He could feel their fear, so close and sharp and real. He could see their sudden, birdlike movements in real time. He could hear the words they spoke and understand them.
Billy Weirs hands rested on the spongy flesh of the Blimp. He touched the animals mind as easily as he touched its skin.
A herd animal. Unafraid. It had no ingrained fear of humans. Nor even of the Riders.
It feared only one thing.
Billy tried to make sense of the half-aware, deeply stupid creatures memories. An image. A smell. A tingling in the air . . .
Lightning?
Billy formed the image of a bolt of lightning coming out of the sky, striking the Blimp, igniting the gas within. A fireball!
Thats what the Blimp feared.
Not yet, Billy whispered. Not yet.
Then, to Tamara, or more exactly to the baby, he spoke in a clear voice. Can you hold them off? If you can hold them off till we pick up the others, I can make this creature . . . hurry.
A dozen faces stared at him. Only Tamaras showed fear.
Billy? MoSteel said.
I can make this creature go faster, Mo, Billy said. He felt unsure. Unsure even of whether he was actually speaking words, of whether indeed any of this was real.
Act as if its real, he whispered to himself.
Act as if whats real?! MoSteel demanded.
Tamara. Do what you can, Billy urged.
The Marine sergeant looked confused. The baby bared its teeth at Billy and made a low, hissing sound. Then the babys shrewd face closed in, its empty eye sockets looked away, and Tamara set the baby down on the living floor.
The baby spoke. Maybe. Maybe to Billy. Maybe only to Billy, because Billy could see that no one else heard the babys voice, no one else looked at it. Had it spoken? Billy had heard it.
He heard the baby say, Stay out of my way.
I am not your enemy, Billy whispered.
The baby snarled. Be sure you dont become my enemy.
CHAPTER NINE THATS STILL A FART, DUCK.
Things happened all at once. Suddenly, and yet as if in slow motion, with each element clearly observed.
Tamara ran to the front and without pausing, launched a spear that flew faster than anything MoSteel had ever seen.
Wylson grabbed for the rope and slipped.
The spear hit the carapace of a Rider, failed to penetrate, but by sheer force of impact knocked him backward off his board.
A Rider threw a boomerang. The blade bounced off the hide of the Blimp and, with most of its speed lost, tumbled into Olga, who picked it up.
Wylson made a second, desperate grab, held on, and Anamull grabbed her arm and yanked her up brutally.
Tamara aimed and threw.
Burroway grabbed the rope.
The spear went in one of the large spider eyes of a Rider.
Burroway was being dragged through the water, yelling curses.
MoSteel flopped down, slid facedown, straight down the flabby wall of flesh, and caught himself with double handfuls of skin. He dug his knees in, snatched Burroways shirt, it tore, MoSteel snatched again and grabbed an arm.
A pair of Riders were right there, right alongside, not three feet away, staring hate, drawing back to stab at Burroway.
MoSteel hauled with all his strength, felt 2Face holding onto his ankles, felt Burroway come up, saw the spear flash and strike a shallow stab into the Blimp.
Ahead, Tate, at the ready in the water, arms outstretched. MoSteel felt Burroway crawling up over him, gouging his kidneys with his heel.
A spear flew, two, three, all at once as a wave of Riders threw.
A cry of triumph from above, Tamaras voice, wild with glee.
A ripped-steel screech from the Riders.
Tates hand. Grab. Not heavy, at least. MoSteel swung her up with the momentum, landed her to be grabbed by Yago.
He was worth something, at least, Yago was.
Now, for Violet.
But the Riders were concentrating their force dead ahead, just beyond where Jobs crouched. If the Riders charged theyd run right over Jobs. If the Blimp kept its direction it would surely bounce into the Riders.
Violets hand, the missing finger, he gripped too tight, blood flowing anew from the stump, Violet gritting her teeth, slipping! Roger Dodger, just a kid, sliding down like MoSteel, facedown, using the friction to hold on, grabbed her other arm. Roger wasnt strong but he gave MoSteel the split second he needed to shift his grip and yank Violet up and away.
The Riders attacked! Full speed, shoulder to shoulder, seven of them in a tight formation looking for a head-on collision with the Blimp. They rode with spears held tight and raised, looking to slash the Blimps underside on the next bounce.
