Now, how did the car actually move? As I looked over the controls, the middle screen blinked on. I saw Xavid's big glasses and his snow-capped hair. As he squinted into the dark, I quickly covered my face with my arm. "Turn on the lights!" he said. "Where are you? You hear me, you slubber butt? You're late! Get that fucking shit-ball dancing-boy back here. I need him for my show."
I didn't move or breathe.
"You pill freak, where are you?" A blast of static came from the screen as if Xavid had huffed at it. "Fucking useless Goddamned cousin!" he muttered. A second later, it shut off.
While Xavid's Ültra bombast and complete hatred of me weren't surprising, what was his obviously incompetent cousin doing driving my car? And why was Father's hairdresser hiring key personnel?
Grasping the left steering stick, I turned off Full and flipped Cruise. The car didn't move.
"How do you make this thing go?" I asked. My unconscious driver had no advice. The middle screen came on again. Only this time it wasn't Xavid, but a diagram. At the bottom was a teardrop, which I guessed represented my car, and at the top was a blinking light. Looking through the windshield, I saw nothing. A moment later, though, I saw the familiar shine of a Loop car on the horizon.
Was it Nora, returning to help? Or was it Father and his orange satin coming to get me? Or was it just some other car? And what would happen when it blasted past me? When I had been on the road, the winds from the passing cars pummeled me. I knew that the vibrating skin on Loop cars had something to do with their stability, but if we weren't moving, I didn't think it worked.
Bending my head until I was against the driver's shins, I saw three more knobs below labeled Tempo, Track, and Mode. I gave Tempo a twist and the car barreled forward into the other lane. Grabbing the left steering stick, I leaned it hard the other way, but not before we slammed into the wall, and a horrible twisting metal sound reverberated all the way down the side.
The center screen blinked the word collision as if I had no idea. The right showed a diagram with several red arrows, presumably where I had just caused damage. I maneuvered the car back into the right lane and just as I did, the on-coming car blasted past us and knocked us against the other wall. The screens lit up again.
Seconds later, I had centered the car and we were moving fast. Soon, I saw an exit sign to America-3 and made the wide turn. I was no longer on the Loop proper, but a tributary heading north.
"Find Walter Kez," I said to the screens. The center one displayed a map, and it didn't look far. Less then fifteen minutes later, I switched from Full to Decay and then Off. The car came to an easy stop. I had made it!
Once I had extricated myself from the pilot's cabin, I turned to get a look at the Kez residence and the surroundings.
The house was just two stories made of a blush-colored brick. The windows on the second story were covered over with red-painted wood. Fifteen feet from me was the matching red front door centered on a dilapidated front porch. For about half a mile in all directions were browned fields of corn. Beyond that were thousands of the yellow and red square houses that dominated the slubs.
The front door opened. Walter stepped out. He wore a silver jacket over an undershirt. His hair was a mess, and he looked sleepy. "Elle's not here!" he shouted, as if reluctant to come closer.
"My driver's injured," I said. "Can you help him?"
He turned and darted back in.
While I waited, I told myself that this was the slubs—not a terrible area obviously, but the slubs anyway. Had Father come to look at their place? Did he have any idea who he was trying to merge with? Sure, they could have some amazing new technology behind those covered-over windows on the second story, something that might even save RiverGroup, but I doubted it.
Walter came back out, pulling on the same light-grey suit jacket as he had worn before, and I figured it was the only one he owned. Behind him was the other nanny.
"Where is the patient?" she asked, with a modicum of medical authority. I motioned to the pilot door and while she stuck her head in, Walter dug a toe into the dirt.
"You probably shouldn't be here."
"I know, but do you have any more of that aru?"
"Oh," he said, pouting, "sorry. I ate the last one."
"Can we get more?"
"My sister has the car. She's in Yooku getting ready for the show." Peering up, he asked, "Aren't you going to marry her at midnight?"
Glancing out at the dusty cornfields, I felt far away from everything. I said, "I don't know."
His nanny had managed to pull out the injured driver. She held him in her arms as a mother might cradle a baby.
"He's bloody!" said Walter, stepping back.
I asked, "Will he be all right?"
She nodded once then took him back to the house.
"Do you have someone who can drive my car?"
He said he did and he directed us around the main building to a small slubber shed of a house ten feet square. As he knocked on the black door, he said, "She's very nice. And very helpful."
A young girl, in loose beige pants and a long, ugly unwoven undershirt, answered the door. She didn't look especially pleased to see Walter, and her eyes were heavy as though his knock woke her.
"We're going to buy aru. We need you to drive Michael Rivers' Loop car."
This child could drive a Loop car?
Leaning around Walter, she peered at me as if she were the one unsure. "The Michael Rivers?" she asked, as she wiped her wet nose.
"See!" he said, teasingly. "I told you I know him!"
