Jake lay Oktobriana on the plane's wing, leaned against the
fuselage and sighed. "I need a fix," he said. "Take my arm. Foot my
side solid to lever proper. I motion, you pull."
"You won't stand."
"I drew two hundred mils of Diodin from first aid early on. The
pain's settled. Prep and set, Luther, you're experienced."
Diodin or no, he slipped a bullet between his brittle teeth before
we operated, quickly, as if I wouldn't see. He signaled; I tugged.
The grind heard loud assured our success. His lips kept still
throughout the transaction.
"You're AO?" I asked; he nodded. With good limb he touched
the bad one.
"It's happened before. After she's hospitaled I'll have it onceovered. Let's move." Checking Oktobriana for look, for respiration, for temp, he lifted her one-armed; I struggled with overloaded cases, slogging through the reeds, feet sliding in the mud.
After thirty meters Jake's whites were black from collar to cuffs.
Mosquitoes grew fat on our flesh as we splashed through the chesthigh growth.
"Estimate that Alekhine"-as ever, Jake mispronounced-"is in
Russia. We seek?"
"Might have to. He's implanted. Should be easy to track once
we're ranged near. "
"If we recover the one we had," he said, "think she can reset?"
"Sounds as if her boss had the know in that instance," I sighed.
Something in my back felt rubbery. "Possibly, though. I think the
one out here's our quickest bet. Wish we could search tonight-"
"She might term," Jake said. "I've no X-ray eyes to clear her
innards. " I wondered if there were snakes about; wished I wore
boots into which pants might be stuffed. "We weren't over twenty
meters high when I pitched him. Dropping onto this'd be like
tumbling on a sponge if he landed right." Jake shook his head free
from mosquitoes' pinch, if for but a second. "If I hadn't allowed
emotion to operate I wouldn't have thrown-"
"Unavoidable, Jake," I said. "What's done's done."
"Always avoidable," he said. That he had permitted feeling to
enter his most sacrosanct action ripped him through, I saw, though
such-feel ingonly made his action more spectacular.
"If he's still viable he'll emerge in time. If not we'll return and
retrieve. For now-"
"We need repair."
"Exactly. All we can do tonight is earplay." Lifting his head, Jake
examined the sky's starry bowl. "This heat's killing," I said; where
the swamp didn't soak, sweat did. "What's seeable?"
"Summer stars," he said. "Orion's missed. So's Hydra and Gemini. There's Scorpius, Libra and Hercules. Post-ides of June, I'd
hazard-"
"It's March-"
"Not here."
We neared a nesting ground; a birdflock scattered airways before us, two meters near, shooting from the fen, throwing my heart into
overdrive. Coming soon after to the highway's dry embankment,
we ascended. A rest essentialled topside under any circumstance;
what we saw made us as statues.
"This isn't," said Jake, kneeling, propping Oktobriana with care
against -a post. "Can't be, Luther-"
We faced a macadam road holding four narrow, empty lanes.
The guardrail against which Oktobriana slept was nothing more
than short wooden posts driven earthward, connected through
their run by three steel cables. A waist-high divider separated
roadways with concrete barrier. Along the roadedge, aligned rows
of high wooden poles of two types stood. Long metal pipes attached
at right angles to the shorter poles hung overroad; hooked on to the
pipe ends were low-watt globes. At each taller pole's peak two
crossbeams were affixed; between the poles, attached to the beams
by small glass caps, stretched dozens of wires. From their strands
rose the hum of a million bugs in eveningsong. A pole-posted sign
said ROUTE 3 Weehawken 7 Mi. New York 9 Mi. The Route 3 we
knew carried twenty-two lanes of neverending traffic. Another sign
bore an unworded symbol: an orange peacemaker and single stone,
outlined in black, with directing arrow beneath. Beyond the far
roadside the swamp continued on into darkness. On the road
embankment facing east stood a high billboard, its wooden planks
scraped paint-free, its advertisement new-posted. In the scene's
foreground was a headshot of an oddly familiar, historically
unplaceable face; backgrounded was the White House, radiating as
if it burned. EVERY MAN A KING, the sign's legend read.
"Causality prohibits," I said, attempting to convince rather than
enlighten. "It's impossible."
