Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: HarperCollins
Rights: All rights reserved

TERRY PRATCHETT

WINGS

DEDICATION

To Lyn and Rhianna
and the sandwich-eating alligator
at the Kennedy Space Center, Florida

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

About the Author

Authorâ€™s Note

Other Works

Credits

Copyright

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About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

IN THE BEGINNING . . .

. . . was Arnold Bros (est. 1905), the great department store.

It was the home of several thousand nomesâ€”as they called themselvesâ€”whoâ€™d long ago given up life in the countryside and settled down under the floorboards of mankind.

Not that they had anything to do with humans. Humans were big and slow and stupid.

Nomes live fast. To them, ten years is like a century. Since theyâ€™d been living in the Store for more than eighty years, theyâ€™d long ago forgotten that there were things like Sun and Rain and Wind. All there was was the Storeâ€”created by the legendary Arnold Bros (est. 1905) as a Proper Place for nomes to live.

And then, into the Store from an Outside the nomes didnâ€™t believe existed, came Masklin and his little tribe. They knew what Rain and Wind were, all right. Thatâ€™s why theyâ€™d tried to get away from them.

With them they brought the Thing. For years they had thought of the Thing as a sort of talisman or lucky charm. Only in the Store, near electricity, did it wake up and tell a few selected nomes things they hardly understood. . . .

They learned that they had originally come from the stars, in some sort of Ship, and that somewhere up in the sky that Ship had been waiting for thousands of years to take them HOME. . . .

And they learned that the Store was going to be demolished in three weeks.

How Masklin tricked, bullied, and persuaded the nomes into leaving the Store by stealing one of its huge trucks is recounted in Truckers.

They made it to an old quarry, and for a little while things went well enough.

But when youâ€™re four inches high in a world full of giant people, things never go very well for very long.

They found that humans were going to reopen the quarry.

At the same time, they also found a scrap of newspaper which had a picture of Richard Arnold, grandson of one of the Brothers who founded Arnold Bros. The company that owned the Store was now a big international concern, and Richard Arnoldâ€”said the newspaperâ€”was going to Florida to watch the launch of its first communications satellite.

The Thing admitted to Masklin that, if it could get into space, it could call the Ship. He decided to take a few nomes and go to the airport and find some way of getting to Florida to get the Thing into the sky. Which of course was ridiculous, as well as impossible. But he didnâ€™t know this, so he tried to do it anyway.

Thinking that Florida was five miles away and that there were perhaps several hundred human beings in the world, and not knowing where exactly to go or what to do when they got there, but determined to get there and do it anyway, Masklin and his companions set out.

The nomes that stayed behind fought the humans in Diggers. They defended their quarry as long as they could and fled on Big John, the great yellow digging machine.

But this is Masklinâ€™s story. . . .

1

AIRPORT: A place where people hurry up and wait.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

LET THE EYE of your imagination be a camera. . . .

This is the universe, a glittering ball of galaxies like the ornament on some unimaginable Christmas tree.

Find a galaxy. . . .

Focus

This is a galaxy, swirled like the cream in a cup of coffee, every pinpoint of light a star.

Find a star. . . .

Focus

This is a solar system, where planets barrel through the darkness around the central fires of the sun. Some planets hug close, hot enough to melt lead. Some drift far out, where the comets are born.

Find a blue planet. . . .

Focus

This is a planet. Most of it is covered in water. Itâ€™s called Earth.

Find a country. . . .

Focus

. . . blues and greens and browns under the sun, and hereâ€™s a pale oblong which is . . .

Focus

. . . an airport, a concrete hive for silver bees, and thereâ€™s a . . .

Focus

. . . building full of people and noise and . . .

Focus

. . . a hall of lights and bustle and . . .

Focus

. . . a bin full of rubbish and . . .

Focus

. . . a pair of tiny eyes . . .

Focus

Focus

Focus

Click!

Masklin slid cautiously down an old burger carton.

Heâ€™d been watching humans. Hundreds and hundreds of humans. It was beginning to dawn on him that getting on a jet plane wasnâ€™t like stealing a truck.

Angalo and Gurder had nestled deep into the rubbish and were gloomily eating the remains of a cold, greasy french fry.

This has come as a shock to all of us, Masklin thought.

I mean, take Gurder. Back in the Store he was the Abbot. He believed that Arnold Bros made the Store for nomes. And he still thinks thereâ€™s some sort of Arnold Bros somewhere, watching over us, because we are important. And now weâ€™re out here, and all weâ€™ve found is that nomes arenâ€™t important at all. . . .

And thereâ€™s Angalo. He doesnâ€™t believe in Arnold Bros, but he likes to think Arnold Bros exists just so that he can go on not believing in him.

And thereâ€™s me.

I never thought it would be this hard.

I thought jet planes were just trucks with more wings and less wheels.

Thereâ€™s more humans in this place than Iâ€™ve ever seen before. How can we find Grandson Richard, 39, in a place like this?

I hope theyâ€™re going to save me some of that potato. . . .

Angalo looked up.

â€œSeen him?â€ he said, sarcastically.

Masklin shrugged. â€œThereâ€™s lots of humans with beards,â€ he said. â€œThey all look the same to me.â€
â€œI told you,â€ said Angalo. â€œBlind faith never works.â€ He glared at Gurder.

â€œHe could have gone already,â€ said Masklin. â€œHe could have walked right past me.â€
â€œSo letâ€™s get back,â€ said Angalo. â€œPeople will be missing us. Weâ€™ve made the effort, weâ€™ve seen the airport, weâ€™ve nearly got trodden on dozens of times. Now letâ€™s get back to the real world.â€
â€œWhat do you think, Gurder?â€ said Masklin.

The Abbot gave him a long, despairing look.

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ he said. â€œI really donâ€™t know. Iâ€™d hoped . . .â€

His voice trailed off. He looked so downcast that even Angalo patted him on the shoulder.

â€œDonâ€™t take it so hard,â€ he said. â€œYou didnâ€™t really think some sort of Grandson Richard, 39, was going to swoop down out of the sky and carry us off to Florida, did you? Look, weâ€™ve given it a try. It hasnâ€™t worked. Letâ€™s go home.â€
â€œOf course I didnâ€™t think that,â€ said Gurder irritably. â€œI just thought that . . . maybe in some way . . . thereâ€™d be a way.â€
â€œThe world belongs to humans. They built everything. They run everything. We might as well accept it,â€ said Angalo.

Masklin looked at the Thing. He knew it was listening. Even though it was just a small black cube, it somehow always looked more alert when it was listening.

The trouble was, it spoke only when it felt like it. Itâ€™d always give you just enough help, and no more. It seemed to be testing him the whole time.

Somehow, asking the Thing for help was like admitting that youâ€™d run out of ideas. But . . .

â€œThing,â€ he said, â€œI know you can hear me, because there must be loads of electricity in this building. Weâ€™re at the airport. We canâ€™t find Grandson Richard, 39. We donâ€™t know how to start looking. Please help us.â€

The Thing stayed silent.

â€œIf you donâ€™t help us,â€ said Masklin quietly, â€œweâ€™ll go back to the quarry and face the humans, but that wonâ€™t matter to you because weâ€™ll leave you here. We really will. And no nomes will ever find you again. There will never be another chance. Weâ€™ll die out, there will be no more nomes anywhere, and it will be because of you. And in years and years to come youâ€™ll be all alone and useless and youâ€™ll think, Perhaps I should have helped Masklin when he asked me, and then youâ€™ll think, If I had my time all over again, I would have helped him. Well, Thing, imagine all that has happened and youâ€™ve magically got your wish. Help us.â€
â€œItâ€™s a machine!â€ snapped Angalo. â€œYou canâ€™t blackmail a machineâ€”!â€

One small red light lit up on the Thingâ€™s black surface.

â€œI know you can tell what other machines are thinking,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut can you tell what nomes are thinking? Read my mind, Thing, if you donâ€™t think Iâ€™m serious. You want nomes to act intelligently. Well, I am acting intelligently. Iâ€™m intelligent enough to know when I need help. I need help now. And you can help. I know you can. If you donâ€™t help us, weâ€™ll leave right now and forget you ever existed.â€

A second light came on, very faintly.

Masklin stood up and nodded to the others.

â€œAll right,â€ he said. â€œLetâ€™s go.â€

The Thing made the little electronic noise that was the machineâ€™s equivalent of a nome clearing his throat.

â€œHow can I be of assistance?â€ it said.

Angalo grinned at Gurder.

Masklin sat down again.

â€œFind Grandson Richard Arnold, 39,â€ he said.

â€œThis will take a long time,â€ said the Thing.

â€œOh.â€

A few lights moved on the Thingâ€™s surface. Then it said, â€œI have located a Richard Arnold, aged thirty-nine. He has just gone into the first-class departure lounge for flight 205 to Miami, Florida.â€
â€œThat didnâ€™t take a very long time,â€ said Masklin.

â€œIt was three hundred microseconds,â€ said the Thing. â€œThatâ€™s long.â€
â€œI donâ€™t think I understood all of it, either,â€ Masklin added.

â€œWhich parts didnâ€™t you understand?â€
â€œNearly all of them,â€ said Masklin. â€œAll the bits after â€˜gone into.â€™â€
â€œSomeone with the right name is here and waiting in a special room to get on a big silver bird that flies in the sky to go to a place called Florida,â€ said the Thing.

â€œWhat big silver bird?â€ said Angalo.

â€œIt means jet plane. Itâ€™s being sarcastic,â€ said Masklin.

â€œYeah? How does it know all this stuff?â€ said Angalo suspiciously.

â€œThis building is full of computers,â€ said the Thing.

â€œWhat, like you?â€

The Thing managed to looked offended. â€œThey are very, very primitive,â€ it said. â€œBut I can understand them. If I think slowly enough. Their job is to know where humans are going.â€
â€œThatâ€™s more than most humans do,â€ said Angalo.

â€œCan you find out how we can get to him?â€ said Gurder, his face alight.

â€œHold on, hold on,â€ said Angalo, quickly. â€œLetâ€™s not rush into things here.â€
â€œWe came here to find him, didnâ€™t we?â€ said Gurder.

â€œYes! But what do we actually do?â€
â€œWell, of course, we . . . we . . . that is, weâ€™ll . . .â€
â€œWe donâ€™t even know what a departure lounge is.â€
â€œThe Thing said itâ€™s a room where humans wait to get on an airplane,â€ said Masklin.

Gurder prodded Angalo with an accusing finger.

â€œYouâ€™re frightened, arenâ€™t you,â€ he said. â€œYouâ€™re frightened that if we see Grandson Richard, 39, itâ€™ll mean there really is an Arnold Bros and youâ€™ll have been wrong! Youâ€™re just like your father. He could never stand being wrong either!â€
â€œIâ€™m frightened about you,â€ said Angalo. â€œBecause youâ€™ll see that Grandson Richard is just a human. Arnold Bros was just a human, too. Or two humans. They just built the Store for humans. They didnâ€™t even know about nomes! And you can leave my father out of this, too.â€

The Thing opened a small hatch on its top. It did that sometimes. When the hatches were shut, you couldnâ€™t see where they were, but whenever the Thing was really interested in something, it opened up and extended a small silver dish on a pole, or a complicated arrangement of pipes.

This time it was a piece of wire mesh on a metal rod. It started to turn slowly.

Masklin picked up the box.

While the other two argued, he asked, quietly, â€œDo you know where this lounge thing is?â€
â€œYes,â€ said the Thing.

â€œLetâ€™s go, then.â€

Angalo looked round.

â€œHey, what are you doing?â€ he said.

Masklin ignored him. He said to the Thing: â€œAnd do you know how much time we have before he starts going to Florida?â€
â€œAbout half an hour.â€

Nomes live ten times faster than humans. Theyâ€™re harder to see than a high-speed mouse.

Thatâ€™s one reason why most humans hardly ever see them.

The other is that humans are very good at not seeing things they know arenâ€™t there. And since sensible humans know that there are no such things as people four inches high, a nome who doesnâ€™t want to be seen probably wonâ€™t be seen.

So no one noticed three tiny blurs darting across the floor of the airport building. They dodged the rumbling wheels of luggage trolleys. They shot between the legs of slow-moving humans. They skidded around chairs. They became nearly invisible as they crossed a huge, echoing corridor.

And they disappeared behind a potted plant.

It has been said that everything everywhere affects everything else. This may be true.

Or perhaps the world is just full of patterns.

For example, in a tree nine thousand miles away from Masklin, high on a cloudy mountainside, was a plant that looked like one large flower. It grew wedged in a fork of the trees, its roots dangling in the air to trap what nourishment they could from the mists. Technically, it was an epiphytic bromeliad, although not knowing this made very little difference to the plant.

Water condensed into a tiny pool in the center of the bloom.

And there were the frogs.

Very, very small frogs.

They had such a tiny life cycle, it still had training wheels on it.

They hunted insects among the petals. They laid their eggs in the central pool. Tadpoles grew up and became more frogs. And made more tadpoles. Eventually they died and sank down and joined the compost at the base of the leaves, which, in fact, helped nourish the plant.

And this had been the way things were for as far back as the frogs could remember.*

Except that on this day, while it hunted for flies, one frog lost its way and crawled around the side of one of the outermost petals, or possibly leaves, and saw something it had never seen before.

It saw the universe.

More precisely, it saw the branch stretching away into the mists.

And several yards away, glistening with droplets of moisture in a solitary shaft of sunlight, was another flower.

The frog sat and stared.

â€œHngh! Hngh! Hngh!â€

Gurder leaned against the wall and panted like a hot dog on a sunny day.

Angalo was almost as badly out of breath but was going red in the face trying not to show it.

â€œWhy didnâ€™t you tell us!â€ he demanded.

â€œYou were too busy arguing,â€ said Masklin. â€œSo I knew the only way to get you running was to start moving.â€
â€œThank . . . you . . . very much,â€ Gurder heaved.

â€œWhy arenâ€™t you puffed out?â€ said Angalo.

â€œIâ€™m used to running fast,â€ said Masklin, peering around the plant. â€œOkay, Thing. Now what?â€
â€œAlong this corridor,â€ said the Thing.

â€œItâ€™s full of humans!â€ squeaked Gurder.

â€œEverywhereâ€™s full of humans. Thatâ€™s why weâ€™re doing this,â€ said Masklin. He paused, and then added, â€œLook, Thing, isnâ€™t there any other way we can go? Gurder nearly got squashed just now.â€

Colored lights moved in complicated patterns across the Thing. Then it said, â€œWhat is it you want to achieve?â€
â€œWe must find Grandson Richard, 39,â€ panted Gurder.

â€œNo. Going to the Florida place is the important thing,â€ said Masklin.

â€œIt isnâ€™t!â€ said Gurder. â€œI donâ€™t want to go to any Florida!â€

Masklin hesitated. Then he said, â€œThis probably isnâ€™t the right time to say this, but I havenâ€™t been totally honest with you. . . .â€

He told them about the Thing, and space, and the Ship in the sky. Around them there was the endless thundering noise of a building full of busy humans.

Eventually Gurder said, â€œYouâ€™re not trying to find Grandson Richard at all?â€
â€œI think heâ€™s probably very important,â€ said Masklin hurriedly. â€œBut youâ€™re right. At Florida thereâ€™s a place where they have the sort of jet planes that go straight up to put kind of bleeping radio things in the sky.â€
â€œOh, come on,â€ said Angalo. â€œYou canâ€™t just put things in the sky! Theyâ€™d fall down.â€
â€œI donâ€™t really understand it myself,â€ Masklin admitted. â€œBut if you go up high enough, there is no down. I think. Anyway, all we have to do is to go to Florida and put the Thing on one of these going-up jets and it can do the rest, it says.â€
â€œAll?â€ said Angalo.

â€œIt canâ€™t be harder than stealing a truck,â€ said Masklin.

â€œYouâ€™re not suggesting we steal a plane?â€ said Gurder, by this time totally horrified.

â€œWow!â€ said Angalo, his eyes lighting up as if by some internal power source. He loved vehicles of all sortsâ€”especially when they were traveling fast.

â€œYou would, too, wouldnâ€™t you,â€ said Gurder accusingly.

â€œWow!â€ said Angalo again. He seemed to be looking at a picture only he could see.

â€œYouâ€™re crazy,â€ said Gurder.

â€œNo one said anything about stealing a plane,â€ said Masklin quickly. â€œWe arenâ€™t going to steal a plane. Weâ€™re just going for a ride on one, I hope.â€
â€œWow!â€
â€œAnd weâ€™re not going to try to drive it, Angalo!â€

Angalo shrugged.

â€œAll right,â€ he said. â€œBut suppose Iâ€™m on it, and the driver becomes ill, then I expect Iâ€™ll have to take over. I mean, I drove the Truck pretty wellâ€”â€
â€œYou kept running into things!â€ said Gurder.

â€œI was learning. Anyway, thereâ€™s nothing to run into in the sky except clouds, and they look pretty soft,â€ said Angalo.

