The Klaatu Terminus (21 page)

She laughed. “Oh, I’m just being silly,” she said.

“You’re not silly.”

“Well, I feel silly. I’m just upset about Greta, and . . .” Emily cupped her palms around his right hand. “Thanks for being here, Kosh. I don’t how I could have gotten through it without you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Kosh said, embarrassed.

“You know what I mean.” She raised herself on her toes and kissed the side of his mouth. Clumsily, he moved to kiss her back, then realized what he was doing and jerked back. They stared at each other. Emily’s green eyes looked black in the yellow light.

“Silly Kosh,” she said in a husky voice. She put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him to her and kissed him full on the mouth.

T
REMPEALEAU
C
OUNTY
, W
ISCONSIN, 2012 CE

B
EHIND THE WHEEL OF
R
ED’S VAN
, K
OSH LET HIS RECOLLECTION
of that kiss linger in his conscious memory, then shook his head hard, casting it into the dungeons of his mind, where he kept things too sweet and painful to revisit. He pulled into an abandoned logging trail just south of his property and followed the bumpy, rutted, overgrown road along the ridge of a coulee, moving slowly, branches dragging noisily along either side of the van. Twice he had to get out and drag fallen limbs off the road.

About half a mile in, he was stopped by a fallen elm tree too big to move. He loaded two shells into the shotgun. Bird shot, but at close range it would stop anything. A few more shells went into his jacket pockets. He shouldered the gun and hiked up the trail toward the knob.

The knob was a relatively bare elevated hilltop that had once been an oak grove, but ten years back, the owner, a farmer named Emil Blatz, had logged it. Kosh had been sorry to see the oaks go, but the knob now provided a beautiful panorama of the valley including, on the far side, a view of his property. Most of the leaves had fallen, and he had a clear view of the back of his barn. He sat on a stump and focused the binoculars on the bank of second-floor windows, but saw only reflections. Shifting his view to the left, he saw a dark gray SUV parked next to the barn. He saw no sign of Emma.

Patience
, he told himself. He raised the binoculars slightly to view the weathervane on the roof. If the disko was there, he couldn’t see it. Did the Lambs know about the disko? He had never mentioned it to Emma, but if it had shown up, they might have seen it.

Kosh returned his attention to the windows. A cloud had drifted over the sun, and he could now see indistinct shapes through the glass. He watched for movement and was rewarded by a figure crossing from the kitchen area toward the fireplace. Emma? He couldn’t be sure.

The smart thing to do might be to drive into town, call the cops, and tell them his home had been invaded. But he didn’t trust the cops. He could see it turning into a bloodbath, with Emma getting killed. Or maybe Gheen had spent the past weeks brainwashing Emma, and she was back to being one of them, and even if the cops kicked them out, she would stay with the Lambs. No, it was best to first find out for sure if she was there, get her to safety, and deal with the Lambs later.

He hung the binoculars around his neck, picked up the shotgun, and made his way down the steep hillside into the valley.

The local name for the valley behind Kosh’s property was Death Angel Hollow. Emil Blatz claimed it was named for the Death Angel mushroom, which grew in abundance locally. Kosh had always liked the name — it suited his somewhat morose world view — but on this day, he feared that it was entirely too appropriate.

It had been a few years since Kosh had explored the hollow. It was rough going, all fallen trees and slippery moss-covered boulders. Heavy rains often turned the bottom into a treacherous, muddy torrent. It was reasonably dry now, the forest floor covered by a carpet of fallen leaves, but he had to climb over several old log jams left by the spring floods. The far side of the valley rose steeply. Kosh made his way up the slope, grabbing on to vines and saplings when he could. Halfway up, he came to a rusty barbwire fence. Using the gun barrel to press down the top strand, he climbed over the wire onto his own property.

Standing upon his own land gave him strength. It flowed up from his feet to his legs, and filled his chest with a sense of ownership, pride, and power, overlaid with a seething anger at those who had invaded his home.
Stay cool
, he reminded himself. This wasn’t like confronting Ronnie Becker. These guys were armed, and he had to consider Emily’s —
Emma’s
— safety. As he neared the crest, he slowed. The barn came into view.

The woods were bordered by a raggedy copse of honeysuckle and prickly ash. Kosh concealed himself and considered his options.

The barn was only about thirty feet from his hiding spot. He would have to cross an open expanse of unmown grass to reach it. Looking up at the windows from below, he could see only the glare of reflected sky. Impossible to see inside. If someone was looking out he wouldn’t know.

He could wait until dark, or approach the barn by circling through the woods to the east side, where there were no windows. He decided to risk it. He broke cover, ran across the lawn to the barn, and flattened himself against the wall. A low hum, like a laboring refrigerator, was coming from inside. Staying close to the wall, he crept toward the west end. He peeked cautiously around the corner. The SUV was still there, and something else that nearly stopped his heart.

His Triumph, tipped on its side in a mud puddle next to the driveway. Outraged by seeing his bike treated that way, he started toward it, then saw a man walking from the barn toward the SUV.

Kosh raised the shotgun. A Lamb? The guy was dressed like a local: jeans, a heavy flannel shirt, and a seed cap. He wasn’t much older than Tucker, and as far as Kosh could see he wasn’t armed. Kosh lowered the gun.

The young man turned and looked directly at Kosh. They stood staring at each other for a few seconds, then the man broke and ran. Kosh started after him, then thought better of it. He didn’t know how many others were inside. Cursing, he turned and ran back into the woods.