"But true," said Jake. Eyeing the Empire State afresh, common
sense's block having now worn away, I spotted at once the difference
missed. Its pinnacle's TV tower lacked; the building stood as hypo
sans needle. Running view along ridge's brow I saw the absence of
considerable: the Trade Towers, Battery Spire, Battery Park, One
Coliseum, Cititower, Lincoln Park-all gone. "We've disconnected, Luther. "
Downroad west, two thin white shafts lit the path ahead. As the car drew close I roadsided, aiming to hitch; anxiety's hands pulled
me away so that I might size the locals at near range before direct
contact ensued. The car passed, its driver giving us a second's
onceover. We'd camped directly beneath one of those dim lights;
when his vehicle had its moment under spotlight, it first hit me odd
to see something so old look new and used simultaneously. The car
resembled a colossal potato bug, with bulbous abdomen, narrow
thorax, wide round eyes; its hue showed briefly as a dull dirty
yellow. A timekeeper in our day, of hostage ransom's worth; here, it
looked as if it sat overlong parked in the rain. Its taillights flew away,
toward New York.
"Flag the next, Luther," said Jake, crouching beside Oktobriana,
his trousers rolled knee-high as he plucked leeches from his legs.
"She needs doctoring quick."
"We all do," I said. "We've got to play this proper."
"Proper for whom?"
"For us. And them. If we're where we seem, circumspection in
word and act is essential."
"To what purpose?" He tore one last black strand from his skin.
"We'll show like snow on ice to their eyes, surely."
"Unproven," I said. "Our look and sound may cycle odd in these
surroundings, possibly in ways unforeseen. We don't want to be
mentaled without trial. We could show as institution's dream and
not even know "
"Recommendations, then?"
"Keep profile low Don't react as trained. Don't show surprise at
their behavior, or their tools, or their uses. Move without rudeness
or sudden shock. These are demands, not suggestions, Jake."
"Act as if traipsing Third World scenes?"
"You've got. We're in innocent days, Jake. Remember that we
can infect worse than they."
"New lights showing, Luther. Flagaway. "
Standing on the gravel shoulder, I overheaded arms, semaphoring oncomers. A truck rumbled past, dark miasma's cloud spewing
behind; its full load of glass bottles rattled, shaking against one
another and against the flatbed's wooden walls. Two more cars
trailed: one's shell flowed in unbroken curve from bumper to bumper, its sinuous chrome seemingly designed by wind's wish;
the other showed age, and resembled a boat estranged from the sea
as it bumped along on spoked wheels. Its ripped cloth roof sheltered its passengers like a fallen sail.
"One should have stopped," I said as they vanished.
"To be poked and yoked by nightcrawlers?" Jake asked. "Deepdish dread, undoubted. Other's expected by the king of fear?"
"Stop projecting, Jake," I said. "No call to drip our time's
paranoia here."
"Wise words, I'm sure. Here's another." Placing myself again, I
waved; the driver flashed lights as if signaling hello. Cheered to see
my point proven, I turned to nod at Jake, only to see him drawing
himself and Oktobriana behind the guardrail. The car accelerated
and swerved, its tires throwing gravel from where I'd stood before
tossing myself downhill, rolling into clammy safety at embankment's base. They laughed, skidding away; I heard unexpected cries.
"Nigger!" came their call. "Got'im." Bile burned my throat as I
hauled my aches to the road again, shuddering with fresh pain
racking old winces. Jake and Oktobriana had returned to their seats;
he appeared unsurprised. The road was still and quiet again, a river
frozen by night.
"You see?" I asked. "You hear?"
"As forewarned," said Jake. "Losers roam night roads, Luther."
"You heard his call?"
"Another approaching," he said, eyeing the horizon's white glow
The oncomer needed no gesture to halt it; slowing as it passed, the
car pulled onto the shoulder two hundred down and reversed.
"Prep yourself, Jake," I said.
"Prepped and doubleprepped," he said, sliding his good hand
undercoat, standing at guard before Oktobriana's small bundle.
The car paused beneath the light and the engine cut. The car's husk
rose slablike from the enormous bumpers, curving only at fenders,
roof and trunk. The license plate, fastened within a bracket set
above the left taillight, read New York World's Fair 1939. The
driver's door swung free from the front, rather than middle, allowing clear view of the driver as he emerged. A faint click awared me
that Jake's safety was off.
"You fellows need some help?" he asked, voicing a deep baritone. Beneath his thin jacket, below his dark hat's rim, he showed
as tall, wide and black. A mustache's caterpillar slept above his
upper lip.
"Essentialled," I said. "Medicare's a must. Assist, please."