â€œThereâ€™s the ground!â€
â€œOh, the ground wouldnâ€™t be a problem. Itâ€™d be too far away.â€

Masklin tapped the Thing. â€œDo you know where the jet plane is thatâ€™s going to Florida?â€
â€œYes.â€
â€œLead us there, then. Avoiding too many humans, if you can.â€

It was raining softly, and because it was early evening, lights were coming on around the airport.

Absolutely no one heard the faint tinkle as a little ventilation grille dropped off an outside wall.

Three blurred shapes lowered themselves down onto the concrete and sped away.

Toward the planes.

Angalo looked up. And up some more. And there was still more up to come. He ended up with his head craned all the way back.

He was nearly in tears. â€œOh, wow!â€ he kept saying.

â€œItâ€™s too big,â€ muttered Gurder, trying not to look. Like most of the nomes who had been born in the Store, he hated looking up and not seeing a ceiling. Angalo was the same, but more than being Outside he hated not going fast.

â€œIâ€™ve seen them go up in the sky,â€ said Masklin. â€œThey really do fly. Honestly.â€
â€œWow!â€

It loomed over them, so big that you had to keep on stepping back and back to see how big it was. Rain glistened on it. The airport lights made smears of green and white bloom on its flanks. It wasnâ€™t a thing, it was a bit of shaped sky.

â€œOf course, they look smaller when theyâ€™re a long way off,â€ Masklin muttered.

He stared up at the plane. Heâ€™d never felt smaller in his life.

â€œI want one,â€ moaned Angalo, clenching his fists. â€œLook at it. It looks as though itâ€™s going too fast even when itâ€™s standing still!â€
â€œHow do we get on it, then?â€ said Gurder.

â€œCanâ€™t you just see their faces back home if we turned up with this?â€ said Angalo.

â€œYes. I can. Horribly clearly,â€ said Gurder. â€œBut how do we get on it?â€
â€œWe couldâ€”â€ Angalo began. He hesitated. â€œWhy did you have to say that?â€ he snapped.

â€œThereâ€™s the holes where the wheels stick through,â€ said Masklin. â€œI think we could climb up there.â€
â€œNo,â€ said the Thing, which was tucked under his arm. â€œYou would not be able to breathe. You must be properly inside. Where the planes go, the air is thin.â€
â€œI should hope so,â€ said Gurder stoutly. â€œThatâ€™s why itâ€™s air.â€
â€œYou would not be able to breathe,â€ said the Thing patiently.

â€œYes I would,â€ said Gurder. â€œIâ€™ve always been able to breathe.â€
â€œYou get more air close to the ground,â€ said Angalo. â€œI read that in a book. You get lots of air low down, and not much when you go up.â€
â€œWhy not?â€ said Gurder.

â€œDunno. Itâ€™s frightened of heights, I guess.â€

Masklin waded through the puddles on the concrete so that he could see down the far side of the aircraft. Some way away a couple of humans were using some sort of machines to load boxes into a hole in the side of the plane. He walked back, around the huge tires, and squinted up at a long, high tube that stretched from the building.

He pointed.

â€œI think thatâ€™s how humans are loaded onto it,â€ he said.

â€œWhat, through a pipe? Like water?â€ said Angalo.

â€œItâ€™s better than standing out here getting wet, anyway,â€ said Gurder. â€œIâ€™m soaked through already.â€
â€œThereâ€™s stairs and wires and things,â€ said Masklin. â€œIt shouldnâ€™t be too difficult to climb up there. Thereâ€™s bound to be a gap we can slip in by.â€ He sniffed. â€œThere always is,â€ he added, â€œwhen humans build things.â€
â€œLetâ€™s do it!â€ said Angalo. â€œOh, wow!â€
â€œBut youâ€™re not to try to steal it,â€ said Masklin as they helped the slightly plump Gurder lumber into a run. â€œItâ€™s going where we want to go anywayâ€”â€
â€œNot where I want to go,â€ moaned Gurder. â€œI want to go home!â€
â€œâ€”and youâ€™re not to try to drive it. Thereâ€™s not enough of us. Anyway, I expect itâ€™s a lot more complicated than a truck. Itâ€™s aâ€”do you know what itâ€™s called, Thing?â€
â€œA Concorde.â€
â€œThere,â€ said Masklin. â€œItâ€™s a Concorde. Whatever that is. And youâ€™ve got to promise not to steal it.â€

2

CONCORDE: It goes twice as fast as a bullet and you get smoked salmon.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

SQUEEZING THROUGH A gap in the humans-walking-onto-planes pipe wasnâ€™t as hard as coming to terms with what was on the other side.

The floors of the sheds in the quarry had been bare boards or stamped earth. In the airport building it was squares of a sort of shiny stone. But hereâ€”

Gurder flung himself facedown and buried his nose in it.

â€œCarpet!â€ he said, almost in tears. â€œCarpet! I never thought Iâ€™d see you again!â€
â€œOh, get up,â€ said Angalo, embarrassed at the Abbot acting like that in front of someone who, however much of a friend he was, hadnâ€™t been born a Store nome.

Gurder stood up awkwardly. â€œSorry,â€ he mumbled, brushing himself off. â€œDonâ€™t know what possessed me there. It just took me back, thatâ€™s all. Real carpet. Havenâ€™t seen real carpet for months.â€

He blew his nose noisily. â€œWe had some beautiful carpets in the Store, you know. Beautiful. Some of them had patterns on them.â€

Masklin looked up the pipe. It was like one of the Storeâ€™s corridors, and quite brightly lit.

â€œLetâ€™s move on,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s too exposed here. Where are all the humans, Thing?â€
â€œThey will be arriving shortly.â€
â€œHow does it know?â€ Gurder complained.

â€œIt listens to other machines,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThere are also many computers on this plane,â€ said the Thing.

â€œWell, thatâ€™s nice,â€ said Masklin vaguely. â€œYouâ€™ll have someone to talk to, then.â€
â€œThey are quite stupid,â€ said the Thing, and managed to express disdain without actually having anything to express it with.

A few feet away the corridor opened into a new space. Masklin could see a curtain, and what looked like the edge of a chair.

â€œAll right, Angalo,â€ he said. â€œLead the way. I know you want to.â€

It was two minutes later.

The three of them were sitting under a seat.

Masklin had never really thought about the insides of aircraft. Heâ€™d spent days up on the cliff behind the quarry, watching them take off. Of course, heâ€™d assumed there were humans inside. Humans got everywhere. But heâ€™d never really thought about the insides. If ever there was anything that looked made up of outsides, it was a plane flying.

But it had been too much for Gurder. He was in tears.

â€œElectric light,â€ he moaned. â€œAnd more carpets! And big soft seats! Theyâ€™ve even got napkins on them! And there isnâ€™t any mud anywhere! Thereâ€™s even signs!â€
â€œThere, there,â€ said Angalo helplessly, patting him on the shoulder. â€œIt was a good Store, I know.â€ He looked up at Masklin. â€œYouâ€™ve got to admit itâ€™s unsettling,â€ he said. â€œI was expecting . . . well, wires and pipes and exciting levers and things. Not something like the Arnold Bros Furnishing Department!â€
â€œWe shouldnâ€™t stay here,â€ said Masklin. â€œThereâ€™ll be humans all over the place pretty soon. Remember what the Thing said.â€

They helped Gurder up and trotted under the rows of seats with him between them. But it wasnâ€™t like the Store in one important way, Masklin realized. There werenâ€™t many places to hide. In the Store there was always something to get behind or under or wriggle through. . . .

He could already hear distant sounds. In the end they found a gap behind a curtain, in a part of the aircraft where there were no seats. Masklin crawled inside, pushing the Thing in front of him.

They werenâ€™t distant sounds now. They were very close. He turned his head and saw a human foot a few inches away.

At the back of the gap there was a hole in the metal wall where some thick wires passed through. It was just big enough for Angalo and Masklin, and big enough for a terrified Gurder with the two of them pulling on his arms. There wasnâ€™t too much room, but at least they couldnâ€™t be seen.

They couldnâ€™t see, either. They lay packed together in the gloom, trying to make themselves comfortable on the wires.

After a while Gurder said, â€œI feel a bit better now.â€

Masklin nodded.

There were noises all around them. From somewhere far below came a series of metallic clonks. There was the mournful sound of human voices, and then a jolt.

â€œThing?â€ he whispered.

â€œYes?â€
â€œWhatâ€™s happening?â€
â€œThe plane is getting ready to become airborne.â€
â€œOh.â€
â€œDo you know what that means?â€
â€œNo. Not really.â€
â€œIt is going to fly in the air. Borne means to be carried, and air means air. To be borne in the air. Airborne.â€

Masklin could hear Angaloâ€™s breathing.

He settled himself as best he could between the metal wall and a heavy bundle of wires, and stared into the darkness.

The nomes didnâ€™t speak. After a while there was a faint jerk and a sensation of movement.

Nothing else happened. It went on not happening.

Eventually Gurder, his voice trembling with terror, said, â€œIs it too late to get off, if weâ€”?â€

A sudden distant thundering noise finished the sentence for him. A dull rumbling shook everything around them very gently but very firmly.

Then there was a heavy pause, like the moment a ball must feel between the time itâ€™s thrown up and the time it starts to come down, and something picked up all three of them and slid them into a struggling heap. The floor tried to become the wall.

The nomes hung on to one another, stared into one anotherâ€™s faces, and screamed.

After a while, they stopped. There didnâ€™t seem much point in continuing. Besides, they were out of breath.

The floor, very gradually, became a proper floor again and didnâ€™t show any further ambitions to become a wall.

Masklin pushed Angaloâ€™s foot off his neck.

â€œI think weâ€™re flying,â€ he said.

â€œIs that what it was?â€ said Angalo weakly. â€œIt looks kind of more graceful when you see it from the ground.â€
â€œIs anyone hurt?â€

Gurder pulled himself upright.

â€œIâ€™m all bruises,â€ he said. He brushed himself down. And then, because there is no changing nomish nature, he added, â€œIs there any food around?â€

They hadnâ€™t thought about food.

Masklin stared behind him into the tunnel of wires.

â€œMaybe we wonâ€™t need any,â€ he said, uncertainly. â€œHow long will it take to get to Florida, Thing?â€
â€œThe captain has just said it will be six hours and forty-five minutes,â€ said the Thing.*
â€œWeâ€™ll starve to death!â€ said Gurder.

â€œMaybe thereâ€™s something to hunt?â€ said Angalo hopefully.

â€œI shouldnâ€™t think so,â€ Masklin said. â€œThis doesnâ€™t look like a mouse kind of place.â€
â€œThe humansâ€™ll have food,â€ said Gurder. â€œHumans always have food.â€
â€œI knew you were going to say that,â€ said Angalo.

â€œItâ€™s just common sense.â€
â€œI wonder if we can see out of a window?â€ said Angalo. â€œIâ€™d like to see how fast weâ€™re going. All the trees and things whizzing past, and so on?â€
â€œLook,â€ said Masklin, before things got out of hand. â€œLetâ€™s just wait for a while, eh? Everyone calm down. Have a bit of a rest. Then maybe we can look for some food.â€

They settled down again. At least it was warm and dry. Back in the days when heâ€™d lived in a hole in a bank, Masklin had spent far too much time cold and wet to turn up his nose at a chance to sleep warm and dry.

He dozed. . . .

Airborne.

Air . . . born . . .

Perhaps there were hundreds of nomes who lived in the airplanes in the same way that nomes had lived in the Store. Perhaps they got on with their lives under the carpeted floor somewhere, while they were whisked to all the places Masklin had seen on the only map the nomes had ever found. It had been in a pocket diary, and the names of the faraway places written on it were like magicâ€”Africa, Australia, China, Equator, Printed in Hong Kong, Iceland . . .

Perhaps theyâ€™d never looked out of the windows. Perhaps theyâ€™d never known that they were moving at all.

He wondered if this was what Grimma had meant by all the stuff about the frogs in the flower. Sheâ€™d read it in a book. You could live your whole life in some tiny place and think it was the whole world. The trouble was, heâ€™d been angry. He hadnâ€™t wanted to listen.

Well, he was out of the flower now, and no mistake. . . .

The frog had brought some other young frogs to its spot among the leaves at the edge of the world of the flower.

They stared at the branch. There wasnâ€™t just one flower out there, there were dozens, although the frogs werenâ€™t able to think like this because frogs canâ€™t count beyond one.

They saw lots of ones.

They stared at them. Staring is one of the few things frogs are good at.

Thinking isnâ€™t. It would be nice to say that the tiny frogs thought long and hard about the new flower, about life in the old flower, about the need to explore, about the possibility that the world was bigger than a pool with petals around the edge.

In fact, what they thought was: .â€“.â€“.mipmip.â€“.â€“. mipmip.â€“.â€“. mipmip.

But what they felt was too big for one flower to contain.

Carefully, slowly, not at all certain why, they plopped down onto the branch.

There was a polite beeping from the Thing.

â€œYou may be interested to know,â€ it said, â€œthat weâ€™ve broken the sound barrier.â€

Masklin turned wearily to the others.

â€œAll right, own up,â€ he said. â€œWho broke it?â€
â€œDonâ€™t look at me,â€ said Angalo. â€œI didnâ€™t touch anything.â€

Masklin crawled to the edge of the hole and peered out.

There were human feet out there. Female human feet, by the look of it. They usually were the ones with the less practical shoes.

You could learn a lot about humans by looking at their shoes. It was about all a nome had to look at, most of the time. The rest of the human was normally little more than the wrong end of a pair of nostrils, a long way up.

Masklin sniffed.

â€œThereâ€™s food somewhere,â€ he said.

â€œWhat kind?â€ said Angalo.

â€œNever mind what kind,â€ said Gurder, pushing him out of the way. â€œWhatever it is, Iâ€™m going to eat it.â€
â€œGet back!â€ Masklin snapped, pushing the Thing into Angaloâ€™s arms. â€œIâ€™ll go! Angalo, donâ€™t let him move!â€

He darted out, ran for the curtain, and slid behind it. After a few seconds, he moved just enough to let one eye and a frowning eyebrow show.

The room was some sort of food place. The human females were taking trays of food out of the wall. Nomish sense of smell is sharper than a foxâ€™s; it was all Masklin could do not to drool. He had to admit itâ€”it was all very well hunting and growing things, but what you got wasnâ€™t half as good as the food you found around humans.

One of the females put the last tray on a trolley and wheeled it past Masklin. The wheels were almost as tall as he was.

As it squeaked past, he darted out of his hiding place and leaped onto it, squeezing himself among the bottles. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew. It was just better than being stuck in a hole with a couple of idiots.

Rows and rows of shoes. Some black, some brown. Some with laces, some without. Quite a few of them without feet in them, because the humans had taken them off.

Masklin looked up as the trolley inched forward.

Rows and rows of legs. Some in skirts, but most in trousers.

Masklin looked up farther. Nomes rarely saw humans sitting down.

Rows and rows of bodies, topped with rows and rows of heads with faces at the front. Rows and rows ofâ€”

Masklin crouched back among the bottles.

Grandson Richard was watching him.

It was the face in the newspaper. It had to be. There was the little beard, and the smiling mouth with lots of teeth in it. And the hair that looked as though it had been dramatically carved out of something shiny rather than been grown in the normal way.

Grandson Richard, 39.

The face stared at him for a moment and then looked away.

He canâ€™t have seen me, Masklin told himself. Iâ€™m hidden away here.

What will Gurder say when I tell him?

Heâ€™ll go mad, thatâ€™s what.

I think Iâ€™ll keep it to myself for a while. That might be an amazingly good idea. Weâ€™ve got enough to worry about as it is.

39. Either thereâ€™ve been thirty-eight other Grandson Richards, and I donâ€™t think thatâ€™s what it means, or itâ€™s a newspaper human way of saying heâ€™s thirty-nine years old. Nearly half as old as the Store. And the Store nomes say the Store is as old as the world. I know that canâ€™t be true, butâ€”

I wonder what it feels like to live nearly forever?

He burrowed farther into the things on the shelf. Mostly they were bottles, but there were a few bags containing knobbly things a bit smaller than Masklinâ€™s fist. He stabbed at the paper with his knife until heâ€™d cut a hole big enough, and pulled one of them out.

It was a salted peanut. Well, it was a start.

He grabbed the packet just as a hand reached past.

It was close enough to touch.

It was close enough to touch him.

He could see the red of its fingernails as they slid by him, closed slowly over another packet of nuts, and withdrew.

It dawned on Masklin later that the giving-out-food woman wouldnâ€™t have been able to see him. She just reached down and into the tray for what she knew would be there, and this almost certainly didnâ€™t include Masklin.

Thatâ€™s what he decided later. At the time, with a human hand almost brushing his head, it all looked a lot different. He took a running dive off the trolley, rolled when he hit the carpet, and scurried under the nearest seat.