Duck! MoSteel cried.
What?! Jobs yelled.
No, duck ! I mean, duck , Duck!
Jobs dropped and buried his head in the water.
MoSteel grabbed the rope and swung out into the air, released, and splashed in the water, all but knocking Jobs down.
The Blimp jerked, suddenly rose.
Up, up, over their heads.
Inches from the upraised spear points of the Riders.
MoSteel dragged his friends head up into the air, turned him around, and yelled, Grab a leg!
Like the propeller of a speedboat, the rows of cilia came rushing, churning the water, flailing madly.
The Riders raced on, sure they would gut the Blimp.
Jobs and MoSteel grabbed cilia. MoSteel was kicked in the face by his, wondered if hed lost a tooth, felt the cilia go limp and passive, felt the wind billow beneath the Blimp, saw the water fall away below, saw the Riders gaping up, helpless, knew that he and Jobs were airborne, and knew it wasnt going to last.
The Blimps bounced, they didnt fly. This one had bounced right over the heads of the Riders, but it wasnt going to get away, not when the Riders could outrun it by twenty miles per hour to five.
Whos flying this thing? Jobs gasped.
I think Billy is. Can you hold on?
Were coming back down!
Wrap your arms and legs around it, MoSteel yelled.
The water rushed up at them. The cilia/legs were already motoring, preparing to touch down. Glancing back, the Riders had turned and were in close pursuit. The rear of the Blimp dropped and hid them from view.
A shiver ran through the Blimp. More than a shiver, a convulsion, like the thing was going to throw up. The flabby skin gathered into wrinkles and folds. There was a sudden release, a very loud, recognizably embarrassing noise, and a burst of speed that shot the Blimp forward at twice its normal speed.
The descent stopped, the Blimp rose a dozen feet, and MoSteel saw the pursuing Riders wallowing in the water, their boards skimming away without them. Theyd been knocked off.
The Blimp farted? MoSteel asked, incredulous.
Must be some kind of pressure-release valve, Jobs said. The gas pressure inside the Blimp must build up in the heat of the day.
Thats still a fart, Duck.
How do we get up onto the Blimp? Jobs asked.
They were dangling from the back third of a zeppelin, contemplating climbing up on top. MoSteel was always optimistic where the physically impossible was concerned, but it was still hard to see in what universe that was going to happen.
Hey, were going down!
Headfirst!
The Blimp had suddenly plunged, not rear-down, but head-down at a sharp angle. Like a jet out of control and looking to dig a hole.
Hang on! MoSteel yelled. It may work!
What? What may work?
Hang on!
The Blimp hit the water face down. The shock of impact was absorbed by the gas balloon, squeezed the sides out, and tossed MoSteel and Jobs forward, clinging madly to their cilia.
Then the ball bounced.
The energy absorbed into the flesh of the Blimp now rebounded, bounced it up and over into a forward somersault of gargantuan proportions.
Get ready! MoSteel sc
reamed. Get ready to let go!
Say what ?!
The rear portion of the Blimp accelerated up as fast as a roller coaster coming off the first big drop. MoSteel and Jobs were yanked up at a shocking speed.
Ready . . .
The Blimp rolled ponderously forward into the somersault and came completely clear of the ground.
At the point of maximum centrifugal stress, MoSteel yelled, Let go! Let go!
MoSteel and Jobs released and flew high, spinning out of control through the air.
Beneath them the Blimp rotated, spun in midair, and fell. MoSteel and Jobs fell. MoSteel hit the trampoline flesh and grabbed frantic handfuls.
Jobs! You okay?
Im here, Jobs yelled, his voice shaky.
They were no longer on the bottom of the Blimp, they were on the side, almost all the way back, hanging on by their fingernails. The Blimp had completely reversed direction.
Climb upward, Duck. Hand over hand. You can dig your knees in, especially now; the skins looser after the big fart.
MoSteel glanced down and saw a solitary Rider keeping pace with the Blimp as it turned back onto its original heading once again. It was impossible to read any specific emotion on that utterly alien face, but MoSteel was prepared to guess that the Rider was astonished.