Curling a lip, she asked, "What are you doing here?"
Once I had a better look, I decided she was probably in her twenties. "Trying," I said, emphasizing the word because I was beginning to doubt my decision to come here, "to get aru."
"For you?" she wanted to know.
"A friend."
She rolled her eyes, as if she didn't believe. When I showed her my car, the first thing she did was walk all the way around it, dragging her finger over the surface.
"It's nice, but we'll probably barely get three point two." Turning and squinting accusingly at me, she added, "Someone scraped off a bunch of the fast fibers."
"Fine," I said, unhappy with her manner, but at least semi-confident she could drive. I asked Walter, "Where do we get the stuff?"
"Asia-12."
I wanted to collapse. After all I had gone through to get here, the place was on the other side of the globe, hours and hours away. We would never make it in time.
Wiping her nose again, the girl asked, "What about the Arctic pass?"
"What's that?"
She turned and spoke toward the north presumably. "Supposed to be part of the new Loop, but they never finished."
I asked, "Is it safe?"
Starting toward the pilot door, she said, "Nope," and crawled in.
Walter grunted and stepped on a waterbug almost as big as his foot. Gritting his teeth in disgust, he said, "Come on! She's good."
The Artic pass turned out to be a decrepit one-lane, floating metal bridge that stretched across the North Pole. It rose one hundred feet above the blood-red water and the thousands of brown and orange junks that covered the ocean like water birds. The bridge had no walls, no guardrails, and swayed back and forth in the currents. Gripping the upholstery of my seat, as if to hang on and help steer, it was like riding a wild bull, especially since the road wasn't surfaced, and it felt like we were thumping over railroad ties.
Walter threw up into his handkerchief half a dozen times. Several of the windows cracked, but held together. The main screen snapped and showered the floor with bits of glass and glowing goo. The overhead light blinked out and when the auxiliaries came on, two of them flicked off as well.
When we were finally off the bridge and back on real roads in Asia-12, I felt grateful, but wasn't sure if my bones were in the same order.
Meanwhile, night had descended and everything had gone black. Outside, I saw not a single spot
of light, and except for the road ahead in the beams, we could have been in outer space.
Walter stood and freshened up in the bathroom. When he sat, I could see that he was at least his normal pale.
I wasn't attacking him, or accusing, but I just wanted to confirm what I suspected. "There is no Ribo-Kool, is there?"
Although he didn't look up, his fingers began worrying an errant thread on his jacket. "Sorry."
"What is there?"
"Nothing," he said, with a sob. "Don't turn me in, please! It wasn't my idea! I didn't want to change my name."
"Your name?" I asked surprised. "Who are you?"
"Noole. My grandfather made bricks in that building where I live."
Changing identity was not just illegal but impossible, especially from slubber to family member. RiverGroup, or one of the other security companies, protected all names and numbers. "How did your uncle do that?
Shaking his head, he said, "Xavid Xarry did."
"My father's hairdresser?" I asked, as if he were crazy.
Walter peered at me. "He's cfo and coo of RiverGroup."
I had forgotten about his titles. Maybe because when Father announced it, it seemed like a joke. "How do you know Xavid?" I asked. "Or how does he know you?"
"He's Chesterfield's brother." He smiled hopefully, but his grin was short lived. "Xavid is very smart?" he said, the questioning intonation returning to his speech. "I guess he just wants to become part of the families?"
I didn't care that they were slubbers, but I knew Father had no idea. I knew he hadn't even gone to their house to take a look. And I knew that once it was discovered, the other families would cry foul that RiverGroup was merging with the enemy. Grabbing the control, I tried to turn on the cracked screen to call Father and tell him what an idiot he was, but of course, it didn't work. I longed to see his face turn red as he learned that yet another of his magnificent plans had died an ugly death.
"Look it!" said Walter, pointing.
Outside, lights had appeared on the horizon. I thought of the Pure H copy, Miniature city flickers, and that was exactly what it looked like—a tiny metropolis gleaming white, blue, and orange.
I asked, "That the place?"
"No. I think it's Moscostan. I go there to see creepy things." Frowning, he added, "I have bad nightmares about it sometimes."
"Where do we get the aru?"
"A little farther." Pointing to something approaching on the left, he asked, "What is that?"
Leaning over to get a better view from the windows, we were quickly approaching a tall, lit yellow and red sign. As we neared, I could read the ornate, script letters. It read, Tanoshi No Wah. Behind the sign was a large red-and-yellow-striped tent.On each of the six peaks, a red flag flapped in the breeze. Around the central tent were a dozen smaller ones and what looked like parked trucks and several lit rides with mechanical women, giant ducks, and golden blimps. To one side was a makeshift parking lot with a few rusted but garishly decorated four-wheeled trucks.
I said, "It's my mother!"
Fifteen
Walter laughed as if I were insane. "Your mother?"