He didnâ€™t even wait to catch his breath. Experience had taught him that it was when you stopped to catch your breath that things caught you. He charged from seat to seat, dodging giant feet, discarded shoes, dropped newspapers and bags. By the time he crossed the bit of aisle to the food place, he was a blur even by nome standards. He didnâ€™t stop even when he reached the hole. He just leaped, and went through it without touching the sides.

â€œA peanut?â€ said Angalo. â€œBetween three? Thatâ€™s not a mouthful each!â€
â€œWhat do you suggest?â€ said Masklin, bitterly. â€œDo you want to go to the giving-out-food-woman and say thereâ€™s three small hungry people down here?â€

Angalo stared at him. Masklin had got his breath back now but was still very red in the face.

â€œYou know, that could be worth a try,â€ he said.

â€œWhat?â€
â€œWell, if you were a human, would you expect to see nomes on a plane?â€ said Angalo.

â€œOf course I wouldnâ€™tâ€”â€
â€œI bet youâ€™d be amazed if you did see one, eh?â€
â€œAre you suggesting we deliberately show ourselves to a human?â€ Gurder said suspiciously. â€œWeâ€™ve never done that, you know.â€
â€œI nearly did just now,â€ said Masklin. â€œI wonâ€™t do it again in a hurry!â€
â€œWeâ€™ve always preferred to starve to death on one peanut, you mean?â€

Gurder looked longingly at the piece of nut in his hand. Theyâ€™d eaten peanuts in the Store, of course. Around Christmas Fayre, when the Food Hall was crammed with food you didnâ€™t normally see in the other seasons, they made a nice end to a meal. Probably they made a nice start to a meal, too. What they didnâ€™t make was a meal.

â€œWhatâ€™s the plan?â€ he asked wearily.

One of the giving-out-food humans was pulling trays off a shelf when a movement made it look up. Its head turned very slowly.

Something small and black was being lowered down right by its ear.

It stuck tiny thumbs in small ears, wagged its fingers, and put out its tongue.

â€œThrrrrrrrrp,â€ said Gurder.

The tray in the humanâ€™s hands crashed onto the floor in front of it. It made a long-drawn-out noise which sounded like a high-pitched foghorn and backed away, raising its hands to its mouth. Finally it turned, very slowly, like a tree about to fall, and fled between the curtains.

When it came back, with another human being, the little figure had gone.

So had most of the food.

â€œI donâ€™t know when I last had smoked salmon,â€ said Gurder happily.

â€œMmmph,â€ said Angalo.

â€œYouâ€™re not supposed to eat it like that,â€ said Gurder severely. â€œYouâ€™re not supposed to shove it all in your mouth and then cut off whatever wonâ€™t fit. Whatever will people think?â€
â€œâ€™S no people here,â€ said Angalo, but indistinctly. â€œâ€™S just you anâ€™ Masklin.â€

Masklin cut the lid off a container of milk. It was practically nome-sized.

â€œThis is more like it, eh?â€ said Gurder. â€œProper food the natural way, out of tins and things. None of this having to clean the dirt off it, like in the quarry. And itâ€™s nice and warm in here, too. Itâ€™s the only way to travel. Anyone want some of thisâ€â€”he prodded a dish vaguely, not sure of what was in itâ€”â€œstuff?â€

The others shook their heads. The dish contained something shiny and wobbly and pink with a cherry on it, and in some strange way it managed to look like something you wouldnâ€™t eat even if it were pushed onto your plate after a weekâ€™s starvation diet.

â€œWhat does it taste of?â€ said Masklin, after Gurder had chewed a mouthful.

â€œTastes of pink,â€ said Gurder.*
â€œAnyone fancy the peanut to finish with?â€ said Angalo. He grinned. â€œNo? Iâ€™ll chuck it away, shall I?â€
â€œNo!â€ said Masklin. They looked at him. â€œSorry,â€ he said. â€œI mean, you shouldnâ€™t. Itâ€™s wrong to waste good food.â€
â€œItâ€™s wicked,â€ said Gurder primly.

â€œMmm. Donâ€™t know about wicked,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut itâ€™s stupid. Put it in your pack. You never know when you might need it.â€

Angalo stretched his arms and yawned.

â€œA wash would be nice,â€ he said.

â€œDidnâ€™t see any water,â€ Masklin said. â€œThereâ€™s probably a sink or a lavatory somewhere, but I wouldnâ€™t know where to start looking.â€
â€œTalking of lavatoriesâ€”â€ said Angalo.

â€œRight down the other end of the pipe, please,â€ said Gurder.

â€œAnd keep away from any wiring,â€ volunteered the Thing. Angalo nodded in a puzzled fashion, and crawled away into the darkness.

Gurder yawned and stretched his arms.

â€œWonâ€™t the giving-out-food humans look for us?â€ he said.

â€œI donâ€™t think so,â€ said Masklin. â€œBack when we used to live Outside, before we found the Store, Iâ€™m sure humans saw us sometimes. I donâ€™t think they really believe their eyes. They wouldnâ€™t make those weird garden ornaments if theyâ€™d ever seen a real nome.â€

Gurder reached into his robe and pulled out the picture of Grandson Richard. Even in the dim light of the pipe, Masklin recognized it as the human in the seat. He hadnâ€™t got creases on his face from being folded up, and he wasnâ€™t made up of hundreds of tiny dots, but apart from that . . .

â€œDo you think heâ€™s here somewhere?â€ said Gurder wistfully.

â€œCould be. Could be,â€ said Masklin, feeling wretched. â€œBut, look, Gurder . . . maybe Angalo goes a bit too far, but he could be right. Maybe Grandson Richard is just another human being, you know. Probably humans did build the Store just for humans. Your ancestors just moved in because, well, it was warm and dry. Andâ€”â€
â€œIâ€™m not listening, you know,â€ said Gurder. â€œIâ€™m not going to be told that weâ€™re just things like rats and mice. Weâ€™re special.â€
â€œThe Thing is quite definite about us coming from somewhere else, Gurder,â€ said Masklin meekly.

The Abbot folded up the picture. â€œMaybe we did. Maybe we didnâ€™t,â€ he said. â€œThat doesnâ€™t matter.â€
â€œAngalo thinks it matters if itâ€™s true.â€
â€œDonâ€™t see why. Thereâ€™s more than one kind of truth.â€ Gurder shrugged. â€œI might say: Youâ€™re just a lot of dust and juices and bones and hair, and thatâ€™s true. And I might say: Youâ€™ve got something inside your head that goes away when you die. Thatâ€™s true, too. Ask the Thing.â€

Colored lights flickered across the Thingâ€™s surface.

Masklin looked shocked. â€œIâ€™ve never asked it that sort of question,â€ he said.

â€œWhy not? Itâ€™s the first question Iâ€™d ask.â€
â€œItâ€™ll probably say something like â€˜Does not computeâ€™ or â€˜Inoperative parameters.â€™ Thatâ€™s what it says when it doesnâ€™t know and doesnâ€™t want to admit it. Thing?â€

The Thing didnâ€™t reply. Its lights changed their pattern.

â€œThing?â€ Masklin repeated.

â€œI am monitoring communications.â€
â€œIt often does that when itâ€™s feeling bored,â€ said Masklin to Gurder. â€œIt just sits there listening to invisible messages in the air. Pay attention, Thing. This is important. We wantâ€”â€

The lights moved. A lot of them went red.

â€œThing! Weâ€”â€

The Thing made the little clicking noise that was its equivalent of clearing its throat.

â€œA nome has been seen in the pilotâ€™s cabin.â€
â€œListen, Thing, weâ€”what?â€
â€œI repeat: a nome has been seen in the pilotâ€™s cabin.â€

Masklin looked around wildly.

â€œAngalo?â€
â€œThat is an extreme probability,â€ said the Thing.

3

TRAVELING HUMANS: Large, nomelike creatures. Many humans spend a lot of time traveling from place to place, which is odd because there are usually too many humans at the place theyâ€™re going to anyway. Also see under ANIMALS, INTELLIGENCE, EVOLUTION, and CUSTARD.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

THE SOUND OF Masklinâ€™s and Gurderâ€™s voices echoed up and down the pipe as they scrambled over the wires.

â€œI thought he was taking too long!â€
â€œYou shouldnâ€™t have let him go off by himself! You know what heâ€™s like about driving things!â€
â€œI shouldnâ€™t have let him?â€
â€œHeâ€™s just got no sense ofâ€”which way now?â€

Angalo had said he thought the inside of a plane would be a mass of wires and pipes. He was nearly right. The nomes squeezed their way through a narrow, cable-hung world under the floor.

â€œIâ€™m too old for this! There comes a time in a nomeâ€™s life when he shouldnâ€™t crawl around the inside of terrible flying machines!â€
â€œHow many times have you done it?â€
â€œOnce too often!â€
â€œWe are getting closer,â€ said the Thing.

â€œThis is what comes of showing ourselves! Itâ€™s a Judgment,â€ declared Gurder.

â€œWhose?â€ said Masklin grimly, helping him up.

â€œWhat do you mean?â€
â€œThere has to be someone to make a judgment!â€
â€œI meant just a judgment in general!â€

Masklin stopped.

â€œWhere now, Thing?â€
â€œThe message told the giving-out-food people that a strange little creature was on the flight deck,â€ said the Thing. â€œThat is where we are. There are many computers here.â€
â€œTheyâ€™re talking to you, are they?â€
â€œA little. They are like children. Mostly they listen,â€ said the Thing smugly. â€œThey are not very intelligent.â€
â€œWhat are we going to do?â€ said Gurder.

â€œWeâ€™re going toâ€”â€ Masklin hesitated. The word â€œrescueâ€ was looming up somewhere in the sentence ahead.

It was a good, dramatic word. He longed to say it. The trouble was that there was another, simpler, nastier word a little further beyond.

It was â€œHow?â€
â€œI donâ€™t think theyâ€™d try to hurt him,â€ he said, hoping it was true. â€œMaybe theyâ€™ll put him somewhere. We ought to find a place where we can see whatâ€™s happening.â€ He looked helplessly at the wires and intricate bits of metal in front of them.

â€œYouâ€™d better let me lead, then,â€ said Gurder in a matter-of-fact voice.

â€œWhy?â€
â€œYou might be very good in wide-open spaces,â€ said the Abbot, pushing past him. â€œBut in the Store we knew all about getting around inside things.â€

He rubbed his hands together.

â€œRight,â€ he said, then grabbed a cable and slid through a gap Masklin hadnâ€™t even noticed was there.

â€œUsed to do this sort of thing when I was a boy,â€ he said. â€œWe used to get up to all sorts of tricks.â€
â€œYes?â€ said Masklin.

â€œDown this way, I think. Mind the wires. Oh, yes. Up and down the lift shafts, in and out of the telephone switchboard . . .â€
â€œI thought you always said kids spent far too much time running around and getting into mischief these days?â€
â€œAh. Yes. Well, thatâ€™s juvenile delinquency,â€ said Gurder sternly. â€œItâ€™s quite different from our youthful high spirits. Letâ€™s try up here.â€

They crawled between two warm metal walls. There was daylight ahead.

Masklin and Gurder lay down and pulled themselves forward.

There was an odd-shaped room, not a lot bigger than the cab of the truck itself. Like the cab, it was really just a space where the human drivers fitted into the machinery.

There was a lot of that.

It covered the walls and ceiling. Lights and switches, dials and levers. Masklin thought: If Dorcas were here, weâ€™d never get him to leave. Angaloâ€™s here somewhere, and we want him to leave.

There were two humans kneeling on the floor. One of the giving-out-food females was standing by them. There was a lot of mooing and growling going on.

â€œHuman talking,â€ muttered Masklin. â€œI wish we could understand it.â€
â€œVery well,â€ said the Thing. â€œStand by.â€
â€œYou can understand human noises?â€
â€œCertainly. Theyâ€™re only nome noises slowed down.â€
â€œWhat? What? You never told us that! You never told us that before!â€
â€œThere are many billions of things I have not told you. Where would you like me to start?â€
â€œYou can start by telling me what theyâ€™re saying now,â€ said Masklin. â€œPlease?â€
â€œOne of the humans has just said, â€˜It must have been a mouse or something,â€™ and the other one said, â€˜You show me a mouse wearing clothes and Iâ€™ll admit it was a mouse.â€™ And the giving-out-food woman said, â€˜It was no mouse I saw. It blew a raspberry at me (exclamation).â€™â€
â€œWhatâ€™s a raspberry?â€
â€œThe small red fruit of the plant Rubus idaeus.â€

Masklin turned to Gurder.

â€œDid you?â€
â€œMe? What fruit? Listen, if thereâ€™d been any fruit around Iâ€™d have eaten it. I just went â€˜thrrrrp.â€™â€
â€œOne of the humans has just said, â€˜I looked round and there it was, staring out of the window.â€™â€
â€œThatâ€™s Angalo, all right,â€ said Gurder.

â€œNow the other kneeling-down human has said, â€˜Well, whatever it is, itâ€™s behind this panel and it canâ€™t go anywhere.â€™â€
â€œItâ€™s taking off a bit of the wall!â€ said Masklin. â€œOh, no! Itâ€™s reaching inside!â€

The human mooed.

â€œThe human said, â€˜It bit me! The little devil bit me!â€™â€ said the Thing, conversationally.

â€œYep. Thatâ€™s Angalo,â€ said Gurder. â€œHis father was like that, too. A fighter in a tight corner.â€
â€œBut they donâ€™t know what theyâ€™ve got!â€ said Masklin urgently. â€œTheyâ€™ve seen him but he ran away! Theyâ€™re arguing about it! They donâ€™t really believe in nomes! If we can get him out before heâ€™s caught, theyâ€™re bound to think it was a mouse or something!â€
â€œI suppose we could get round there inside the walls,â€ said Gurder. â€œBut itâ€™d take too long.â€

Masklin looked desperately around the cabin. Besides the three people trying to catch Angalo, there were two humans up at the front. They must be the drivers, he thought.

â€œIâ€™m right out of ideas,â€ he said. â€œCan you think of anything, Thing?â€
â€œThere is practically no limit to what I can think of.â€
â€œI mean, is there anything you can do to help us rescue Gurder?â€
â€œYes.â€
â€œYouâ€™d better do it, then.â€
â€œYes.â€

A moment later they heard the low clanging of alarms. Lights began to flash. The drivers shouted and leaned forward and started doing things to switches.

â€œWhatâ€™s going on?â€ said Masklin.

â€œIt is possible that the humans are startled that they are no longer flying this machine,â€ said the Thing.

â€œTheyâ€™re not? Who is, then?â€

The lights rippled smoothly across the Thing.

â€œI am.â€

One of the frogs fell off the branch and disappeared quietly into the leafy canopy far below. Since very small, light animals can fall a long way without being hurt, itâ€™s quite likely that it survived in the forest world under the tree and had the second most interesting experience any tree frog has ever had.

The rest of them crawled onward.

Masklin helped Gurder along another metal channel full of wires. Overhead they could hear human feet and the growling of humans in trouble.

â€œI donâ€™t think theyâ€™re very happy about it,â€ said Gurder.

â€œBut they havenâ€™t got time to look for something that was probably a mouse,â€ said Masklin.

â€œItâ€™s not a mouse, itâ€™s Angalo!â€
â€œBut afterward theyâ€™ll think it was a mouse. I donâ€™t think humans want to know things that disturb them.â€
â€œSound just like nomes to me,â€ said Gurder.

Masklin looked at the Thing under his arm.

â€œAre you really driving the Concorde?â€ he said.

â€œYes.â€
â€œI thought to drive things you had to turn wheels and change gears and things?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThat is all done by machines. The humans press buttons and turn wheels just to tell machines what to do.â€
â€œSo what are you doing, then?â€
â€œI,â€ said the Thing, â€œam being in charge.â€

Masklin listened to the muted thunder of the engines.

â€œIs that hard?â€ he said.

â€œNot in itself. However, the humans keep trying to interfere.â€
â€œI think weâ€™d better find Angalo quickly, then,â€ said Gurder. â€œCome on.â€

They inched their way along another cable tunnel.

â€œThey ought to thank us for letting our Thing do their job for them,â€ said Gurder solemnly.

â€œI donâ€™t think they see it like that, exactly,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWe are flying at a height of 55,000 feet at 1,352 miles per hour,â€ said the Thing.

When they didnâ€™t comment, it added, â€œThatâ€™s very high and very fast.â€
â€œThatâ€™s good,â€ said Masklin, who realized that some sort of remark was expected.

â€œVery, very fast.â€

The two nomes squeezed through the gap between a couple of metal plates.

â€œFaster than a bullet, in fact.â€
â€œAmazing,â€ said Masklin.

â€œTwice the speed of sound in this atmosphere,â€ the Thing went on.

â€œWow.â€
â€œI wonder if I can put it another way,â€ said the Thing, and it managed to sound slightly annoyed. â€œIt could get from the Store to the quarry in under fifteen seconds.â€
â€œGood thing we didnâ€™t meet it coming the other way, then,â€ said Masklin.