CHAPTER TEN WE HAVE TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM THEM. WE HAVE TO MAKE IT OURS.
Billy? You okay?
Billy Weir looked up at Jobs. His eyes were dark, but they moved. They focused. He was sitting very still, but he was at least sitting.
Jobs leaned closer. Billy. You know me, right? You remember me?
Billy frowned, looked unsure, like he was running through a mental list of possible answers, each more distressing than the last.
I know you, Jobs, Billy said at last. His voice sounded strange. Halting. Vague.
That was some impressive work back there, MoSteel said with a huge grin. Youre a serious Blimp pilot.
Billy stared blankly. He frowned and seemed to be thinking or remembering. Then his eyes darted to the left, avoiding contact.
Well, anyway, thanks, MoSteel said. You have any idea where were going?
Theres . . . theres a ship, Billy said. Sails, anyway. I think so. I think maybe theres a ship. I dreamed it.
Uh-huh, Jobs said dubiously. Billy might be awake and more or less alert, but he was still not exactly back to normal. In fact, he had the disconnected, off-center look of a street crazy. Back home, back in the world, Jobs would have crossed the street to steer clear of him.
Ill decide where we go, Wylson Lefkowitz-Blake said, looming up behind Jobs. Its something we need to discuss. She looked at Jobs. We need a new spokesman for the youth. Yago will not be performing that duty any longer. Im appointing you, Jobs.
I dont speak for anyone but me, Jobs said.
Burroway? Shy? Olga? Wylson yelled. You, too, T.R. We have to hold a board meeting. Tamara, of course youre welcome to attend as well.
Yago said, You dont just decide to exclude me, Wylson.
Youre out, Wylson snapped.
No, I dont think so.
Jobs will represent the minors, Wylson said.
No, I wont, Jobs said, growing testy at being referred to as if he werent there.
Put it to a vote, Yago purred. You want to play games, Wylson, put it to a vote of the kids. Me and Jobs. Lets see who the people choose.
Youre calling a meeting? Burroway demanded. Were on the back of a Blimp in the middle of a swamp, Wylson.
And going nowhere, Burroway. So lets meet, see if we cant formulate some options.
You people are all nuts, Violet Blake said. But if its coming to a vote, I vote for Jobs.
No one is voting, Jobs yelled.
I vote for Yago, D-Caf said.
Me, too, Anamull chimed in.
You believe this? MoSteel asked his friend.
How about you, 2Face? Yago asked.
She glanced at Jobs and hung her head. I have to go with Yago.
Thats four votes for me, counting my own, Yago said. Edward and Roger Dodger are too young to vote besides, Edward is a mutant, and we dont let mutants vote.
Jobs looked up sharply. What is your malfunction, Yago? Ten minutes ago were all dead and now its time to start playing divide and rule again? Cant you take a vacation?
Yago returned Jobss stare, unflinching. Well give you Miss Blake here, although what you see in him, Miss Blake, is beyond me. Plus youve got your monkey-boy pal and your own vote. Thats three. Leaves just Tate, and all she can do is give you a tie, Jobs.
Billy has a vote, Jobs pointed out.
Mutant, Yago said with a self-satisfied grin. A freak of nature.
Jobs met his gaze and felt himself flinch, though he didnt show it. Jobs knew what he was: a techie. Techies were respected in his old school, but they werent on a par with guys like Yago. Yago was bigger, stronger, richer, famous, cocky, and inhumanly good-looking. He was the Presidents son. Never mind that the President had been dead for five hundred years, that shed been President of a nation that no longer existed and a prominent member of a species that just barely existed. Yago was still Yago, and Jobs was still just Jobs.
Jobs was sure hed hidden his internal surrender, but Wylson at least must have seen it.
How about this: Youre both in, Wylson said. Jobs, youre in. Yago, I cant seem to get rid of you, so youre in, too. Now lets get on with this meeting. I want a clear agenda.
2Face started laughing to herself, a low chuckle, but one that gained momentum. This is insane. This is just insane. Were all crazy.
T.R. said, I think you should leave mental health diagnoses to the experts. That would be me.
