This was so obvious that Rigg was embarrassed that he had not thought of it. But time control was still so new to him that it was impossible for him not to revert to the normal human way of thinking about time.
“You want it this way,” said Rigg. “You want Loaf to have the facemask.”
“Vadesh needed to know how his new human-adapted facemask would work. And we needed you to know.”
“But it’s a monstrous, terrible, evil thing to do to my friend,” said Rigg. “I can’t allow that to remain in place when it’s in my power to eliminate it.”
“Now you know why the humans from Earth will be dangerous to the people of Garden,” said the voice.
“No, I don’t know,” said Rigg. “I don’t know anything.”
But even as he spoke, he understood the point that the voice—that Father—was making. The same revulsion and fear that Rigg felt about the facemask might be felt by the people of Earth when they learned about what Rigg and Umbo and Param could do with the flow of time. Fear, revulsion, rejection. And there might be things in the other wallfolds that Rigg didn’t know about yet, things that would make the facemask look like a cute pet.
“I have to visit the other wallfolds before anybody gets here from Earth,” said Rigg. “I have to know what they’re going to discover about us. I have to know what resources we can call on to resist them if they decide to suppress us or control us or destroy us.”
“That is a very good list,” said the voice.
“Did Father tell you to say that?”
“No,” said the voice, “but he agrees.”
Rigg took out the jewels one by one, and applied for control of all the starships. They accepted him as their commander, every one.
“Can a Wall sense when a human is trying to get through it?”
“Yes.”
“Can it tell which human is trying?”
“Yes.”
“I order all ships to allow me to pass through any Wall whose field I enter.”
“All ships have signaled their understanding and compliance.”
Rigg thought a little.
“And my companions,” said Rigg. “Param, Umbo, Loaf, Olivenko.”
“What about them?”
Rigg was going to say, Let them pass through also, but then he thought better of it. “If any two of them attempt to pass through together, then let them through.”
“But not one alone?”
“If someone is pursuing them, then let them through alone.”
“Understood.”
“Pursuing them with hostile intent,” said Rigg. “If I’m pursuing them, make them wait for me.”
“Expendable Ram asks what you expect to happen.”
“I don’t expect anything,” said Rigg testily. “I’m trying to create a set of rules that will give me safety and flexibility.”
“Without losing control of your companions,” said the voice—but he knew it was Father making the sarcastic comment.
“I don’t want Umbo to get angry and go off by himself. Or anyone. I want to be able to divide up, but into smaller groups, not individuals.”
“Except you.”
“Except me! I didn’t ask for this responsibility, but I have it, so yes, I get to make myself the exception, and that’s what I’ve decided.”
“Expendable Ram says, ‘Good.’”
“Expendable Ram can eat poo,” said Rigg.
“All expendables can process any organic matter they ingest and extract energy from it.”
“I’m so happy to hear that,” said Rigg. And in fact he was. Father wasn’t dead. Angry as Rigg was, he was also relieved. Even though expendable Ram was not his biological father, he was the one—the man—who had raised him. He occupied the place, deep in Rigg’s brain, that belonged to a father. It was his approval that Rigg needed to earn. His counsel that Rigg could trust, deep in his soul, no matter how he mistrusted him at a conscious level. It would be hard to fully expunge his father from the deepest places in his mind. It might not even be possible. And Rigg didn’t want to. Even if all the expendables were the same, could share their memories, could talk to each other, Rigg knew that there was one expendable that had walked the woods with him, taught him, tested him. Father was alive.
Alive, but not helping me very much.
I was trying to get rid of responsibility and leadership, thought Rigg. Now I’m responsible for the survival of the whole world.
Umbo is going to be so annoyed.
CHAPTER 8
Resentment
Umbo sat on the next-to-bottom step of the stairway where Rigg and Loaf had gone with Vadesh. He had waited at the top with the others for what seemed a long time, but finally had to see what was down here.
A long tunnel extending in two directions. When he called for Param and Olivenko to come down, they were as nonplussed as he was, until Olivenko said, “It’s a road, and this is a loading dock. They got on a vehicle here and it carried them through the tunnel.”
When Param doubted him, Olivenko pointed out the wear marks on the floor of the platform and on the floor of the tunnel.
“I thought this material was impervious,” said Param.
Umbo thought she was making a good point.
“It is,” said Olivenko. “These marks are from people’s shoes and from the vehicle itself. This is what wore off of them onto the floor.”
Umbo thought he was making a good point, too.
Then Umbo thought: What use is a stupid person like me on a journey like this? Olivenko is a scholar. Loaf is big and strong. Rigg was trained by the Golden Man. Rigg and Param are royal. Loaf and Olivenko are trained as soldiers.
And me? Yes, I can go back in time and warn myself not to do stuff I was so stupid I did it in the first place.
When Param and Olivenko went back up the stairs, Umbo stayed below, staring at the tunnel, thinking of the course his life was taking. He was glad he left Fall Ford. He was glad he had traveled with Rigg, that he had listened to Rigg’s explanation of how Umbo’s brother died. Glad also that they had learned how, together, their gifts allowed them to go back in time.
In fact, it was all such an adventure that if Umbo had heard the tale about anybody else, he would have been enthralled by all the things that went wrong and how they got out of them. Jumping off the riverboat—well, getting thrown by Loaf. Trying again and again to get into the bank to steal back the jewel—only to have it show up here in a different wallfold. Magical things. Marvelous things.
It’s a lot more fun to hear stories about other people than to live through them yourself, Umbo decided. Because when somebody told you a story, he knew how it was going to come out. He wouldn’t tell it to you if it wasn’t worth telling, if it didn’t amount to something. But when you’re living through it, you don’t know if it’s going to come out well, or even matter at all. Maybe you come all this way and the story goes on down a tunnel and you’re left behind, no longer part of it.
Maybe you came back and warned yourself and saved yourself a serious beating—but that’s what ended the story for you. No broken arm, no torn ear—but also doomed to go back out of this building and watch Param and Olivenko fall in love and get married and have babies and populate this wallfold, while you go on and on, wandering, exploring, all to no effect, accomplishing nothing because you listened to your beaten-up time-traveling self and took yourself right out of the story.
Then a light came on deep in the tunnel. There was a whistling sound. A rustling sound. Air moving through narrow spaces.
A vehicle hurtled into view, then slowed quickly to a stop. Rigg was there. So was Loaf—but Loaf had a mask on his face.
“No!” cried Umbo, leaping to his feet, rushing toward them. He had no intention beyond tearing the thing off Loaf’s face.
Rigg blocked his path. “You can’t! It would kill him!”
Umbo shoved Rigg out of the way before he registered what he said. His hands were already reaching for Loaf’s face, and Loaf in turn had his hands up, ready to fend him off, when Umbo stopped.