â€œOh, stop teasing it,â€ said Gurder. â€œIt wants you to tell it itâ€™s a good boy . . . Thing,â€ he corrected himself.

â€œI do not,â€ said the Thing, rather more quickly than usual. â€œI was merely pointing out that this is a very specialized machine and requires skillful control.â€
â€œPerhaps you shouldnâ€™t talk so much, then,â€ said Masklin.

The Thing rippled its lights at him.

â€œThat was nasty,â€ said Gurder.

â€œWell, Iâ€™ve spent a year doing what the Thingâ€™s told me and Iâ€™ve never had so much as a â€˜thank you,â€™â€ said Masklin. â€œHow high are fifty-five thousand feet, anyway?â€
â€œTen point forty-two miles. Twice as far as the distance from the Store to the quarry.â€

Gurder stopped.

â€œUp?â€ he said. â€œWeâ€™re that far up?â€

He looked down at the floor.

â€œOh,â€ he said.

â€œNow donâ€™t you start,â€ said Masklin quickly. â€œWeâ€™ve got enough problems with Angalo. Stop holding on to the wall like that!â€

Gurder had gone white.

â€œWe must be as high as all those fluffy white cloud things,â€ he breathed.

â€œNo,â€ said the Thing.

â€œThatâ€™s some comfort, then,â€ said Gurder.

â€œTheyâ€™re all a long way below us.â€
â€œOh.â€

Masklin grabbed the Abbotâ€™s arm.

â€œAngalo, remember?â€ he said.

Gurder nodded slowly and inched his way forward, holding on to things with his eyes closed.

â€œWe mustnâ€™t lose our heads,â€ said Masklin. â€œEven if we are up so high.â€ He looked down. The metal below him was quite solid. You needed to use imagination to see through it to the ground below.

The trouble was that he had a very good imagination.

â€œUgh,â€ he said. â€œCome on, Gurder. Give me your hand.â€
â€œItâ€™s right in front of you.â€
â€œSorry. Didnâ€™t see it with my eyes shut.â€

They spent ages cautiously moving up and down among the wiring, until eventually Gurder said, â€œItâ€™s no good. There isnâ€™t a hole big enough to get through. Heâ€™d have found it, if there was.â€
â€œThen weâ€™ve got to find a way into the cab and get him out like that,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWith all those humans in there?â€
â€œTheyâ€™ll be too busy to notice us. Right, Thing?â€
â€œRight.â€

There is a place so far up there is no down.

A little lower, a white dart seared across the top of the sky, outrunning the night, overtaking the sun, crossing in a few hours an ocean that was once the edge of the world. . . .

Masklin lowered himself carefully to the floor and crept forward. The humans werenâ€™t even looking in his direction.

I hope the Thing really knows how to drive this plane, he thought.

He sidled along toward the panels where, with any luck, Angalo was hiding.

This wasnâ€™t right. He hated being exposed like this. Of course, it had probably been worse in the days when he used to have to hunt alone. If anything had caught him then, he would never have known it. Heâ€™d have been a mouthful. Whereas no one knew what humans would do to a nome if they caught one. . . .

He darted into the blessed shadows.

â€œAngalo!â€ he hissed.

After a while a voice from behind the wiring said, â€œWho is it?â€

Masklin straightened up. â€œHow many guesses do you want?â€ he said in his normal voice.

Angalo dropped down. â€œThey chased me!â€ he said.

â€œAnd one of them stuck its armâ€”â€
â€œI know. Come on, while theyâ€™re busy.â€
â€œWhatâ€™s happening?â€ said Angalo, as they hurried out into the light.

â€œThe Thing is flying us.â€
â€œHow? Itâ€™s got no arms. It canâ€™t change gear or anythingâ€”â€
â€œApparently itâ€™s being bossy to the computers that do all that. Come on.â€
â€œI looked out of the window,â€ bubbled Angalo. â€œThereâ€™s sky all over the place!â€
â€œDonâ€™t remind me,â€ said Masklin.

â€œLet me just have one more lookâ€”â€ Angalo began.

â€œListen, Gurderâ€™s waiting for us and we donâ€™t want any more troubleâ€”â€
â€œBut this is better than any truckâ€”â€

There was a strangled kind of noise.

The nomes looked up.

One of the humans was watching them. Its mouth was open, and it had an expression on its face of someone who is going to have a lot of difficulty explaining what he has just seen, especially to himself.

The human was already getting to its feet.

Angalo and Masklin looked at each other.

â€œRun!â€ they shouted.

Gurder was lurking suspiciously in a patch of shadow by the door when they came past, arms and legs going like pistons. He caught up the skirts of his robe and scurried after them.

â€œWhatâ€™s happening? Whatâ€™s happening?â€
â€œThereâ€™s a human after us!â€
â€œDonâ€™t leave me behind! Donâ€™t leave me behind!â€

Masklin was just ahead of the other two as they raced up the aisle between the rows of humans, who paid no attention at all to three tiny blurs running between the seats.

â€œWe shouldnâ€™t have . . . stood around . . . looking!â€ Masklin gasped.

â€œWe might . . . never . . . have a chance . . . like that again!â€ panted Angalo.

â€œYouâ€™re right!â€

The floor tilted slightly.

â€œThing! What are you doing!â€
â€œCreating a distraction.â€
â€œDonâ€™t! Everyone this way!â€

Masklin darted between two seats, around a pair of giant shoes, and threw himself flat on the carpet. The others hurled themselves down behind him.

Two huge human feet were a few inches away from them.

Masklin pulled the Thing up close to his face.

â€œLet them have their airplane back!â€ he hissed.

â€œI was hoping to be allowed to land it,â€ said the Thing. Even though its voice was always flat and expressionless, Masklin still thought that it sounded wistful.

â€œDo you know how to land one of these things?â€ said Masklin.

â€œI should like the opportunity to learnâ€”â€
â€œLet them have it back right now!â€

There was a faint lurch and a change in the pattern of the lights on the Thingâ€™s surface. Masklin breathed out.

â€œNow, will everyone act sensibly for five minutes?â€ he said.

â€œSorry, Masklin,â€ said Angalo. He tried to look apologetic, but it didnâ€™t work. Masklin recognized the wide-eyed, slightly mad smile of someone very nearly in his own personal heaven. â€œIt was just that . . . do you know itâ€™s even blue below us? Itâ€™s like thereâ€™s no ground down there at all! Andâ€”â€
â€œIf the Thing tries any more flying lessons, we might all find out if thatâ€™s true,â€ said Masklin gloomily. â€œSo letâ€™s just sit down and be quiet, shall we?â€

They sat in silence for a while, under the seat.

Then Gurder said, â€œThat human has got a hole in his sock.â€
â€œWhat about it?â€ said Angalo.

â€œDunno, really. Itâ€™s just that you never think of humans as having holes in their socks.â€
â€œWhere you get socks, holes arenâ€™t far behind,â€ said Masklin.

â€œTheyâ€™re good socks, though,â€ said Angalo.

Masklin stared at them. They just looked like basic socks to him. Nomes in the Store used them as sleeping bags.

â€œHow can you tell?â€ he said.

â€œTheyâ€™re Histyle Odorprufe,â€ said Angalo. â€œGuaranteed eighty-five percent Polyputheketlon. We used to sell them in the Store. They cost a lot more than other socks. Look, you can see the label.â€

Gurder sighed.

â€œIt was a good Store,â€ he muttered.

â€œAnd those shoes,â€ said Angalo, pointing to the great white shapes like beached boats a little way away. â€œSee them? Crucial Street Drifters with Real Rubber Sole Patâ€™d. Very expensive.â€
â€œNever approved of them, myself,â€ said Gurder. â€œToo flashy. I preferred Menâ€™s, Brown, Laced. A nome could get a good nightâ€™s sleep in one of those.â€
â€œThose Drifter things are Store shoes too, are they?â€ said Masklin, carefully.

â€œOh, yes. Special Range.â€
â€œHmm.â€

Masklin got up and walked over to a large leather bag half wedged under the seat. The others watched him scramble up it and then pull himself up until he could, very quickly, glance over the armrest. He slid back down.

â€œWell, well,â€ he said, in a mad, cheerful voice. â€œThatâ€™s a Store bag, isnâ€™t it?â€

Gurder and Angalo gave it a critical look.

â€œNever spent much time in Travel Accessories,â€ said Angalo. â€œBut now that you mention it, it could be the Special Calf-Skin Carry-On Bag.â€
â€œFor The Discerning Executive?â€ Gurder added. â€œYes. Could be.â€
â€œHave you wondered how weâ€™re going to get off?â€ said Masklin.

â€œSame way as we got on?â€ said Angalo, who hadnâ€™t.

â€œI think that could be difficult. I think the humans might have other ideas,â€ Masklin said. â€œI think, in fact, they might start looking for us. Even if they think weâ€™re mice. I wouldnâ€™t put up with mice on something like this if I was them. You know what mice are like for widdling on wires. Could be dangerous when youâ€™re ten miles high, a mouse going to the lavatory inside your computer. I think the humans will take it very seriously. So we ought to get off when the humans do.â€
â€œWeâ€™d get stamped on!â€ said Angalo.

â€œI was thinking maybe we could sort of . . . get in this bag, sort of thing,â€ said Masklin.

â€œRidiculous!â€ said Gurder.

Masklin took a deep breath.

â€œIt belongs to Grandson Richard, you see,â€ he said.

â€œI checked,â€ he added, watching the expressions on their faces. â€œI saw him before, and heâ€™s in the seat up there. Grandson Richard,â€ he went on, â€œ39. Heâ€™s up there right now. Reading a paper. Up there. Him.â€

Gurder had gone red. He prodded Masklin with a finger. â€œDo you expect me to believe,â€ he said, â€œthat Richard Arnold, the grandson of Arnold Bros (est. 1905), has holes in his socks?â€
â€œThatâ€™d make them holy socks,â€ said Angalo. â€œSorry. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You didnâ€™t have to glare at me like that.â€
â€œClimb up and see for yourself,â€ said Masklin. â€œIâ€™ll help you. Only be careful.â€

They hoisted Gurder up.

He came down quietly.

â€œWell?â€ said Angalo.

â€œItâ€™s got â€˜R.A.â€™ in gold letters on the bag, too,â€ said Masklin.

He made frantic signs to Angalo. Gurder was looking as though he had seen a ghost.

â€œYes, you can get that,â€ said Angalo hurriedly. â€œGold Monogram at Only Five Ninety-Nine Extra, it used to say on the sign.â€
â€œSpeak to us, Gurder,â€ said Masklin. â€œDonâ€™t just sit there looking like that.â€
â€œThis is a very solemn moment for me,â€ said Gurder.

â€œI thought I could cut through some of the stitching and we could get in at the bottom,â€ said Masklin.

â€œI am not worthy,â€ said Gurder.

â€œProbably not,â€ said Angalo cheerfully. â€œBut we wonâ€™t tell anyone.â€
â€œAnd Grandson Richard will be helping us, you see,â€ said Masklin, hoping that Gurder was in a state to take all this in. â€œHe wonâ€™t know it, but heâ€™ll be helping us. So itâ€™ll be all right. Probably itâ€™s meant.â€

Not meant by anyone, he told himself conscientiously. Just meant in general.

Gurder considered this.

â€œWell, all right,â€ he said. â€œBut no cutting the bag. We can get in through the zipper.â€

They did. It stuck a bit halfway, since zippers always do, but it didnâ€™t take long to get an opening big enough for the nomes to climb down inside.

â€œWhat shall we do if he looks in?â€ said Angalo.

â€œNothing,â€ said Masklin. â€œJust smile, I suppose.â€

The tree frogs were far out on the branch now. What had looked like a smooth expanse of gray-green wood was, close to, a maze of rough bark, roots, and clumps of moss. It was unbearably frightening for frogs who had spent their life in a world with petals round the edge.

But they crawled onward. They didnâ€™t know the meaning of the word â€œretreat.â€ Or any other word.

4

HOTEL: A place where TRAVELING HUMANS are parked at night. Other humans bring them food, including the famous BACON, LETTUCE, AND TOMATO SANDWICH. There are beds and towels and special things that rain on people to get them clean.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

BLACKNESS.

â€œItâ€™s very dark in here, Masklin.â€
â€œYes, and I canâ€™t get comfortable.â€
â€œWell, youâ€™ll have to make the best of it.â€
â€œA hairbrush! Iâ€™ve just sat down on a hairbrush!â€
â€œWe will be landing shortly.â€
â€œGood.â€
â€œAnd thereâ€™s a tube of somethingâ€”â€
â€œIâ€™m hungry. Isnâ€™t there anything to eat?â€
â€œIâ€™ve still got that peanut.â€
â€œWhere? Where?â€
â€œNow youâ€™ve made me drop it.â€
â€œGurder?â€
â€œYes?â€
â€œWhat are you doing? Are you cutting something?â€
â€œHeâ€™s cutting a hole in his sock.â€

Silence.

â€œWell? What of it? I can if I want to. Itâ€™s my sock.â€

More silence.

â€œI shall just feel better for doing it.â€

Still more silence.

â€œItâ€™s just a human, Gurder. Thereâ€™s nothing special about it.â€
â€œWeâ€™re in its bag, arenâ€™t we?â€
â€œYes, but you said yourself that Arnold Bros is something in our heads. Didnâ€™t you?â€
â€œYes.â€
â€œWell, then?â€
â€œThis just makes me feel better, thatâ€™s all. Subject closed.â€
â€œWeâ€™re about to land.â€
â€œHow will we know whenâ€”â€
â€œI am sure I could have done it better. Eventually.â€
â€œIs this the Florida place? Angalo, get your foot out of my face.â€
â€œYes. This country traditionally welcomes immigrants.â€
â€œIs that what we are?â€
â€œTechnically you are en route to another destination.â€
â€œWhich?â€
â€œThe stars.â€
â€œOh. Thing?â€
â€œYes?â€
â€œIs there any record of nomes being here before?â€
â€œWhat do you mean? Weâ€™re the nomes!â€
â€œYes, but there may have been others.â€
â€œWeâ€™re all that there is! Arenâ€™t we?â€

Tiny colored lights flickered in the darkness of the bag.

â€œThing?â€ Masklin repeated.

â€œI am searching available data. Conclusion: no reliable sighting of nomes. All recorded immigrants have been in excess of four inches high.â€
â€œOh. I just wondered. I wondered if we were all that there was.â€
â€œYou heard the Thing. No reliable sightings, it said.â€
â€œNo one saw us until today.â€
â€œThing, do you know what happens next?â€
â€œWe will pass through Immigration and Customs. Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of a subversive organization?â€

Silence.

â€œWhat, us? Why are you asking us that?â€
â€œIt is the sort of question that gets asked. I am monitoring communications.â€
â€œOh. Well, I donâ€™t think we have. Have we?â€
â€œNo.â€
â€œNo.â€
â€œNo. I didnâ€™t think we had been. What does subversive mean?â€
â€œThe question seeks to establish whether youâ€™ve come here to overthrow the government of the United States.â€
â€œI donâ€™t think we want to do that. Do we?â€
â€œNo.â€
â€œNo.â€
â€œNo, we donâ€™t. They donâ€™t have to worry about us.â€
â€œVery clever idea, though.â€
â€œWhat is?â€
â€œAsking the questions when people arrive. If anyone was coming here to do some subversive overthrowing, everyoneâ€™d be down on him like a pound of bricks as soon as he answered â€˜Yes.â€™â€
â€œItâ€™s a sneaky trick, isnâ€™t it,â€ said Angalo, in an admiring tone of voice.

â€œNo, we donâ€™t want to do any overthrowing,â€ said Masklin to the Thing. â€œWe just want to steal one of their going-straight-up jets. What are they called again?â€
â€œSpace shuttles.â€
â€œRight. And then weâ€™ll be off. We donâ€™t want to cause any trouble.â€

The bag bumped around and was put down.

There was a tiny sawing noise, totally unheard amid the noise of the airport. A very small hole appeared in the leather.

â€œWhatâ€™s he doing?â€ said Gurder.

â€œStop pushing,â€ said Masklin. â€œI canâ€™t concentrate. Now . . . it looks like weâ€™re in a line of humans.â€
â€œWeâ€™ve been waiting for ages,â€ said Angalo.

â€œI expect everyoneâ€™s being asked if theyâ€™re going to do any overthrowing,â€ said Gurder wisely.

â€œI hardly like to bring this up,â€ said Angalo, â€œbut how are we going to find this Shuttle?â€
â€œWeâ€™ll sort that out when the time comes,â€ said Masklin uncertainly.

â€œThe timeâ€™s come,â€ said Angalo. â€œHasnâ€™t it?â€

Masklin shrugged helplessly.

â€œYou didnâ€™t think weâ€™d arrive in this Florida place and thereâ€™d be signs up saying This Way To Space, did you?â€ said Angalo sarcastically.