"I mean it's her carnival . . . the one she travels with."
He looked horrified. "Way out here?"
"She left Father years ago. She joined this carnival. I don't know. It's like she does it to embarrass me."
"Why would she leave your dad?" he asked. "He's so nice!"
I was about to explain, but it did not seem worth it, or maybe it only confirmed his dreadfulness that he had charmed one odd and insignificant boy. Instead, I said, "We're stopping."
"Oh no!" he said. "It's too dangerous around here! Moscostan is not good."
"Driver," I said into the intercom. "Stop at this carnival." As I spoke, we zipped past it, but she began to slow immediately.
"You didn't tell me about this!" said Walter, panicked. "The places you go aren't good!"
"You don't have to get out. I'll go alone."
Frowning, he said, "No, I'll go with you." Then he sat pouting, as if he regretted our friendship.
Soon Walter's driver had turned the car around and parked it in the muddy lot.
"Look how big they are," he said, pointing to a group of slubbers in the same silver and white jackets and loose pants I had seen when I fell off the Loop. As the door slid open and the car was filled with hot smoky air, voices, I began to have second thoughts. I had just been so surprised to see the sign for Tanoshi No Wah, that I felt I had to stop, but really it made no sense. Worse, Mother would probably cry and plead with me to stay and when I refused, she would begin ranting and screaming.
Before I changed my mind, I grasped the side of the door and swung myself down. The ground squished underfoot.
From somewhere—maybe from the big tent—I heard an odd singing. The voice was at once lyrical and beautiful, but also oddly stinging, as though it was the combination of an accomplished opera soprano and a giant mosquito.
"I need a step." Walter still stood in the car, his toes over the edge, looking down the three-foot drop.
"Come on," I said, holding up my arms, "I'll help you." He jumped right into me and almost knocked me backward. I grasped the shoulders of his jacket, though, held him and kept myself up, too.
Straightening his jacket and hat, he frowned and said, "I don't want to die."
"We'll be fine," I said, hoping that was true. From here, I could see that the smoke was coming from one of the smaller tents where a vendor was roasting meats.
As Walter and I walked across the muddy field, slubbers who had been milling about stopped to watch. A few pointed at us, some gestured at my Loop car. Most looked unhappy that we were there. Several children laughed at us. They pulled their loose, nonwoven shirts taut as if to mock our tailored jackets. A tall, heavy man in a silver jacket had purple blotches all over his face. From his left nostril a clear viscous drip began to lower itself. I thought of the goo at the MonoBeat Tower, but tried not to show my disgust. Sniffing violently, he sucked the mucus back into his nose, and then turned away.
Walter tugged on my sleeve as if he wanted to run back to the car.
"He was just trying to frighten us," I said, not sure that's what he'd really meant.
As we continued, I saw a makeshift fence surrounding the tents, and next to the opening stood a small red booth. On top of the booth was a sign that read tickets. Inside was a man in a shiny gold shirt. He had a small face, a heavy brow, and what seemed like a permanent scowl.
"Good evening handsome and distinguished guests," he said, louder that I expected. "It seems you have come from afar in a very fancy car! I am so very sorry to say that the Tanoshi No Wah has already performed tonight." His glowering expression was gone. Now he beamed at me with a manic look. "I can offer you both the very best seats for tomorrow's performance," he said. "Only one hundred thousand apiece, gentlemen."
Exiting slubbers slowed to gawk at us. Two women in white plastic pointed at us. A man in silver and the same bunny shirt as I had seen before, scowled.
"Thank you," I said, leaning in so the others might not hear. "Actually, I'm Michael Rivers. I believe my mother works here." I wasn't sure if work was the right word. "I'd like to see her if I could."
He leaned slowly back as his eyes circled my face. For an instant, I thought he was going to tell me to go away. "Forgive me! I should have recognized you! Please, forgive me." He then fumbled with the things on the little desktop—a roll of tickets, pieces of blue and green paper, a grey metal box. After he had jammed everything in the container, he jumped down from his chair and disappeared. A second later, he emerged from a small door on the right side of the booth. He was just three feet tall.
"I'll tell her! I should have recognized you. I'll go tell her right now! Forgive me, please." In his right hand, he held the metal box. "I'll run and tell her right now!" He hadn't yet moved.
"Yes," I said. "Thank you."
"No, thank you!" He laughed. "Thank you, Mr. Rivers!
" Next, he threw his arms around my right leg, as if hugging me. Walter must have thought I was being attacked. He yelped, stumbled backward, and fell to the ground with a splat.
The golden man let go. "Forgive me! Is this . . . another of our brothers?"
"No, he's a friend," I said, as I stepped to Walter's side to help him up. The golden man got on the other side and together we righted Walter. Several of the circled slubbers laughed. Walter frowned at them. His back was covered with mud and bits of trampled grass.
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