Oh, shut up, you fatuous nitwit, 2Face said through the laughter. Ms. Lefkowitz-Blake, no offense, Im sure you were a great business tycoon or whatever, but right now youre not being very smart. Hold a meeting? Look around you. Were a handful of scruffy, raggedy, smelly, dirty humans sitting on the back of a giant bouncing hippopotamus, wandering around lost inside an alien spaceship so big it could hold a million people. And youre going to formulate a plan? Like what we really need is a business plan to present at the next shareholders meeting? She jerked a thumb at Yago. And this fool thinks what we really need is to split up into factions? And weve got some psychotic Marine sergeant with an alien baby and, no offense, some creepy kid who just woke up out of a coma whos doing a mind-meld with this gasbag were on, and Riders and Blue Meanies and living artworks and . . . and you want an agenda ?
As she talked the laughter stopped and now the untouched half of her melted face was red with anger and contempt.
Were not big enough or strong enough or smart enough to have an agenda. Were trapped inside the universes biggest video game and we dont even get to touch the game pad. Since we woke up from hibernation, how many have died? Set aside the Missing Eight. How many have died?
No one answered her.
She held up her fingers. The doctor, Connie Huerta. Killed by the baby. Errol, massacred by Riders. Billys dad, eaten by worms. Three dead since we woke up. And everyone injured to one degree or another. The rest of us alive. By luck.
You have a point? Burroway demanded.
Yeah, I have a point, 2Face said. Were not a company, Ms. Lefkowitz-Blake. And were not the White House, Yago. And were not high school, Miss Blake. And were not at some university, Burroway, and were not a family, Dad, and were not on some kind of thrill ride, Mo.
Jobs shook himself out of a spell cast by her words and face. He glanced around and saw that everyone, absolutely everyone, the entire human race, he thought mordantly, was listening. No one was listening more intently than the baby.
We came here on the Mayflower Project. Maybe that ought to tell us something, 2Face said, quiet now. Were the human race. All of it, as far as we know. Strangers in the strangest land anyone ever saw. But as strange as it is, its all we have. She waved her arms around, encompassing the vista of swamps, the Blimp herd, the Riders watching from afar. The
y own this place now. Mother does. The Riders. The Meanies, maybe. Maybe others we dont know about yet. We have to take it away from them. We have to make it ours. Kill them all if we have to: Mother, the Riders, the Meanies. Anyone else who tries to stop us. She paused, obviously spent. With a sigh, she added, You want an agenda? Thats our agenda.
2Face took a deep breath, collecting herself, and walked away. She passed close by Yago, and only he and Jobs could see the look of triumph in her eye.
No meeting took place. The Blimp bounded on, hour after hour, pursued, kept in view by a tag team of Riders. Billy kept the Blimp moving, long after the rest of the huge, comical herd had slowed and stopped to rest.
Jobs was thinking, his mind far away when he felt 2Face touch his arm.
You know why I had to vote with Yago, she said.
No. I dont, Jobs said. But it doesnt matter.
Yago is the enemy here. As much as the Riders or anything else, 2Face said. Hes very clever. He wants an us against them thing, normal people, as he defines them, versus freaks. He needs there to be factions.
Yeah, I get that, Jobs said.
He never expected to win a vote. It wasnt about voting. It was about him finding an excuse to say Freak, or Mutant. Thats his game. Any chance he gets. So I voted for him, left him the choice of either rejecting me as a freak or accepting me as a supporter. He was too slow: He accepted my vote, gave me credibility in his little scheme.
She smiled with the good half of her mouth. Jobs wondered what it would be like to kiss her and instantly felt a wave of revulsion. Not for her face, but for her. She had saved Edward, looked out for him. But 2Face was as shifty as Yago.
In part to cover for the unexpected feelings of antipathy, Jobs said, That was some speech you gave before. Kill them all?
2Face nodded. Again the slight, sly smile. Was I wrong?
Four Sacred Streams saved us all by giving his own life, Jobs answered.
He gave his life for his own cause, 2Face said.
You said it yourself, Mother is a big place. Maybe we can all fit. Us, the Riders, the Meanies.
2Face shook her head. No. Only we can fit. And not even all of us, Jobs. She looked pointedly at Yago, lying down for a rest, and then at Tamara, who stood, with baby on hip, gazing out over the landscape.
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