Masklin hoped his thoughts didnâ€™t show up on his face. â€œOf course not,â€ he said.

â€œWell, what do we do next?â€ Angalo insisted.

â€œWe . . . we . . . we ask the Thing,â€ said Masklin. He looked relieved. â€œThatâ€™s what weâ€™ll do. Thing?â€
â€œYes?â€

Masklin shrugged. â€œWhat do we do next?â€
â€œNow that,â€ said Angalo, â€œis what I call planning.â€

The bag shifted. Grandson Richard, 39, was moving up the line.

â€œThing? I said, what do we doâ€”â€
â€œNothing.â€
â€œHow can we do nothing?â€
â€œBy performing an absence of activity.â€
â€œWhat good is that?â€
â€œThe paper said Richard Arnold was going to Florida for the launch of the communications satellite. Therefore, he is now going to the place where the satellite is. Ergo, we will go with him.â€
â€œWhoâ€™s Ergo?â€ said Gurder, looking around.

The Thing flickered its lights at him.

â€œIt means â€˜Therefore,â€™â€ it said.

Masklin looked doubtful. â€œDo you think heâ€™ll take this bag with him?â€
â€œUncertain.â€

There wasnâ€™t a lot in the bag, Masklin had to admit. It contained mainly socks, papers, a few odds and ends like hairbrushes, and a book called The Spy With No Trousers. This last item had caused them some concern when the bag had been unzipped just after the plane landed, but Grandson Richard had thrust the book among the papers without glancing inside. Now that there was a little light to see by, Angalo was trying to read it. Occasionally heâ€™d mutter under his breath.

â€œIt seems to me,â€ Masklin said eventually, â€œthat Grandson Richard isnâ€™t going to go straight off to watch the satellite fly away. Iâ€™m sure heâ€™ll go somewhere and sleep first. Do you know when this Shuttle jet flies, Thing?â€
â€œUncertain. I can only talk to other computers when they are within my range. The computers here know only about airport matters.â€
â€œHeâ€™s going to have to go to sleep soon, anyway,â€ said Masklin. â€œHumans sleep through most of the night. I think thatâ€™s when weâ€™d better leave the bag.â€
â€œAnd then we can talk to him,â€ said Gurder.

The others stared at him.

â€œWell, thatâ€™s why we came, isnâ€™t it?â€ said the Abbot. â€œOriginally? To ask him to save the quarry?â€
â€œHeâ€™s a human!â€ snapped Angalo. â€œEven you must realize that by now! Heâ€™s not going to help us! Why should he help us? Heâ€™s just a human whose ancestors built a store! Why do you go on believing heâ€™s some sort of great big nome in the sky?â€
â€œBecause I havenâ€™t got anything else to believe in!â€ shouted Gurder. â€œAnd if you donâ€™t believe in Grandson Richard, why are you in his bag?â€
â€œThatâ€™s just a coincidenceâ€”â€
â€œYou always say that! You always say itâ€™s just a coincidence!â€

The bag moved, so they lost their balance again and fell over.

â€œWeâ€™re moving,â€ said Masklin, still peering out of the hole and almost glad of anything that would stop the argument. â€œWeâ€™re walking across the floor. Thereâ€™s a lot of humans out there. A lot of humans.â€
â€œThere always are,â€ sighed Gurder.

â€œSome of them are holding up signs with names on them.â€
â€œThatâ€™s just like humans,â€ Gurder added.

The nomes were used to humans with signs. Some of the humans in the Store used to wear their names all the time. Humans had strange long names, like â€œMrs. J. E. Williams, Supervisorâ€ and â€œHello, My Name Is Tracy.â€ No one knew why humans had to wear their names. Perhaps theyâ€™d forget them otherwise.

â€œHang on,â€ said Masklin, â€œthis canâ€™t be right. One of them is holding up a sign saying â€˜Richard Arnold.â€™ Weâ€™re walking toward it! Weâ€™re talking to it!â€

The deep muffled rumble of the human voice rolled above the nomes like thunder.

Hoom-voom-boom?

Foom-hoom-zoom-boom.

Hoom-zoom-boom-foom?

Boom!

â€œCan you understand it, Thing?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYes. The man with the sign is here to take our human to a hotel. Itâ€™s a place where humans sleep and are fed. All the rest of it was just the things humans say to each other to make sure that theyâ€™re still alive.â€
â€œWhat do you mean?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThey say things like â€˜How are you?â€™ and â€˜Have a nice dayâ€™ and â€˜What do you think of this weather, then?â€™ What these sounds mean is: I am alive and so are you.â€
â€œYes, but nomes say the same sort of things, Thing. Itâ€™s called â€˜getting along with people.â€™ You might find it worth a try.â€

The bag swung sideways and hit something. The nomes clung desperately to the insides. Angalo clung with one hand. He was trying to keep his place in the book.

â€œIâ€™m getting hungry again,â€ said Gurder. â€œIsnâ€™t there anything to eat in this bag?â€
â€œThereâ€™s some toothpaste in this tube.â€
â€œIâ€™ll pass on the toothpaste, thanks.â€

Now there was a rumbling noise. Angalo looked up. â€œI know that sound,â€ he said. â€œInfernal combustion engine. Weâ€™re in a vehicle.â€
â€œAgain?â€ said Gurder.

â€œWeâ€™ll get out as soon as we can,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhat kind of truck is it, Thing?â€ said Gurder.

â€œIt is a helicopter.â€
â€œItâ€™s certainly noisy,â€ said Gurder, who had never come across the word.

â€œIt is a â€˜plane without wings,â€™â€ said Angalo, who had.

Gurder gave this a few momentsâ€™ careful and terrified thought.

â€œThing?â€ he said, slowly.

â€œYes?â€
â€œWhat keeps it up in theâ€”â€ Gurder began.

â€œScience.â€
â€œOh. Well. Science? Good. Thatâ€™s all right, then.â€

The noise went on for a long time. After a while it became part of the nomesâ€™ world, so when it stopped, the silence came as a shock.

They lay in the bottom of the bag, too discouraged even to talk. They felt the bag being carried, put down, picked up, carried again, put down, picked up one more time, and then thrown onto something soft.

And then there was blessed stillness.

Eventually Gurderâ€™s voice said: â€œAll right. What flavor toothpaste?â€

Masklin found the Thing among the heap of paper clips, dust, and twisted bits of paper at the bottom of the bag.

â€œAny idea where we are, Thing?â€ he said.

â€œRoom 103, Cocoa Beach New Horizons Hotel,â€ said the Thing. â€œI am monitoring communications.â€

Gurder pushed past Masklin. â€œIâ€™ve got to get out,â€ he said. â€œI canâ€™t stand it in here anymore. Give me a leg up, Angalo. I reckon I can just reach the top of the bagâ€”â€

There was the long-drawn-out rumble of the zipper. Light flooded in as the bag was opened. The nomes dived for whatever cover was available.

Masklin watched a hand taller than he was reach down, close around a smaller bag with the toothpaste and washcloth in it, and pull it out.

The nomes didnâ€™t move.

After a while there came the distant sound of rushing water.

The nomes still didnâ€™t move.

Boom-boom foom zoom-hoom-hoom, choom zoom hoooom . . .

The human noise rose above the gushing. It echoed even more than normal.

â€œIt . . . sounds like itâ€™s . . . singing?â€ whispered Angalo.

. . . Hoom . . . hoom-boom-boom hoom . . . zoom-hoom-boom HOOOooooOOOmmm Boom.

â€œWhatâ€™s happening, Thing?â€ Masklin hissed.

â€œIt has gone into a room to have water showering on it,â€ said the Thing.

â€œWhat does it want to do that for?â€
â€œI assume it wants to keep clean.â€
â€œSo is it safe to get out of the bag now?â€
â€œâ€˜Safeâ€™ is a relative word.â€
â€œWhat? What? Like â€˜uncle,â€™ you mean?â€
â€œI mean that nothing is totally safe. But I suggest that the human will be wetting itself for some time.â€
â€œYeah. Thereâ€™s a lot of human to clean,â€ said Angalo. â€œCome on. Letâ€™s do it.â€

The bag was lying on a bed. It was easy enough to climb down the covers onto the floor.

. . . Hoom-hoom booOOOOM boom . . .

â€œWhat do we do now?â€ said Angalo.

â€œAfter weâ€™ve eaten, that is,â€ said Gurder firmly.

Masklin trotted across the thick carpet. There was a tall glass door in the nearest wall. It was slightly open, letting in a warm breeze and the sounds of the night.

A human would have heard the click and buzz of crickets and other small mysterious creatures whose role in life is to sit in bushes all night and make noises that are a lot bigger than they are. But nomes hear sounds slowed down and stretched out and deeper, like a cassette player with dying batteries. The dark was full of the thud and growl of the wilderness.

Gurder joined Masklin and squinted anxiously into the blackness.

â€œCould you go out and see if there is something to eat?â€ he said.

â€œIâ€™ve a horrible feeling,â€ said Masklin, â€œthat if I go out there now, there will be something to eat, and itâ€™ll be me.â€

Behind them the human voice sang on.

. . . Boom-hoom-hoom-BOOOooooMMM womp womp . . .

â€œWhatâ€™s the human singing about, Thing?â€ said Masklin.

â€œIt is a little difficult to follow. However, it appears that the singer wishes it to be known that he did something his way.â€
â€œDid what?â€
â€œInsufficient data at this point. But whatever it was, he did it at a) each step along lifeâ€™s highway and b) not in a shy way. . . .â€

There was a knock at the door. The singing stopped. So did the gushing of the water. The nomes ran for the shadows.

â€œSounds a bit dangerous,â€ Angalo whispered. â€œWalking along highways, I mean. Each step along lifeâ€™s sidewalk would be betterâ€”â€

Grandson Richard came out of the shower room with a towel around its waist. It opened the door. Another human, with all its clothes on, came in with a tray. There was a brief exchange of hoots, and the clothed human put down the tray and went out again. Grandson Richard disappeared into the shower room again.

. . . Buh-buh buh-buh hoom hoOOOmm . . .

â€œFood!â€ Gurder whispered. â€œI can smell it! Thereâ€™s food on that tray!â€
â€œA bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich with coleslaw,â€ said the Thing. â€œAnd coffee.â€
â€œHow did you know?â€ said all three nomes in unison.

â€œHe ordered it when he checked in.â€
â€œColeslaw!â€ moaned Gurder ecstatically. â€œBacon! Coffee!â€

Masklin stared upward. The tray had been left on the edge of a table.

There was a lamp near it. Masklin had lived in the Store long enough to know that where there was a lamp, there was a wire.

Heâ€™d never found a wire he couldnâ€™t climb.

Regular meals, that was the problem. Heâ€™d never been used to them. When heâ€™d lived Outside, before the Store, heâ€™d got accustomed to going for days without food and then, when food did turn up, eating until he was greasy to the eyebrows. But the Store nomes expected something to eat several times an hour. The Store nomes ate all the time. They only had to miss half a dozen meals and they started to complain.

â€œI think I could get up there,â€ he said.

â€œYes. Yes,â€ said Gurder.

â€œBut is it all right to eat Grandson Richardâ€™s sandwich?â€ Masklin added.

Gurder opened his eyes. He blinked.

â€œThatâ€™s an important theological point,â€ he muttered. â€œBut Iâ€™m too hungry to think about it, so letâ€™s eat it first, and then if it turns out to be wrong to eat it, I promise to be very sorry.â€

. . . Boom-hoom whop whop, foom hoom . . .

â€œThe human says that the end is now near and he is facing a curtain,â€ the Thing translated. â€œThis may be a shower curtain.â€

Masklin pulled himself up the wire and onto the table, feeling very exposed.

It was obvious that the Floridians had a different idea about sandwiches. Sandwiches had been sold back in the Storeâ€™s Food Hall. The word meant something thin between two slices of damp bread. Floridian sandwiches, on the other hand, filled up an entire tray, and if there was any bread, it lurked deep in a jungle of cress and lettuce.

He looked down.

â€œHurry up!â€ hissed Angalo. â€œThe waterâ€™s stopped again!â€

. . . Boom-hoom hoom whop hoom whop . . .

Masklin pushed aside a drift of green stuff, grabbed the sandwich, hauled it to the edge of the tray and pushed it down onto the floor.

. . . foom hoom hoom HOOOOooooOOOO mmmmm-WHOP.

The shower room door opened.

â€œCome on! Come on!â€ Angalo yelled.

Grandson Richard came out. He took a few steps, and stopped.

He looked at Masklin.

Masklin looked at him.

There are times when Time itself pauses.

Masklin realized that he was standing at one of those points where History takes a deep breath and decides what to do next.

I can stay here, he thought. I can use the Thing to translate, and I can try to explain everything to him. I can tell him how important it is for us to have a home of our own. I can ask him if he can do something to help the nomes in the quarry. I can tell him how the Store nomes thought that his grandfather created the world. Heâ€™ll probably enjoy knowing that. He looks friendly, for a human.

He might help us.

Or heâ€™ll trap us somehow, and call other humans, and theyâ€™ll all start milling around and mooing, and weâ€™ll be put in a cage or something, and prodded. Itâ€™ll be just like the Concorde drivers. They probably didnâ€™t want to hurt us, they just didnâ€™t understand what we were. And we havenâ€™t got time to let them find out.

Itâ€™s their world, not ours.

Itâ€™s too risky. No. I never realized it before, but weâ€™ve got to do it our way. . . .

Grandson Richard slowly reached out a hand and said: â€œWhoomp?â€

Masklin took a running jump.

Nomes can fall quite a long way without being hurt, and in any case a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich broke his fall.

There was a blur of activity, and the sandwich rose on three pairs of legs. It raced across the floor, leaking mayonnaise.

Grandson Richard threw a towel at it. It missed.

The sandwich leaped over the doorsill and vanished into the chirping, velvety, dangerous night.

There were other dangers besides falling off the branch. One of the frogs was eaten by a lizard. Several others turned back as soon as they were out of the shade of their flower because, as they pointed out, â€œ.â€“.â€“.mipmip.â€“.â€“.mipmip.â€“.â€“.â€

The frog in the lead looked back at his dwindling group. There was one . . . and one . . . and one . . . and one . . . and one, which added up toâ€”it wrinkled its forehead in the effort of calculationâ€”yes, one.

Some of the one were getting frightened. The leading frog realized that if they were ever going to get to the new flower and survive there, thereâ€™d need to be a lot more than one frog. Theyâ€™d need at least one, or possibly even one. He gave them a croak of encouragement.

â€œMipmip,â€ he said.

5

FLORIDA (or FLORIDIA): A place where may be found ALLIGATORS, LONG-NECKED TURTLES, and SPACE SHUTTLES. An interesting place that is warm and wet and there are geese. BACON, LETTUCE, AND TOMATO SANDWICHES may be found here also. A lot more interesting than many other places. The shape when seen from the air is like a bit stuck on a bigger bit.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

LET THE EYE of your imagination be a camera . . .

This is the globe of the world, a glittering blue-and-white ball like the ornament on some unimaginable Christmas tree.

Find a continent. . . .

Focus

This is a continent, a jigsaw of yellows, greens, and browns.

Find a place. . . .

Focus

This is a bit of the continent, sticking out into the warmer sea to the southeast. Most of its inhabitants call it Florida.

Actually, they donâ€™t. Most of its inhabitants donâ€™t call it anything. They donâ€™t even know it exists. Most of them have six legs, and buzz. A lot of them have eight legs and spend a lot of time in webs waiting for six-legged inhabitants to arrive for lunch. Many of the rest have four legs, and bark or moo or even lie in swamps pretending to be logs. In fact, only a tiny proportion of the inhabitants of Florida have two legs, and even most of them donâ€™t call it Florida. They just go tweet, and fly around a lot.

Mathematically, an almost insignificant number of living things in Florida call it Florida. But theyâ€™re the ones who matter. At least, in their opinion. And their opinion is the one that matters. In their opinion.

Focus

Find a highway . . .

Focus

. . . traffic swishing quietly through the soft warm rain . . .

Focus

. . . high weeds on the bank . . .

Focus

. . . grass moving in a way that isnâ€™t quite like grass moving in the wind . . .

Focus

. . . a pair of tiny eyes . . .

Focus

Focus

Focus

Click!

Masklin crept back through the grass to the nomesâ€™ camp, if thatâ€™s what you could call a tiny dry space under a scrap of thrown-away plastic.

It has been hours since theyâ€™d run away from Grandson Richard, as Gurder kept on putting it. The sun was rising behind the rainclouds.

Theyâ€™d crossed a highway while there was no traffic, theyâ€™d blundered around in damp undergrowth, scurrying away from every chirp and mysterious croak, and finally theyâ€™d found the plastic. And theyâ€™d slept. Masklin had stayed on guard for a while, but he wasnâ€™t certain what he was guarding against.

