It was night. There was no one on the beach, no one farther inland either, as far as they could tell.
Rigg could always tell where other people were, or whether they were there at all, thought Umbo. I wish that he were here.
But then the wish passed from him. He didn’t want to be dependent on Rigg right now. He and Param could do this thing alone.
“I don’t think we want to be seen,” said Umbo. “I think we want to watch from hiding.”
“Then let’s turn invisible,” said Param with a smirk. “It’s my best trick anyway.” She took his hand again, and walked with him toward a stand of trees and bushes, as the night raced by around them.
Even when they came to a stop amid the trees, and the sun rose swiftly, Param kept on slicing time. But now the world was moving slowly enough that they could see the blur of scurrying mice. Mice everywhere among the trees and grass.
Mice going into and out of holes in the ground.
Of course they don’t build buildings. They dig holes. They don’t have to shore up tunnels so they don’t cave in; mice can move through such tiny passages that they hold themselves up without any additional support. These fields could now be a city of a hundred million mice, and no one above the surface would know it.
Rigg would know, because of the paths. But could even he sort through the movements of all these tiny mammals?
The great hole in Umbo’s plan was now obvious. They could move into the future, but where in the future did they want to be? Where would the Visitors come, when they came to Larfold?
If they came to Larfold. There was a thought. What if the Visitors saw no trace of human habitation in Larfold, and so didn’t bother to come there?
What if the mice had insisted on invading Larfold precisely because they knew the Visitors would not come, and perhaps the Destroyers would not destroy the wallfold because they thought no humans lived there? After all, the account of the destruction of “all” of Garden in the Future Books might not be accurate.
Or maybe this was where the mice were trying to construct underground shelters where they could live for decades without coming to the surface. Maybe they meant to wait until Garden was habitable again, and only then emerge and inherit the world.
Why did we always assume the mice were trying to attack Earth? All they had to do was hide deep enough to escape notice.
How much about the mice was in the ships’ logs? Would the Destroyers be looking for them? They couldn’t have been on any previous visit, because the mice had only existed for the first time on this go-round.
The Visitors will come to Larfold, thought Umbo. They’ll be thorough. The ships’ logs will tell them that there was a colony here and that somehow it went underwater. So they’ll come here looking for the site of the colony.
And that’s where we are, or nearly so.
Umbo raised a hand in a stopping gesture, and Param slowed them down. The mice resumed a normal pace—which was still pretty frantic. Almost instantly, there were mice on their clothing, up on their shoulders.
“You know who we are,” said Umbo softly. “We’re about to go into the future. If you want to see your families again, get off.”
The mice understood and scampered down their clothing and got about a meter away before they turned and sat watching Umbo and Param.
“Why did you make us stop?” asked Param.
“We want to be about three hundred meters that way.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s where the colony was, so that’s where the Visitors will come.”
Almost at once, the mice took off in the direction Umbo had indicated. “It’s nice to be regarded as an authority by somebody,” he said.
“Since the mice already know where we’re going, can we just walk there in realtime?”
“Sure,” said Umbo. “Though if there are any Larfolders on shore, they’ll see us. Not to mention the Visitors themselves, who might be watching from space right now.”
Param sighed. “I’ve spent plenty of time slicing time already. A little more won’t kill me.”
Though of course if the mice decided to try their little stunt with metal again, it might kill her. “Never mind,” said Umbo. “I prefer to walk in realtime myself.” He let go of her hand and started to walk out into the open.
She hesitated a moment, then followed him.
“I wonder,” said Umbo, “what would happen if I peed while time-slicing. I mean, as soon as the piss leaves my body, it’s not part of me. So does it keep moving in sliced time, or does it immediately become part of realtime? So I’d pee, and it’s like it would move really fast and hit the ground almost before I peed it.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me listen to something so disgusting,” said Param.
“Come on, you can’t tell me you never thought of it. I bet you tried it.”
“It was better when we were slicing time,” said Param. “We couldn’t talk then.”
“So if you don’t like what I think of to say, you say something.”
For a minute or two she remained silent. Then she spoke. “Thank you for not making me slice time when the mice knew where I’d be.”
“I think if they wanted us dead, they’d find a way, but sure, I could see why you didn’t want to do it. And I didn’t want you to run the risk either.”
“So thanks,” she said.
Umbo wanted to laugh. It was such a simple thing, saying thanks, but for her it was hard. Probably not hard to say thanks—just hard to say it to him.
“We’re going to have to slice time eventually, though,” said Param. “We didn’t pack a lunch.”
Something perverse in him made Umbo return to the previous subject. “Farting, too,” said Umbo. “Bet it completely fades before we can smell it, if you fart while slicing time. And no, I absolutely won’t believe it if you tell me you never did that while slicing time.”
“I never—”
“I have sisters,” said Umbo. “Girls fart and snore and belch and pee and all the really gross offenses. They just pretend they don’t, and expect everybody else to go along with the lie.”
Umbo expected Param to say something cutting. Or move away from him in disgust. Or disappear.
Instead she farted.
“Oh, you couldn’t wait till we time-sliced,” said Umbo.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“I’m sure it was a collective fart from all the mice around us.”
“The mice broke wind?” she said. “How advanced of them. They have evolved to the level of boys. Still, that leaves a long way to go.”
Umbo smiled. Only a little. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Wasn’t it amazing that she could say rude things one moment and it felt like hatred, and then say equally rude things the next moment, and it sounded like an offer of friendship.
They reached the boundary of the colony, as far as he remembered from the map in the flyer’s display. But he had a good memory for where things were, a good eye for landmarks. It was here.
“Tired?” asked Umbo.
“You woke me out of a sound sleep two years ago and I’ve been walking continuously since,” said Param. “How could I be tired?”
“Can you slice time in your sleep?”
Param hesitated. “Sometimes I wondered if I disappeared in my sleep. If it was such a reflex that I slept all night but only got a couple of hours’ sleep.”
“Tired all the time?”
“I wanted to go back to bed the moment I woke up.”
“Sounds like my mother,” said Umbo.
Param was about to say something, then thought better of it.
Something insulting about Umbo’s mother. And then a decision that this might be out of bounds.
Good call, Param.
“The mice know we’re here. So we could probably both sleep at once. But I’ll keep watch if it makes you feel safer.”
They were in the shadow of the woods now, and Umbo piled up this year’s leaves to make a large sleeping area without much work. Param lowered herself gracefully onto the leaves. Umbo sat up with his back leaning against a tree.