T
UCKER BURST FROM THE FOREST ONTO A TRAIL
. His Medicant-enhanced legs propelled him at a tremendous pace, but not fast enough to lose the maggot. He rounded a bend and saw someone standing on the trail. A woman, her head shaven, carrying an ax. Before Tucker could veer away, the woman leaped into the air, straight toward him. Tucker ducked, lost his footing, and rolled. The woman flew over him and landed between Tucker and the maggot. She jabbed the handle of her ax into the maggot’s gaping mouth. The maggot came to a sloshing, jiggling halt.

“This is the Terminus,” said the woman. “You have no business here.”

The maggot shuddered. Its mouth slowly contracted around the ax handle, then puckered and began to roll inward. Tucker, gasping for breath, watched, fascinated, as little by little the maggot swallowed itself, gathering into a pink ball on the end of the handle. When it had reduced itself to the size of a basketball — it looked to Tucker like a giant pink cake pop — the woman withdrew the ax and the maggot winked out of existence. The woman sniffed the ax handle, wrinkled her nose, then looked at Tucker.

“I assume you did not wish to visit a Boggsian crèche?” she said.

“No . . . thank you.” He heard footsteps pounding up the trail, and turned to see Lia running toward them. She stopped a few feet away, breathing heavily.

“Tucker Feye,” Lia said between breaths. “I have been looking for you.”

Tucker put his hands on Lia’s narrow shoulders and pulled her to him. She stiffened, then relaxed. The embrace lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make their reunion real, and it held the promise of more.

Lia said, “Please do not go away again.”

“I won’t,” Tucker promised. “Only it wasn’t me that got kidnapped and swapped for a pitchfork.”

Lia smiled. “I had little choice.”

“The Yar Lia tells me you wish to return to your time,” the woman said.

“Awn says she can help us,” Lia added.

“Awn?”
Tucker peered closely at the woman. She looked nothing like Awn. For one thing, she was young. No, not so much
young
— more like she was
new
. Her face was smooth and mannequin-like, as if she had just been pressed from a mold. Could this really be Awn?

“You don’t look like the Awn I know,” he said.

“I am not.” Awn’s mouth curved into an unpracticed smile. “Though perhaps I will become so. Your answer, therefore, is yes, and no.”

“Okay, you’re definitely Awn,” Tucker said.

“Told you,” Lia said.

Tucker noticed the disko hovering over the trail. “Does that disko go to Hopewell?”

“That is a local,” said Awn. “The disko you need is in the old city, atop the pyramid.”

“The same one we came out of? It’s gone.”

“It has returned.”

“Won’t it just take us back to Harmony?”

“It will take you to where you need to be,” Awn said. “But you must go soon. Outside forces are meddling with the diskos. The creature you just observed, for example.”

“The maggot,” Tucker said. “You once told me they were made by Boggsians for something called the Gnomon.”

Awn thought for a moment, then said, “The Gnomon are a conservative faction of the Klaatu. It is no surprise that they will object to the diskos. Already their future actions echo back through the timestreams.”

“What does that
mean
?” Tucker asked.

“Intent and the ability to perform a task is sufficient,” Awn said. “Consider your footfalls upon the earth. You intend to step forward. You have the capability to do so. Therefore, it is as if done. In this fashion, we both control the future and cause it to occur.”

“But suppose I intend to step forward and something stops me.”

“Then you did not have the capability in the first place.”

Tucker and Lia looked at each other.

“She can be very irritating,” Lia said in a low voice.

“Yes,” said Awn. She propped the ax on her shoulder. “Come. I will take you as far as my dwelling. From there you must proceed on your own.” She set off down the trail, walking swiftly.

Tucker and Lia followed. On the way, they told each other about what had happened while they were apart.

“That Boggsian, I think he’s the guy who built the diskos,” Tucker said as they climbed a slope toward the crest of a hill. “It’s like, as soon as I told him about the diskos, he decided he had to build one, and all of a sudden they’re popping up everywhere. Like what Awn said, as soon as he
intended
to do it, it was done.”

Awn turned to them and said, “It is more than intent. The means must also be at hand. The Boggsian had already developed the technology, but he had yet to apply it. Now, however . . .” she pointed her ax at a disko perched upon the top of the hill. Tucker could have sworn it had not been there a moment ago. “The diskos come.” She stepped off the trail and approached the disko. “This disko has a malevolent aspect.” She prodded its surface with the ax handle, then backed away. The disko spat out a handful of reddish dust.

“A genocide,” Awn said, rejoining Tucker and Lia. “And the death of any unfortunate creatures who should pass through it. The Klaatu have a taste for the macabre.” She continued along the path, speaking over her shoulder. “The Klaatu believe themselves to be superior creatures, and in many ways they are. However, they lost something of themselves when they transcended. One might say they worship the lives they left behind.”

“Like a religion?” Tucker asked.

“Not in the sense that you mean.”

“One of the Boggsians told me
they
have no religion, either,” Tucker said.

“The Boggsians cannot be trusted to say what is true,” Awn said. “They do not even trust themselves.”

“I once believed in the religion of the Lah Sept,” Lia said. She turned to Tucker. “I used to think you might be the prophet named Tuckerfeye. But now I am not so sure. According to
The Book of September
, Tuckerfeye saved the Lah Sept from the Digital Plague.”