There was a positive side. The Thing had been listening to radio and television and had found the place the going-straight-up shuttles went from. It was only eighteen miles away. And theyâ€™d definitely made progress. Theyâ€™d goneâ€”oh, call it half a mile. And at last it was warm. Even the rain was warm. And the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich was holding up.

But there were still almost eighteen miles to go.

â€œWhen did you say the launch is?â€ said Masklin.

â€œFour hoursâ€™ time,â€ said the Thing.

â€œThat means weâ€™ll have to travel at more than four miles an hour,â€ said Angalo gloomily.

Masklin nodded. A nome, trying hard, could probably cover a mile and a half in an hour over open ground.

He hadnâ€™t given much thought to how they could get the Thing into space. If heâ€™d thought about it at all, heâ€™d imagined that they could find the Shuttle plane and wedge the Thing on it somewhere. If possible maybe they could go too, although he wasnâ€™t too sure about that. The Thing said it was cold in space, and there was no air.

â€œYou could have asked Grandson Richard to help us!â€ said Gurder. â€œWhy did you run away?â€
â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ said Masklin. â€œI suppose I thought we ought to be able to help ourselves.â€
â€œBut you used the Truck. Nomes lived in the Store. You used the Concorde. Youâ€™re eating human food.â€

Masklin was surprised. The Thing didnâ€™t often argue like that.

â€œThatâ€™s different,â€ he said.

â€œHow?â€
â€œThey didnâ€™t know about us. We took what we wanted. We werenâ€™t given it. They think itâ€™s their world, Thing! They think everything in it belongs to them! They name everything and own everything! I looked up at him and I thought, Hereâ€™s a human in a humanâ€™s room, doing human things. How can he ever understand about nomes? How can he ever think tiny people are real people with real thoughts? I canâ€™t just let a human take over. Not just like that!â€

The Thing blinked a few lights at him.

â€œWeâ€™ve come too far not to finish it ourselves,â€ Masklin mumbled. He looked up at Gurder.

â€œAnyway, when it came to it, I didnâ€™t exactly see you rushing up ready to shake him by the finger,â€ he said.

â€œI was embarrassed. Itâ€™s always embarrassing, meeting deities,â€ said Gurder.

They hadnâ€™t been able to light a fire. Everything was too wet. Not that they needed a fire, it was just that a fire was more civilized. Someone had managed to light a fire there at some time, though, because there were still a few damp ashes.

â€œI wonder how things are back home,â€ said Angalo after a while.

â€œAll right, I expect,â€ said Masklin.

â€œDo you really?â€
â€œWell, more hope than expect, to tell the truth.â€
â€œI expect your Grimmaâ€™s got everyone organized,â€ said Angalo, trying to grin.

â€œSheâ€™s not my Grimma,â€ snapped Masklin.

â€œIsnâ€™t she? Whose is she, then?â€
â€œSheâ€™sâ€”â€ Masklin hesitated. â€œHers, I suppose,â€ he said lamely.

â€œOh. I thought the two of you were set toâ€”â€ Angalo began.

â€œWeâ€™re not. I told her we were going to get married, and all she could talk about was frogs,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s females for you,â€ said Gurder. â€œDidnâ€™t I say that letting them learn to read was a bad idea? It overheats their brains.â€
â€œShe said the most important thing in the world was little frogs living in a flower,â€ Masklin went on, trying to listen to the voice of his own memory. He hadnâ€™t been listening very hard at the time. Heâ€™d been too angry.

â€œSounds like you could boil a kettle on her head,â€ said Angalo.

â€œIt was something sheâ€™d read in a book, she said.â€
â€œMy point exactly,â€ said Gurder. â€œYou know I never really agreed with letting everyone learn to read. It unsettles people.â€

Masklin looked gloomily at the rain.

â€œCome to think of it,â€ he said, â€œit wasnâ€™t frogs exactly. It was the idea of frogs. She said thereâ€™s these hills where itâ€™s hot and rains all the time, and in the rainforests there are these very tall trees and right in the top branches of the trees there are these like great big flowers called . . . bromeliads, I think, and water gets into the flowers and makes little pools and thereâ€™s a type of frog that lays eggs in the pools and tadpoles hatch and grow into new frogs and these little frogs live their whole lives in the flowers right at the top of the trees and donâ€™t even know about the ground, and once you know the world is full of things like that your life is never the same.â€

He took a deep breath.

â€œSomething like that, anyway,â€ he said.

Gurder looked at Angalo.

â€œDidnâ€™t understand any of it,â€ he said.

â€œItâ€™s a metaphor,â€ said the Thing. No one paid it any attention.

Masklin scratched his ear. â€œIt seemed to mean a lot to her,â€ he said.

â€œItâ€™s a metaphor,â€ said the Thing.

â€œWomen always want something,â€ said Angalo. â€œMy wife is always carrying on about dresses.â€
â€œIâ€™m sure he would have helped,â€ said Gurder. â€œIf weâ€™d talked to him. Heâ€™d probably have given us a proper meal and, andâ€”â€
â€œâ€”given us a home in a shoebox,â€ said Masklin.

â€œâ€”and given us a home in a shoebox,â€ said Gurder automatically. â€œNo! I mean, maybe. I mean, why not? A decent hourâ€™s sleep for a change. And then weâ€”â€
â€œâ€”weâ€™d be carried around in his pocket,â€ said Masklin.

â€œNot necessarily. Not necessarily.â€
â€œWe would. Because heâ€™s big and weâ€™re small.â€
â€œLaunch in three hours and fifty-seven minutes,â€ said the Thing.

Their temporary camp overlooked a ditch. There didnâ€™t seem to be any winter in Florida, and the banks were thick with greenery.

Something like a flat plate with a spoon on the front sculled slowly past. The spoon stuck out of the water for a moment, looked at the nomes vaguely, and then dropped down again.

â€œWhat was that thing, Thing?â€ said Masklin.

The Thing extended one of its sensors.

â€œA long-necked turtle.â€
â€œOh.â€

The turtle swam peacefully away.

â€œLucky, really,â€ said Gurder.

â€œWhat?â€ said Angalo.

â€œIt having a long neck like that and being called a long-necked turtle. Itâ€™d be really awkward having a name like that if it had a short neck.â€
â€œLaunch in three hours and fifty-six minutes.â€

Masklin stood up.

â€œYou know,â€ said Angalo, â€œI really wish I could have read more of The Spy With No Trousers. It was getting exciting.â€
â€œCome on,â€ Masklin said. â€œLetâ€™s see if we can find a way.â€

Angalo, who had been sitting with his chin in his hands, gave him an odd look.

â€œWhat, now?â€
â€œWeâ€™ve come too far to just stop, havenâ€™t we?â€

They pushed their way through the weeds. After a while a fallen log helped them across the ditch.

â€œMuch greener here than at home, isnâ€™t it,â€ said Angalo.

Masklin pushed through a thick stand of leaves.

â€œWarmer, too,â€ said Gurder. â€œTheyâ€™ve got the heating fixed here.â€*
â€œNo one fixes heating Outside, it just happens,â€ said Angalo.

â€œIf I get old, this is the kind of place Iâ€™d like to live, if I had to live Outside,â€ Gurder went on, ignoring him.

â€œItâ€™s a wildlife preserve,â€ said the Thing.

Gurder looked shocked. â€œWhat? Like jam? Made of animals?â€
â€œNo. It is a place where animals can live unmolested.â€
â€œYouâ€™re not allowed to hunt them, you mean?â€
â€œYes.â€
â€œYouâ€™re not allowed to hunt anything, Masklin,â€ said Gurder.

Masklin grunted.

There was something nagging at him. He couldnâ€™t quite put his finger on it. Probably it was to do with the animals after all.

â€œApart from turtles with long necks,â€ he said, â€œwhat other animals are there here, Thing?â€

The Thing didnâ€™t answer for a moment. Then it said, â€œI find mention of sea cows and alligators.â€

Masklin tried to imagine what a sea cow looked like. But they didnâ€™t sound too bad. Heâ€™d met cows before. They were big and slow and didnâ€™t eat nomes, except by accident.

â€œWhatâ€™s an alligator?â€ he said.

The Thing told him.

â€œWhat?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhat?â€ said Angalo.

â€œWhat?â€ said Gurder. He pulled his robe tightly around his legs.

â€œYou idiot!â€ shouted Angalo.

â€œMe?â€ said Masklin hotly. â€œHow should I know? Is it my fault? Did I miss a sign at the airport saying Welcome To Floridia, Home Of Large Meat-Eating Reptiles Up To Twelve Feet Long?â€

They watched the grasses. A damp warm world inhabited by insects and turtles was suddenly a disguise for horrible terrors with huge teeth.

Somethingâ€™s watching us, Masklin thought. I can feel it.

The three nomes stood back to back. Masklin crouched down, slowly, and picked up a large stone.

The grass moved.

â€œThe Thing did say they donâ€™t all grow to twelve feet,â€ said Angalo, in the silence.

â€œWe were blundering around in the darkness!â€ said Gurder. â€œWith things like that around!â€

The grass moved again. It wasnâ€™t the wind that was moving it.

â€œPull yourself together,â€ muttered Angalo.

â€œIf it is alligators,â€ said Gurder, trying to look noble, â€œI shall show them how a nome can die with dignity.â€
â€œPlease yourself,â€ said Angalo, his eyes scanning the undergrowth. â€œIâ€™m planning to show them how a nome can run away with speed.â€

The grasses parted.

A nome stepped out.

There was a crackle behind Masklin. His head spun around. Another nome stepped out.

And another.

And another.

Fifteen of them.

The three travelers swiveled like an animal with six legs and three heads.

It was the fire that I saw, Masklin told himself. We sat right down by the ashes of a fire, and I looked at them, and I didnâ€™t wonder who could have made them.

The strangers wore gray. They seemed to be all sizes. And every single one of them had a spear.

I wish I had mine, Masklin thought, trying to keep as many of the strangers as possible in his line of sight.

They werenâ€™t pointing their spears at him. The trouble was, they werenâ€™t exactly not pointing them, either.

Masklin told himself that it was very rare for a nome to kill another nome. In the Store it was considered bad manners, while Outside . . . well, there were so many other things that killed nomes in any case. Besides, it was wrong. There didnâ€™t have to be any other reasons.

He just had to hope that these nomes felt the same way.

â€œDo you know these people?â€ asked Angalo.

â€œMe?â€ said Masklin. â€œOf course not. How could I?â€
â€œTheyâ€™re Outsiders. I dunno, I suppose I thought all Outsiders would know each other.â€
â€œNever seen them before in my life,â€ said Masklin.

â€œI think,â€ said Angalo, slowly and deliberately, â€œthat the leader is that old guy with the big nose and the topknot with a feather in it. What do you think?â€

Masklin looked at the tall, thin, old nome who was scowling at the three of them.

â€œHe doesnâ€™t look as if he likes us very much.â€
â€œI donâ€™t like the look of him at all,â€ said Angalo.

â€œHave you got any suggestions, Thing?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThey are probably as frightened of you as you are of them.â€
â€œI doubt it,â€ said Angalo.

â€œTell them you will not harm them.â€
â€œIâ€™d much rather they told me theyâ€™re not going to harm us.â€

Masklin stepped forward and raised his hands.

â€œWe are peaceful,â€ he said. â€œWe donâ€™t want anyone to be hurt.â€
â€œIncluding us,â€ said Angalo. â€œWe really mean it.â€

Several of the strangers backed away and raised their spears.

â€œIâ€™ve got my hands raised,â€ said Masklin over his shoulder. â€œWhy should they be so upset?â€
â€œBecause youâ€™re holding a large rock,â€ said Angalo flatly. â€œI donâ€™t know about them, but if you walked toward me holding something like that, Iâ€™d be pretty scared.â€
â€œIâ€™m not sure I want to let go of it,â€ said Masklin.

â€œPerhaps they donâ€™t understand usâ€”â€

Gurder moved.

The Abbot hadnâ€™t said a word since the arrival of the new nomes. Heâ€™d just gone very pale.

Now some sort of internal timer had gone off. He gave a snort, leaped forward, and bore down on Topknot like an enraged balloon.

â€œHow dare you accost us, youâ€”you Outsider!â€ he screamed.

Angalo put his hands over his eyes. Masklin got a firm hold on his rock.

â€œEr, Gurderâ€”â€ he began.

Topknot backed away. The other nomes seemed puzzled by the small explosive figure that was suddenly among them. Gurder was in the grip of the kind of anger that is almost as good as armor.

Topknot screeched something back at Gurder.

â€œDonâ€™t you harangue me, you grubby heathen,â€ said Gurder. â€œDo you think all these spears really frighten us?â€
â€œYes,â€ whispered Angalo. He sidled closer to Masklin. â€œWhatâ€™s got into him?â€ he said.

Topknot shouted something at his nomes. A couple of them raised their spears, uncertainly. Several of the others appeared to argue.

â€œThis is getting worse,â€ said Angalo.

â€œYes,â€ said Masklin. â€œI think we shouldâ€”â€

A voice behind them snapped out a command. All the Floridians turned. So did Masklin.

Two nomes had come out of the grass. One was a boy. The other was a small, dumpy woman, the sort youâ€™d cheerfully accept an apple pie from. Her hair was tied in a bun, and like Topknotâ€™s, it had a long gray feather stuck through it.

The Floridians looked sheepish. Topknot spoke at length. The woman said a couple of words. Topknot spread his arms above him and muttered something at the sky.

The woman walked around Masklin and Angalo as if they were items on display. When she looked Masklin up and down, he caught her eye and thought: She looks like a little old lady, but sheâ€™s in charge. If she doesnâ€™t like us, weâ€™re in a lot of trouble.

She reached up and took the stone out of his hand. He didnâ€™t resist.

Then she touched the Thing.

It spoke. What it said sounded very much like the words the woman had just used. She pulled her hand away sharply and looked at the Thing with her head on one side. Then she stood back.

At another command the Floridians formed, not a line, but a sort of V shape with the woman at the tip of it and the travelers inside it.

â€œAre we prisoners?â€ said Gurder, who had cooled off a bit.

â€œI donâ€™t think so,â€ said Masklin. â€œNot exactly prisoners, yet.â€

The meal was some sort of a lizard. Masklin quite enjoyed it; it reminded him of his days as an Outsider, before they found the Store. The other two ate it only because not eating it would be impolite, and it probably wasnâ€™t a good idea to be impolite to people who had spears when you didnâ€™t.

The Floridians watched them solemnly.

There were at least thirty of them, all wearing identical gray clothes. They looked quite like the Store nomes, except for being slightly darker and much skinnier. Many of them had large, impressive noses, which the Thing said was perfectly okay and all because of genetics.

The Thing was talking to them. Occasionally it would extend one of its sensors and use it to draw shapes in the dirt.

â€œThingâ€™s probably telling â€™em we-come-from-place-belong-far-on-big-bird-that-doesnâ€™t-go-flap,â€ said Angalo.

A lot of the time the Thing was simply repeating the womanâ€™s own words back at her.

Eventually Angalo couldnâ€™t stand it anymore.

â€œWhatâ€™s happening, Thing?â€ he said. â€œWhyâ€™s the woman doing all the talking?â€
â€œShe is the leader of this group,â€ said the Thing.

â€œA woman? Are you serious?â€
â€œI am always serious. Itâ€™s built in.â€
â€œOh.â€

Angalo nudged Masklin. â€œIf Grimma ever finds out, weâ€™re in real trouble,â€ he said.

â€œHer name is Very-small-tree, or Shrub,â€ the Thing went on.

â€œAnd you can understand her?â€ said Masklin.

â€œGradually. Their language is very close to original Nomish.â€
â€œWhat do you mean, original Nomish?â€
â€œThe language your ancestors spoke.â€

Masklin shrugged. There was no point in trying to understand that now.

â€œHave you told her about us?â€ he said.

â€œYes. She saysâ€”â€

Topknot, who had been muttering to himself, stood up suddenly and spoke very sharply at great length, with a lot of pointing to the ground and to the sky.

The Thing flashed a few lights.

â€œHe says you are trespassing on the land belonging to the Maker of Clouds. He says that is very bad. He says the Maker of Clouds will be very angry.â€

There was a general murmur of agreement from many of the nomes. Shrub spoke to them sharply. Masklin stuck out a hand to stop Gurder from getting up.

â€œWhat does, er, Shrub think?â€ he said.

â€œI donâ€™t think she is very sympathetic to the topknot person. His name is Person-who-knows-what-the-Maker-of-Clouds-is-thinking.â€
â€œAnd what is the Maker of Clouds?â€
â€œItâ€™s bad luck to say its true name. It made the ground and it is still making the sky. Itâ€”â€

Topknot spoke again. He sounded angry.

We need to be friends with these people, Masklin thought. There has to be a way.

â€œThe Maker of Clouds is . . .â€ Masklin thought hard. â€œ. . . a sort of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?â€
â€œYes,â€ said the Thing.

