Masklin hesitated.
"Hold on a moment," he said, slowly, "that sounds like the same sort of time that -"
"Yes. All three of you, please get ready to run. I will now write the name of the Maker of Clouds."
"Why will we have to run?"
"They might get very angry. But we haven't time to waste."
The Thing extended a sensor. It wasn't intended as a writing implement, and the shapes it drew were angular and hard to read.
It scrawled four shapes in the dust.
The effect was instantaneous.
Topknot started to shout again. Some of the Floridians leapt to their feet. Masklin grabbed the other two travelers.
"I'm really going to thump that old nome in a minute," said Gurder. "How can anyone be so narrow-minded?"
Shrub sat silent while the row went on around her. Then she spoke, very loud but very calmly.
"She is telling them," said the Thing, "that it is not wrong to write the name of the Maker of Clouds. It is often written by the Maker of Clouds itself. 'How famous the Maker of Clouds must be, that even these strangers know its name,' she says."
That seemed to satisfy most of the nomes. Topknot started to grumble to himself.
Masklin relaxed a bit, and looked down at the figures in the sand.
"N ... A ... 8 ... A?" he said.
"It's an S," said the Thing, "Not an 8."
"But you've only been talking to them for a little while!" said Angalo. "How can you know something like this?"
"Because I know bow nomes think," said the Thing. "You always believe what you read, and you 'w all got very literal minds. Very literal minds indeed."
6
Geese: A type of bird which is slower than the Concorde, and you don't get anything to eat. According to nomes who know them well, a goose is the most stupid bird there is, except for a duck. Geese spend a lot of time flying to other places. As a form of transport, the goose leaves a lot to be desired. If it weren't for the nomes telling them what to do, geese would just fly around lost and honking the whole time, if you want my scientific opinion.
From A Scientific Encyclopedia for the Enquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri.
In the beginning, said Shrub, there was nothing but ground. NASA saw the emptiness above the ground, and decided to fill it with sky. It built a place in the middle of the world and sent up towers full of clouds. Sometimes they also carried stars because, at night, after one of the cloud towers had gone up, the nomes could sometimes see new stars moving across the sky.
The land around the cloud towers was NASA's special country. There were more animals there, and fewer humans. It was a pretty good place for nomes. Some of them believed that NASA had arranged it all for precisely that reason.
Shrub sat back.
"And does she believe that?" said Masklin. He looked across the clearing to where Gurder and Topknot were arguing. They couldn't understand what one another was saying, but they were still arguing.
The Thing translated.
Shrub laughed.
"She says, Days come, days go, who needs to
believe anything? She sees things happen with her own eyes, and these are things she knows happen. Belief is a wonderful thing for those who need it, she says. But she knows this place belongs to NASA, because its name is on signs."
Angalo grinned. He was nearly in tears.
"They live right by the place the going-up jets go from and they think it's some sort of magic place!" he said.
"Isn't it?" said Masklin, almost to himself. "Anyway, it's no more strange than thinking the Store was the whole world. Thing, how do they watch the going-up jets? They're a long way away."
"Not far at all. Eighteen miles is not far at all, she says- She says they can be there in little more than an hour."
Shrub nodded at their astonishment, and then, without another word, stood up and walked away through the bushes. She signaled the nomes to follow her. Half a dozen Floridians trailed after their leader, making the shape of a V with her at the point.
After a few yards the greenery opened out again beside a small lake.
The nomes were used to large bodies of water. There were reservoirs near the airport. They were even used to ducks.
But the things paddling enthusiastically toward them were a lot bigger than ducks. Besides, ducks were like a lot of other animals and recognized in nomes the shape, if not the size, of humans and kept a safe distance away from them. They didn't come baring toward them as if the mere sight of them was the best thing that had happened all day.
Some of them were almost flying in their desire to get to the nomes.
Masklin looked around automatically for a weapon. Shrub grabbed his arm, shook her head, and said a couple of words.
"They're friendly," the Thing translated.
"They don't look it!"
"They 're geese," said the Thing. "Quite harmless, except to grass and minor organisms. They fly here for the winter."
The geese arrived with a bow wave that surged over the nomes' feet, and arched their necks down toward Shrub. She patted a couple of fearsomelooking beaks.
Masklin tried hard not to look like a minor organism.
"They migrate here from colder climates," the Thing went on. "They rely on the Floridians to pick the right course for them."
"Oh, good. That's -" Masklin stopped while his brain caught up with his mouth. "You're going to tell me they fly on them, right?"
"Certainly. They travel with the geese. Incidentally, you have two hours and forty-one minutes to launch."
Wings Page 6