I tore my eyes from it. "Nothing. Forget it." I sat there while my mind raced in neutral. I felt compelled to get up and run from the room, but couldn't quite come to a decision to make the first move. "Maybe I should have that drink," I said.
"Sure. You seem jumpy as hell. Not that I blame you." He stepped to the bar and poured me a glass. "These two punks arc enough…" He stopped and laughed to himself. "You know,
where I come from, that word doesn't mean what it does here. I have to watch myself sometimes in mixed company."
"Word?" I said emptily, not really listening.
"Punk. The way I learned it, the word has nothing to do with sex, except when one of them tries to put a move on your kid sister."
With difficulty, I plodded back to the conversation. "Where are you from? I mean, on Terra. You weren't born out here."
"I'm from the States. L.A. Santa Monica, really."
"'The States'? Not too many people call it that anymore."
"I guess not." He brought the drink over. "I'll never get used to calling the country I was born in 'New Union of Democratic Republics.'"
I took the glass of whiskey and upended it into my mouth. I tasted nothing at all. "We should leave," I said.
The one by the hatch groaned.
"You're right. What the hell should we do with them, though?"
"Leave them. Pack up and go down to the desk, get another cabin. Say you have some noisy neighbors. If you can't get one, you can move in with us."
"Good idea. Thanks." He dragged out a satchel from under the bed and began to stuff it with the mound of personal effects and rumpled clothes. "Are there more where these came from?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered. "And Rikkis, too."
"Jesus, those mothers give me the willies. I hear once they start chasing you, they don't quit. I've also heard that―" He stopped, straightened up, and wiped his forehead with a sleeve.
"What is it?"
"Goddamn headache," he said, his expression pained. "Jesus! That came on quick. Must've racked my head up against something."
I sprang to my feet and stood there, immobilized. "Let's go," I said. "Now!"
"You're a bundle of nerves, do you know that? Take it easy. Didn't you lock the door?" He knitted his brow, rubbed the back of his neck, then looked around. "Do you hear something?"
"Like what?" I said breathlessly.
"A buzzing sound. What the hell is it?"
21
The next few minutes… hours… I couldn't tell which, were a dream remembered, then dreamed again. The last thing I recall clearly was watching the kid put his hand to his head and slowly sit down on the bed. I was rooted to the spot. Gradually, I grew aware of people around me, then of hands gripping my arms and leading me down corridors, endless corridors, then finally into another room.
Voices. I was seated in a chair but couldn't move, staring at the ceiling, watching pretty afterimages from the glare of the overhead lights. For the first time, I noticed that they weren't biolume panels, but glowing tubes, fluorescent tubes, recessed into the ceiling.
"Do you think he knows?" somebody whispered. Another voice: "Careful. He may be coming out of it." The second voice I recognized. Corey Wilkes. "Darla-darling," the first voice said, "can you think of anywhere the creature might be?"
"No," Darla answered. "Is Pendergast searching?"
"I assume. Corey?"
"Yes, but the crew's busy as hell," Wilkes said. "Something about another ship out there, following us."
"I think it's imperative we find her before we make Sea-home," the first voice said. "She could slip off the ship easily."
"You're absolutely right. Van," Wilkes said. "But one thing worries me. The story he told Darla about Hogan was to throw us off the track, of course, but he may have given her to one of the other passengers after all."
"Then, what the girl told us isn't true?"
"No, she's probably telling the truth, but Jake may have taken her from the hiding place and then given her to someone else, just to further muddle things." Wilkes laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, all of this is predicated on the assumption that the creature is the Roadmap, and we only have Darla's word on that. Frankly, I'm still a little skeptical."
"Darla?" Van said. "Can you convince him?"
"She's the Roadmap," Darla said flatly. "But before you get anything useful from Winnie, I want some assurance that you'll let him go."
"That was the agreement, Darla-darling, but… Corey, we can't speak for the Reticulans, can we?"
"No," Wilkes said. "He's their sacred quarry. There are ceremonies to be performed, obligations to discharge."
"Then what we agreed ― you're backing out?"
"Not us, Darla."
"I assure you," Darla said coolly, "that you'll get no further help from me interpreting for Winnie."
Wilkes was unruffled. "Oh, that may not be quite the problem you think it is. Granted, it's your field, and all, but I may be able to find someone else."
"In the Outworlds?"
I could almost hear Wilkes' Cheshire-cat grin. "Don't worry, Darla, we'll let him go. And I'm sure I can persuade the Rikkis to let him loose. They relish the hunt even more than they do the kill. But they will continue to track him down."
"Then it's agreed," Darla said quietly.
A shadow moved in front of me, but I didn't take my eyes from the light.
"I want to hear more about the maps," Wilkes said. "You said you wrote something down."
A rustling of paper. Then Wilkes said, "Well, this looks like the Perseus arm… and here's the Orion, I suppose. Uh-huh. Fine. So, it's a simplified map of this part of the galaxy, so far as anyone knows. And these lines are major Skyway routes?"
"Yes."
"What about these Xs all over the place?"
"Open clusters, I think. Winnie calls them 'tangle-many-trees.' Thickets."
"How charming. But there has to be more to it than this. What about this… this epic poem you mentioned? Can you recite some of it?"
"I'll try. Winnie's pidgin English is awfully difficult to render into something coherent. But parts of it go like this:
"These are the Paths through the Forest of Lights, and this way you shall go to find Home. In the land of bright water, keep the sun at evening on the right hand and follow the path to the great trees at the edge of the sky….'"
"That's a portal, I take it?"
"Yes. 'Pass through them but do not touch, for they clutch like the' ― and here's an untranslatable word, but I think it's the name of a plant that preys on small animals ' ― and you will come to the land of white rock that is cold to the touch.'"
"Now, that sounds like Snowball to me," Van said.
"Yes." Wilkes wasn't sure. "Go on, Darla."
"'Again, at evening keep the sun, which is small and dim, at the right hand and follow the Path to the great trees which grow here out of the white rock. Pass through them, but do not touch, for they clutch…' That stanza keeps repeating. Anyway, it goes on like that, endlessly."
"Not coherent?" Van laughed. "It even scans."
Silence, except for the sound of pacing.
Finally, Wilkes said, "I'm not sure I buy it."
"Corey, Darla's telling the truth."
"I don't doubt her. Van. I simply doubt that this could be the map. Why hasn't anyone got wind of this before? Winnie couldn't be the only member of her race who's privy to this mythology."
"No," Darla said, "but she could be one of an exclusive group of initiates. A secret order. Primitive human tribes have them."
"I see what you mean. But why haven't the exopologists gotten any hint of this?"
"Lack of basic field research," Darla explained. "It's tough to get a permit to study anything on Hothouse."
"And we know why that is," Van said. "The Authority doesn't want any scientific corroboration that the Cheetahs are truly sentient and deserve protection."