â€œA real thing?â€
â€œI think so. Are you prepared to take a risk?â€
â€œWhat?â€
â€œI think I know the identity of the Maker of Clouds. I think I know when it will make some more sky.â€
â€œWhat? When?â€ said Masklin.

â€œIn three hours and ten minutes.â€

Masklin hesitated.

â€œHold on a moment,â€ he said, slowly. â€œThat sounds like the same sort of time thatâ€”â€
â€œYes. All three of you, please get ready to run. I will now write the name of the Maker of Clouds.â€
â€œWhy will we have to run?â€
â€œThey might get very angry. But we havenâ€™t time to waste.â€

The Thing waved the sensor. It wasnâ€™t intended as a writing implement, and the shapes it drew were angular and hard to read.

It scrawled four shapes in the dust.

The effect was instantaneous.

Topknot started to shout again. Some of the Floridians leaped to their feet. Masklin grabbed the other two travelers.

â€œIâ€™m really going to thump that old nome in a minute,â€ said Gurder. â€œHow can anyone be so narrow-minded?â€

Shrub sat silently while the row went on around her. Then she spoke, very loudly but very calmly.

â€œShe is telling them,â€ said the Thing, â€œthat it is not wrong to write the name of the Maker of Clouds. It is often written by the Maker of Clouds itself. How famous the Maker of Clouds must be, that even these strangers know its name, she says.â€

That seemed to satisfy most of the nomes. Topknot started to grumble to himself.

Masklin relaxed a bit and looked down at the figures in the sand.

â€œN . . . A . . . 8 . . . A?â€ he said.

â€œItâ€™s an â€˜S,â€™â€ said the Thing, â€œnot an â€˜8.â€™â€
â€œBut youâ€™ve only been talking to them for a little while!â€ said Angalo. â€œHow can you know something like this?â€
â€œBecause I know how nomes think,â€ said the Thing. â€œYou always believe what you read, and youâ€™ve all got very literal minds. Very literal minds indeed.â€

6

GEESE: A type of bird that is slower than, e.g., CONCORDE, and you donâ€™t get anything to eat. According to nomes who know them well, a goose is the most stupid bird there is, except for a duck. Geese spend a lot of time flying to other places. As a form of transport, the goose leaves a lot to be desired.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

IN THE BEGINNING, said Shrub, there was nothing but ground. NASA saw the emptiness above the ground and decided to fill it with sky. It built a place in the middle of the world and sent up towers full of clouds. Sometimes they also carried stars, because at night, after one of the cloud towers had gone up, the nomes could sometimes see new stars moving across the sky.

The land around the cloud towers was NASAâ€™s special country. There were more animals there, and fewer humans. It was a pretty good place for nomes. Some of them believed that NASA had arranged it all for precisely that reason.

Shrub sat back.

â€œAnd does she believe that?â€ said Masklin. He looked across the clearing to where Gurder and Topknot were arguing. Neither could understand what the other was saying, but they were still arguing.

The Thing translated.

Shrub laughed.

â€œShe says, days come, days go, who needs to believe anything? She sees things happen with her own eyes, and these are things she knows happen. Belief is a wonderful thing for those who need it, she says. But she knows this place belongs to NASA, because its name is on signs.â€

Angalo grinned. He was so excited, he was nearly in tears.

â€œThey live right by the place the going-up jets go from and they think itâ€™s some sort of magic place!â€ he said.

â€œIsnâ€™t it?â€ said Masklin, almost to himself. â€œAnyway, itâ€™s no more strange than thinking the Store was the whole world. Thing, how do they watch the going-up jets? Theyâ€™re a long way away.â€
â€œNot far at all. Eighteen miles is not far at all, she says. She says they can be there in little more than an hour.â€

Shrub nodded at their astonishment and then, without another word, stood up and walked away through the bushes. She signaled the nomes to follow her. Half a dozen Floridians trailed after their leader, making the shape of a V with her at the point.

After a few yards the greenery opened out again beside a small lake.

The nomes were used to large bodies of water. There were reservoirs near the airport. They were even used to ducks. But the things paddling enthusiastically toward them were a lot bigger than ducks. Besides, ducks were like a lot of other animals and recognized in nomes the shape, if not the size, of humans and kept a safe distance away from them. They didnâ€™t come tearing toward them as if the mere sight of them were the best thing that had happened all day.

Some of these creatures were almost flying in their desire to get to the nomes.

Masklin looked around automatically for a weapon. Shrub grabbed his arm, shook her head, and said a couple of words.

â€œTheyâ€™re friendly,â€ the Thing translated.

â€œThey donâ€™t look it!â€
â€œTheyâ€™re geese,â€ said the Thing. â€œQuite harmless, except to grass and minor organisms. They fly here for the winter.â€

The geese arrived with a bow wave that surged over the nomesâ€™ feet, and arched their necks down toward Shrub. She patted a couple of fearsome-looking beaks.

Masklin tried hard not to look like a minor organism.

â€œThey migrate here from colder climates,â€ the Thing went on. â€œThey rely on the Floridians to pick the right course for them.â€
â€œOh, good. Thatâ€™s . . .â€ Masklin stopped while his brain caught up with his mouth. â€œYouâ€™re going to tell me these nomes fly on them, right?â€
â€œCertainly. They travel with the geese. Incidentally, you have two hours and forty-one minutes to launch.â€
â€œI want to make it absolutely clear,â€ said Angalo slowly, as a great feathery head dabbled in the water a few inches away, â€œthat if youâ€™re suggesting that we ride on a geeseâ€”â€
â€œA goose. One geese is a goose.â€
â€œâ€”you can think again. Or compute, or whatever it is you do.â€
â€œYou have a better suggestion, of course,â€ said the Thing. If it had had a face, it would have been sneering.

â€œSuggesting we donâ€™t ride on them strikes me as a whole lot better, yes,â€ said Angalo.

â€œI dunno,â€ said Masklin, who had been watching the geese speculatively. â€œI might be prepared to give it a try.â€
â€œThe Floridians have developed a very interesting relationship with the geese,â€ said the Thing. â€œThe geese provide the nomes with wings, and the nomes provide the geese with brains. They fly north to Canada in the summer, and back here for the winter. Itâ€™s almost a symbiotic relationship, although of course theyâ€™re not familiar with the term.â€
â€œArenâ€™t they? Silly old them,â€ Angalo muttered.

â€œI donâ€™t understand you, Angalo,â€ said Masklin. â€œYouâ€™re mad for riding in machines with whirring bits of metal pushing them along, yet youâ€™re worried about sitting on a perfectly natural bird.â€
â€œThatâ€™s because I donâ€™t understand how birds work,â€ said Angalo. â€œIâ€™ve never seen an exploded working diagram of a goose.â€
â€œThe geese are the reason the Floridians have never had much to do with humans,â€ the Thing continued. â€œAs I said, their language is almost original Nomish.â€

Shrub was watching them carefully. There was something about the way she was treating them that still seemed odd to Masklin. It wasnâ€™t that she was afraid of them, or aggressive, or unpleasant.

â€œSheâ€™s not surprised,â€ he said aloud. â€œSheâ€™s interested, but sheâ€™s not surprised. They were upset because we were here, not because we existed. How many other nomes has she met?â€

The Thing had to translate.

It was a word that Masklin had known for only a year.

Thousands.

The leading tree frog was trying to wrestle with a new idea. It was very dimly aware that it needed a new type of thought.

There had been the world, with the pool in the middle and the petals round the edge. One.

But farther along the branch was another world. From here it looked tantalizingly like the flower they had left. One.

The leading frog sat in a clump of moss and swiveled each eye so that it could see both worlds at the same time. One there. And one there.

One. And one.

The frogâ€™s forehead bulged as it tried to get its mind around a new idea. One and one were one. But if you had one here and one there . . .

The other frogs watched in bewilderment as their leaderâ€™s eyes whizzed round and round.

One here and one there couldnâ€™t be one. They were too far apart. You needed a word that meant both ones. You needed to say . . . you needed to say . . .

The frogâ€™s mouth widened. It grinned so broadly that both ends almost met behind its head.

It had worked it out.

â€œ.â€“.â€“.mipmip.â€“.â€“!â€ it said.

It meant: one. And one more one.

Gurder was still arguing with Topknot when they got back.

â€œHow do they manage to keep it up? They donâ€™t understand what each otherâ€™s saying!â€ said Angalo.

â€œBest way,â€ said Masklin. â€œGurder? Weâ€™re ready to go. Come on.â€

Gurder looked up. He was very red in the face. He and Topknot were crouched on either side of a mass of scrawled diagrams in the dirt.

â€œI need the Thing!â€ he said. â€œThis idiot refuses to understand anything!â€
â€œYou wonâ€™t win any arguments with him,â€ said Masklin. â€œShrub says he argues with all other nomes they meet. He likes to.â€
â€œWhat other nomes?â€ said Gurder.

â€œThereâ€™s nomes everywhere, Gurder. Thatâ€™s what Shrub says. Thereâ€™s other groups even in Floridia. Andâ€”andâ€”and in Canadia, where the Floridians go in the summer. There were probably even other nomes back home! We just never found them!â€

He pulled the Abbot to his feet.

â€œAnd we havenâ€™t got a lot of time left,â€ he added.

â€œIâ€™m not going up on one of those things!â€

The geese gave Gurder a puzzled look, as if he were an unexpected frog in their waterweed.

â€œIâ€™m not very happy about it either,â€ said Masklin, â€œbut Shrubâ€™s people do it all the time. You just snuggle down in the feathers and hang on.â€
â€œSnuggle?â€ shouted Gurder. â€œIâ€™ve never snuggled in my life!â€
â€œYou rode on the Concorde,â€ Angalo pointed out. â€œAnd that was built and driven by humans.â€

Gurder glared like someone who wasnâ€™t going to give in easily.

â€œWell, who built the geese?â€ he demanded.

Angalo grinned at Masklin, who said: â€œWhat? Dunno. Other geese, I expect.â€
â€œGeese? Geese? And what do they know about designing for air safety?â€
â€œListen,â€ said Masklin. â€œThey can take us all the way across this place. The Floridians fly thousands of miles on them. Thousands of miles, without even any smoked salmon or pink wobbly stuff. Itâ€™s worth trying it for eighteen miles, isnâ€™t it?â€

Gurder hesitated. Topknot muttered something.

Gurder cleared his throat.

â€œVery well,â€ he said haughtily. â€œIâ€™m sure if this misguided individual is in the habit of flying on these things, I should have no difficulty whatsoever.â€ He stared up at the gray shapes bobbing out in the lagoon. â€œDo the Floridians talk to the creatures?â€

The Thing tried this on Shrub. She shook her head. No, she said, geese were quite stupid. Friendly but stupid. Why talk to something that couldnâ€™t talk back?

â€œHave you told her what weâ€™re doing?â€ said Masklin.

â€œNo. She hasnâ€™t asked.â€
â€œHow do we get on?â€

Shrub stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled.

Half a dozen geese waddled up the bank. Close to, they didnâ€™t look any smaller.

â€œI remember reading something about geese once,â€ said Gurder, in a sort of dreamy terror. â€œIt said they could break a humanâ€™s arm with a blow of their nose.â€
â€œWing,â€ said Angalo, looking up at the feathery gray bodies looming over him. â€œIt was their wing.â€
â€œAnd it was swans that do that,â€ said Masklin weakly. â€œGeese are the ones you mustnâ€™t say boo to.â€

Gurder watched a long neck weave back and forth above him.

â€œWouldnâ€™t dream of it,â€ he said.

A long time after, when Masklin came to write the story of his life, he described the flight of the geese as the fastest, highest, and most terrifying of all.

People said, Hold on, thatâ€™s not right. You said, Masklin, that the plane went so fast it left its sound behind, and so high up there was blue all around it.

And he said, Thatâ€™s the point. It went so fast you didnâ€™t know how fast it was going; it went so high you couldnâ€™t see how high it was. It was just something that happened. And the Concorde looked as though it was meant to fly. When it was on the ground, it looked kind of lost.

The geese, on the other hand, looked as aerodynamic as a pillow. They didnâ€™t roll into the sky and sneer at the clouds like the plane did. No, they ran across the top of the water and hammered desperately at the air with their wings and then, just when it was obvious they werenâ€™t going to achieve anything, they suddenly did; the water dropped away and there was just the slow creak of wings pulling the goose up into the sky.

Masklin would be the first to admit that he didnâ€™t understand about jets and engines and machines, so maybe that was why he didnâ€™t worry about traveling in them. But he thought he knew a thing or two about muscles, and the knowledge that it was only a couple of big muscles that were keeping him alive was not comforting.

Each traveler shared a goose with one of the Floridians. They didnâ€™t do any steering, as far as Masklin could see. That was all done by Shrub, who sat far out on the neck of the leading goose.

The ones behind it followed their leader in a perfect V shape.

Masklin buried himself in the feathers. It was comfortable, if a bit cold. Floridians, he learned later, had no difficulty sleeping on a flying goose. The mere thought gave Masklin nightmares.

He peered out just long enough to see distant trees sweeping by much too fast, and stuck his head down again.

â€œHow long have we got, Thing?â€ he said.

â€œI estimate arrival in the vicinity of the launch pad one hour from launch.â€
â€œI suppose thereâ€™s absolutely no possibility that launches have anything to do with lunches?â€ said Masklin wistfully.

â€œNo.â€
â€œPity. Wellâ€”have you any suggestions about how we get on the machine?â€
â€œThat is almost impossible.â€
â€œI thought youâ€™d say that.â€
â€œBut you could put ME on,â€ the Thing added.

â€œYes, but how? Tie you to the outside?â€
â€œNo. Get me close enough and I will do the rest.â€
â€œWhat rest?â€
â€œCall the Ship.â€
â€œYes, where is the Ship? Iâ€™m amazed satellites and things havenâ€™t bumped into it.â€
â€œIt is waiting.â€
â€œYouâ€™re a great help, sometimes.â€
â€œThank you.â€
â€œThat was meant to be sarcastic.â€
â€œI know.â€

There was a rustling beside Masklin, and his Floridian co-rider pushed aside a feather. It was the boy he had seen with Shrub. Heâ€™d said nothing but had just stared at Masklin and the Thing. Now he grinned and said a few words.

â€œHe wants to know if you feel sick.â€
â€œI feel fine,â€ Masklin lied. â€œWhatâ€™s his name?â€
â€œHis name is Pion. He is Shrubâ€™s oldest son.â€

Pion gave Masklin another encouraging grin.

â€œHe wants to know what it is like in a jet,â€ said the Thing. â€œHe says it sounds exciting. They see them sometimes, but they keep away from them.â€

The goose canted sideways. Masklin tried to hang on with his toes as well as his feet.

â€œIt must be much more exciting than geese, he says,â€ said the Thing.

â€œOh, I donâ€™t know,â€ said Masklin weakly.

Landing was much worse than flying. It would have been better on water, Masklin was told later, but Shrub had brought them down on land. The geese didnâ€™t like that much. It meant that they had to almost stand on the air, flapping furiously, and then drop the last few inches.

Pion helped Masklin down onto the ground, which seemed to him to be moving from side to side. The other travelers tottered toward him through the throng of birds.

â€œThe ground!â€ panted Angalo. â€œIt was so close! No one seemed to mind!â€

He sagged to his knees.

â€œAnd they make honking noises!â€ he said. â€œAnd keep swinging from side to side! And theyâ€™re all knobbly under the feathers!â€

Masklin flexed his arms to let the tension out.

The land around them didnâ€™t seem a lot different from the place theyâ€™d left, except that the vegetation was lower and Masklin couldnâ€™t see any water.

â€œShrub says that this is as close as the geese can go,â€ the Thing said. â€œIt is too dangerous to go any farther.â€

Shrub nodded and pointed to the horizon.

There was a white shape on it.

â€œThat?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s it?â€ said Angalo.

â€œYes.â€
â€œDoesnâ€™t look very big,â€ said Gurder quietly.

â€œItâ€™s still quite a long way off,â€ said Masklin.

â€œI can see helicopters,â€ said Angalo. â€œNo wonder Shrub didnâ€™t want to take the geese any closer.â€
â€œWe must be going,â€ said Masklin. â€œWeâ€™ve got an hour, and I reckon thatâ€™s barely enough. Er. Weâ€™d better say good-bye to Shrub. Can you explain, Thing? Tell her thatâ€”that weâ€™ll try and find her again. Afterward. If everythingâ€™s all right. I suppose.â€
â€œIf there is any afterward,â€ Gurder added. He looked like a badly washed dishcloth.

Shrub nodded when the Thing had finished translating, and then pushed Pion forward.

The Thing told Masklin what she wanted.

â€œWhat? We canâ€™t take him with us!â€ said Masklin.

â€œYoung nomes in Shrubâ€™s people are encouraged to travel,â€ said the Thing. â€œPion is only fourteen months old and already he has been to Alaska.â€
â€œTry and explain that weâ€™re not going to a Laska,â€ said Masklin. â€œTry and make her understand that all sorts of things could happen to him!â€

The Thing translated.