"Hospital us multitime," Jake demanded. Oktobriana moaned
as drug's comfort faded. The newcomer onceovered us, standing
without move or shake, looking as if he posed for a portrait.
"Got a woman with you?" he asked. "You boys trying to beat the
Mann Act or what? Going to get in mighty hot water that way."
Jake straightened himself, his hand still hidden. "Transport us.
She's pained overmuch. Help now or help never."
"Jake!" I said, hoping to preserve and prevent. "Hospital us if
possible, please. We'll reimburse. It's urgent twiceover."
Laughter cracked his face's wax; was it my look or sound? I
wondered, and feared how badly we showed. "I'm a doctor," he
said, kneeling beside Oktobriana, holding her wrist to try the
pulse, patting her face to stir her. "Miss, can you hear me? What's
wrong? You hear me?"
"Da," she slurred, newborn pup's eyes unopened. "Govoritye li
vy porusski?"
"Russian?" he said. "Good Lord. Ya govoritye," he said, "a
little." She slumped again, and no conversation ensued. He doctored: ran hands about her neck, touched her toes, prodded her
ears. Unpocketing a small flash, he shone it into her dilated eyes.
"No bones broke," he said, gently pressing her abdomen, seeming to look for her liver. "Took a hell of a lick on the head, looks
like. What happened?"
"An accident," I said. "We're travelers."
"What kind of accident?"
"Our plane descended," I said. "Out there." Peering into the
swamp's acreage, he scanned for several moments.
"Think I see it." He hefted himself upright with fatman's grace.
"She's got a slight concussion. Mild shock, that's expected. When
was the accident?"
"Thirty past," said Jake.
"Past what? Good thing you kept her bundled up. She oughta be all right, long as we get her into town soon." As if to self-flagellate,
he slapped his neck three hard strokes. "Damn skeets. Get malaria
hanging out in this damn swamp. What about you two? Looks like
you took quite a licking yourself," he said, flashing his beam over
my forehead, sighting my slices and bumps. "Hurt anywhere
else?"
`All over but nothing of import," I said. "Jake dislocated his
shoulder, but we readjusted."
"Shit. You're walking around?" he asked Jake.
"Diodin holds antishock agents. If I sit overlong I'd fade to black.
Standing's necessaried during the first fifteen minutes."
The man's look puzzled; possibly Jake's phrasing confused. "You
all are some bunch. Damn lucky you made it. How high were you
flying?"
We glided groundways," I said. "Freefall, nearly." The man's
own voice fascinated; I wondered if we sounded so strange to him
as he did to me. The way his phrases wrapped themselves round his
words, his odd pronunciations, his remarkable tone and pitch; all
amazed. "We've ridden rough roads," I said. "We're hospitalnear?"
"We'll go back to my office," he said, pushing his hat back upon
his head, dejacketing, showing a drenched shirt. His under's line
showed clear. "Little bird tells me you all may not want to get too
involved with too many strangers right off. That a good guess? Give
me a hand getting her into the car. We'll hash things out later on.
Those your bags?" he asked. "Toss 'em in the trunk." Lumbering
over, he unlocked the lid, pulled it up. "What do you go by,
brother?"
"Excuse?" I asked. "Uncomprehended."
"What's your name?" he asked, sounding miffed.
"Luther. That's Jake. She's Oktobriana."
"Man," he said. "Damn Russians. I knew one once called Glory
of Revolution. My name's Norman Quarles. Call me Doc. You two
carried her out of the swamp?"
"I did," said Jake. Stooping, he encircled her shoulders with his
good arm, placed his hand beneath and lifted.
"Careful-" Doc said, then realized Jake suffered no trouble in his act. Still, he took hold of her legs, to relieve the weight. Shortly
they backseated her, Jake sliding in next to keep her upright.
Certifying the roadside clear of our holdings, I grasped the trunklid, startled by its weight as I slammed it down.
"Your car's plated?" I asked Doc, seeing no call for such density
but for security's sake. He stared, again.
"With what? Silver or gold?" He laughed. "Jake, you want some
morphine for that arm? I can't believe it doesn't hu-"
"Morphine contraindicates Diodin," I said. "We're fixed."
- - - - - - - - - -- -- - - -
Doc shook his head, and wheeled himself. Opening the shotgun
door, expecting to descend, I climbed instead, seating myself on
worn, tape-patched upholstery; fine leatherette upholstery, nonetheless. A ceiling incandescent buttered us with yellow light. On
the unpadded, polished-metal dash were but six gauges and the
glove compartment.