â€œShe says that is good. A growing boy should always seek out new experiences.â€
â€œWhat? Are you translating me properly?â€ said Masklin suspiciously.

â€œYes.â€
â€œWell, have you told her itâ€™s dangerous?â€
â€œYes. She says that danger is what being alive is all about.â€
â€œBut he could be killed!â€ Masklin shrieked.

â€œThen he will go up into the sky and become a star.â€
â€œIs that what they believe?â€
â€œYes. They believe that the operating system of a nome starts off as a goose. If it is a good goose, it becomes a nome. When a good nome dies, NASA takes it up into the sky and it becomes a star.â€
â€œWhatâ€™s an operating system?â€ said Masklin. This was religion. He always felt out of his depth with religion.

â€œThe thing inside you that tells you what you are,â€ said the Thing.

â€œIt means a soul,â€ said Gurder wearily.

â€œNever heard such a lot of nonsense,â€ said Angalo cheerfully. â€œAt least, not since we were in the Store and believed we came back as garden ornaments, eh?â€ He nudged Gurder in the ribs.

Instead of getting angry about this, Gurder just looked even more despondent.

â€œLet the lad come if he likes,â€ Angalo went on. â€œHe shows the right spirit. He reminds me of me when I was like him.â€
â€œHis mother says that if he gets homesick, he can always find a goose to bring him back,â€ said the Thing.

Masklin opened his mouth to speak.

But there were times when you couldnâ€™t say anything because there was nothing to say. If you had to explain anything to someone else, then there had to be something you were both sure of, some place to start, and Masklin wasnâ€™t sure that there was any place like that around Shrub. He wondered how big the world was to her. Probably bigger than he could imagine. But it stopped at the sky.

â€œOh, all right,â€ he said. â€œBut we have to go right away. No time for long tearfulâ€”â€

Pion nodded to his mother and came and stood by Masklin, who couldnâ€™t think of anything to say. Even later on, when he understood the geese nomes better, he never quite got used to the way they cheerfully parted from one another. Distances didnâ€™t seem to mean much to them.

â€œCome on then,â€ he managed.

Gurder glowered at Topknot, who had insisted on coming this far. â€œI really wish I could talk to that nome,â€ he said.

â€œShrub told me heâ€™s quite a decent nome, really,â€ said Masklin. â€œHeâ€™s just a bit set in his ways.â€
â€œJust like you, Gurder,â€ said Angalo.

â€œMe? Iâ€™m notâ€”â€ Gurder began.

â€œOf course youâ€™re not,â€ said Masklin soothingly. â€œNow, letâ€™s go.â€

They jogged through scrub two or three times as high as they were.

â€œWeâ€™ll never have time,â€ Gurder panted.

â€œSave your breath for running,â€ said Angalo.

â€œDo they have smoked salmon on Shuttles?â€ said Gurder.

â€œDunno,â€ said Masklin, pushing his way through a particularly tough clump of grass.

â€œNo, they donâ€™t,â€ said Angalo authoritatively. â€œI remember reading about it in a book. They eat out of tubes.â€

The nomes ran in silence while they thought about this.

â€œWhat, toothpaste?â€ said Gurder after a while.

â€œNo, not toothpaste. Of course not toothpaste. Iâ€™m sure not toothpaste.â€
â€œWell, what else do you know that comes in tubes?â€

Angalo thought about this.

â€œGlue?â€ he said, uncertainly.

â€œDoesnâ€™t sound a good meal to me. Toothpaste and glue?â€
â€œThe people who drive the space jets must like it. They were all smiling in the picture I saw,â€ said Angalo.

â€œThat wasnâ€™t smiling, that was probably just them trying to get their teeth apart,â€ said Gurder.

â€œNo, youâ€™ve got it all wrong,â€ Angalo decided, thinking fast. â€œThey have to have their food in tubes because of gravity.â€
â€œWhat about gravity?â€
â€œThere isnâ€™t any.â€
â€œAny what?â€
â€œGravity. So everything floats around.â€
â€œWhat, in water?â€ said Gurder.

â€œNo, in air. Because thereâ€™s nothing to hold it on the plate, you see.â€
â€œOh.â€ Gurder nodded. â€œIs that where the glue comes in?â€

Masklin knew that they could go on like this for hours. What these sounds mean, he thought, is: I am alive and so are you. And weâ€™re all very worried that we might not be alive for much longer, so weâ€™ll just keep talking, because thatâ€™s better than thinking.

It had all looked better when it was days or weeks away, but now when it wasâ€”

â€œHow long, Thing?â€
â€œForty minutes.â€
â€œWeâ€™ve got to have another rest! Gurder isnâ€™t running, heâ€™s just falling upright.â€

They collapsed in the shade of a bush. The Shuttle didnâ€™t look much closer, but they could see plenty of other activity. There were more helicopters. According to frantic signs from Pion, who climbed up the bush, there were humans, much farther off.

â€œI need to sleep,â€ said Angalo.

â€œDidnâ€™t you sleep on the goose?â€ said Masklin.

â€œDid you?â€

Angalo stretched out in the shade.

â€œHow are we going to get on the Shuttle?â€ he said.

Masklin shrugged. â€œWell, the Thing says we donâ€™t have to get on it, we just have to put the Thing on it.â€

Angalo pushed himself up on his elbows. â€œYou mean we donâ€™t get to ride on it? I was looking forward to that!â€
â€œI donâ€™t think itâ€™s like the Truck, Angalo. I donâ€™t think they leave a window open for anyone to sneak in,â€ said Masklin. â€œI think itâ€™d take more than a lot of nomes and some string to fly it, anyway.â€
â€œYou know, that was the best time of my life, when I drove the Truck,â€ said Angalo dreamily. â€œWhen I think of all those months I lived in the Store, not even knowing about the Outside . . .â€

Masklin waited politely. His head felt heavy.

â€œWell?â€ he said.

â€œWell what?â€
â€œWhat happens when you think of all those months in the Store not knowing about the Outside?â€
â€œIt just seems like a waste. Do you know what Iâ€™m going to do ifâ€”I mean, when we get home? Iâ€™m going to write down everything weâ€™ve learned. We should be doing that, you know. Making lots of our own books. Not just reading human books, which are full of made-up things. And not just making books like Gurderâ€™s Book of Nome. Books of proper stuff, like Science. . . .â€

Masklin glanced at Gurder. The Abbot wasnâ€™t making any comment. He was asleep already.

Pion curled up and started to snore. Angaloâ€™s voice trailed off. He yawned.

They hadnâ€™t slept for hours. Nomes slept mainly at night but needed catnaps to get through the long day. Even Masklin was nodding.

â€œThing?â€ he remembered to say, â€œwake me up in ten minutes, will you?â€

7

SATELLITES: They are in SPACE and stay there by going so fast that they never stay in one place long enough to fall down. TELEVISIONS are bounced off them. They are part of SCIENCE.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

IT WASNâ€™T THE Thing that woke Masklin up. It was Gurder.

Masklin lay with his eyes half closed, listening. Gurder was talking to the Thing in a low voice.

â€œI believed in the Store,â€ he said, â€œand then it was just a, a sort of thing built by humans. And I thought Grandson Richard, 39, was some special person, and he turned out to be a human who sings when he wets himselfâ€”â€
â€œâ€”takes a showerâ€”â€
â€œâ€”and now thereâ€™s thousands of nomes in the world! Thousands! Believing all sorts of things! That stupid Topknot person believes that the going-up shuttles make the sky. Do you know what I thought when I heard that? I thought, If heâ€™d been the one arriving in my world instead of the other way around, heâ€™d have thought I was just as stupid! I am just as stupid! Thing?â€
â€œI was maintaining a tactful silence.â€
â€œAngalo believes in silly machinery and Masklin believes in, oh, I donâ€™t know. Space. Or not believing in things. And it all works for them. I try and believe in important things and they donâ€™t last for five minutes. Whereâ€™s the fairness in that?â€
â€œOnly another tactful and understanding silence suffices at this point.â€
â€œI just wanted to make some sense out of life.â€
â€œThis is a commendable aim.â€
â€œI mean, what is the truth of everything?â€

There was a pause. Then the Thing said: â€œI recall your conversation with Masklin about the origin of nomes. You wanted to ask me. I can answer now. I was made. I know this is true. I know that I am a thing made of metal and plastic, but also that I am something that lives inside that metal and plastic. It is impossible for me not to be absolutely certain of it. This is a great comfort. As to nomes, I have data that says nomes originated on another world and came here thousands of years ago. This may be true. It may not be true. I am not in a position to judge.â€
â€œI knew where I was, back in the Store,â€ said Gurder, half to himself. â€œAnd even in the quarry it wasnâ€™t too bad. I had a proper job. I was important to people. How can I go back now, knowing that everything I believed about the Store and Arnold Bros and Grandson Richard is just . . . is just an opinion?â€
â€œI cannot advise. I am sorry.â€

Masklin decided it was a diplomatic time to wake up. He made a grunting noise just to be sure that Gurder heard him.

The Abbot was very red in the face.

â€œI couldnâ€™t sleep,â€ he said shortly.

Masklin stood up.

â€œHow long, Thing?â€
â€œTwenty-seven minutes.â€
â€œWhy didnâ€™t you wake me up!â€
â€œI wished you to be refreshed.â€
â€œBut itâ€™s still a long way off. Weâ€™ll never get you onto it in time. Wake up, you.â€ Masklin prodded Angalo with his foot. â€œCome on, weâ€™ll have to run. Whereâ€™s Pion? Oh, there you are. Come on, Gurder.â€

They jogged on through the scrub. In the distance, there was the low mournful howl of sirens.

â€œYouâ€™re cutting it really fine, Masklin,â€ said Angalo.

â€œFaster! Run faster!â€

Now that they were closer, Masklin could see the Shuttle. It was quite high up. There didnâ€™t seem to be anything useful at ground level.

â€œI hope youâ€™ve got a good plan, Thing,â€ he panted, as the four of them dodged between the bushes, â€œbecause Iâ€™ll never be able to get you all the way up there.â€
â€œDo not worry. We are nearly close enough.â€
â€œWhat do you mean? Itâ€™s still a long way off!â€
â€œIt is close enough for me to get on.â€
â€œWhat is it going to do? Take a flying leap?â€ said Angalo.

â€œPut me down.â€

Masklin obediently put the black box on the ground. It extended a few of its probes, which swung around slowly for a while and then pointed toward the going-up jet.

â€œWhat are you playing at?â€ said Masklin. â€œThis is wasting time!â€

Gurder laughed, although not in a very happy way.

â€œI know what itâ€™s doing,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s sending itself onto the Shuttle. Right, Thing?â€
â€œI am transmitting an instruction subset to the computer on the communications satellite,â€ said the Thing.

The nomes said nothing.

â€œOr, to put it another way . . . yes, I am turning the satellite computer into a part of me. Although not a very intelligent one.â€
â€œCan you really do that?â€ said Angalo.

â€œCertainly.â€
â€œWow. And you wonâ€™t miss the bit youâ€™re sending?â€
â€œNo. Because it will not leave me.â€
â€œYouâ€™re sending it and keeping it at the same time?â€
â€œYes.â€

Angalo looked at Masklin.

â€œDid you understand any of that?â€ he demanded.

â€œI did,â€ said Gurder. â€œThe Thingâ€™s saying itâ€™s not just a machine, itâ€™s a sort of . . . a sort of collection of electric thoughts that live in a machine. I think.â€

Lights flickered around on top of the Thing.

â€œDoes it take a long time to do?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYes. Please do not take up vital communication power at this point.â€
â€œI think he means he doesnâ€™t want us to talk to him,â€ said Gurder. â€œHeâ€™s concentrating.â€
â€œIt,â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™s an it. And it made us run all the way here just soâ€™s we can hurry up and wait.â€
â€œIt probably has to be close up to do . . . whatever it is itâ€™s doing,â€ said Masklin.

â€œHow longâ€™s it going to take?â€ said Angalo. â€œIt seems ages since it was twenty-seven minutes to go.â€
â€œTwenty-seven minutes at least,â€ said Gurder.

â€œYeah. Maybe more.â€

Pion pulled at Masklinâ€™s arm, pointed to the looming white shape with his other hand, and rattled off a long sentence in Floridian or, if the Thing was right, nearly original Nomish.

â€œI canâ€™t understand you without the Thing,â€ said Masklin. â€œSorry.â€
â€œNo speaka da goose-oh,â€ said Angalo.

A look of panic spread across the boyâ€™s face. He shouted this time, and tugged harder.

â€œI think he doesnâ€™t want to be near the going-up jets when they start up,â€ said Angalo. â€œHeâ€™s probably afraid of the noise. Donâ€™tâ€”likeâ€”theâ€”noise, right?â€ he said.

Pion nodded furiously.

â€œThey didnâ€™t sound too bad at the airport,â€ said Angalo. â€œMore of a rumble. I expect they might frighten unsophisticated people.â€
â€œI donâ€™t think Shrubâ€™s people are particularly unsophisticated,â€ said Masklin thoughtfully. He looked up at the white tower. It had seemed a long way away, but in some ways it might be quite close.

Really very close.

â€œHow safe do you think it is here?â€ he said. â€œWhen it goes up, I mean.â€
â€œOh, come on,â€ said Angalo. â€œThe Thing wouldnâ€™t have let us come right here if it wasnâ€™t safe for nomes.â€
â€œSure, sure,â€ said Masklin. â€œRight. Youâ€™re right. Silly to dwell on it, really.â€

Pion turned and ran.

The other three looked back at the Shuttle. Lights moved in complicated patterns on the top of the Thing.

Somewhere another siren sounded. There was a sensation of power, as though the biggest spring in the world were being wound up.

When Masklin spoke, the other two seemed to hear him speak their own thoughts.

â€œExactly how good,â€ he said, very slowly, â€œdo you think the Thing is at judging how close nomes can stand to a going-up jet when it goes up? I mean, how much experience has it got, do you think?â€

They looked at one another.

â€œMaybe we should back off a little bit . . . ?â€ Gurder began.

They turned and walked away.

Then each one of them couldnâ€™t help noticing that the others seemed to be walking faster and faster.

Faster and faster.

Then, as one nome, they gave up and ran for it, fighting their way through the scrub and grass, skidding on stones, elbows going up and down like pistons. Gurder, who was normally out of breath at anything above walking pace, bounded along like a balloon.

â€œHave . . . you . . . any . . . any . . . idea . . . how . . . how . . . close . . . ?â€ Angalo panted.

The sound behind them started like a hiss, like the whole world taking a deep breath. Then it turned into . . .

. . . not noise, but something more like an invisible hammer that smacked into both ears at once.

8

SPACE: There are two types of space: a) something containing nothing and b) nothing containing everything. It is what you have left when you havenâ€™t got anything else. There is no air or gravity, which is what holds people on to things. If there wasnâ€™t space, everything would be in one place. It is designed to be a place for SATELLITES, SHUTTLES, PLANETS, and THE SHIP.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

AFTER SOME TIME, when the ground had stopped shaking, the nomes picked themselves up and stared blearily at one another.

â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â !â€ said Gurder.

â€œWhat?â€ said Masklin. His own voice sounded a long way away, and muffled.

â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ?â€ said Gurder.

â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ?â€ said Angalo.

â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ?â€
â€œWhat? I canâ€™t hear you! Can you hear me?â€
â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ?â€

Masklin saw Gurderâ€™s lips move. He pointed to his own ears and shook his head.

â€œWeâ€™ve gone deaf!â€
â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ?â€
â€œÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ?â€
â€œDeaf, I said.â€ Masklin looked up.

Smoke billowed overhead, and out of it, rising fast even to a nomeâ€™s high-speed senses, was a long, growing cloud tipped with fire. The noise dropped to something merely very loud and then, very quickly, disappeared.

Masklin stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it around.

The absence of sound was replaced by the terrible hiss of silence.

â€œAnyone listening?â€ he ventured. â€œAnyone hearing me?â€
â€œThat,â€ said Angalo, his voice sounding blurred and unnaturally calm, â€œwas pretty loud. I donâ€™t reckon many things come much louder.â€

Masklin nodded. He felt as though heâ€™d been pounded hard by something.

â€œYou know about these things, Angalo,â€ he said weakly. â€œHumans ride on them, do they?â€
â€œOh, yes. Right at the top.â€
â€œNo one makes them do it?â€
â€œEr. I donâ€™t think so,â€ said Angalo. â€œI think the book said a lot of them want to do it.â€
â€œThey want to do it?â€

Angalo shrugged. â€œThatâ€™s what it said.â€

There was only a distant dot now, at the end of a widening white cloud of smoke.

Masklin watched it.

We must be insane, he thought. Weâ€™re tiny and itâ€™s a big world, and we never stop to learn enough about where we are before we go somewhere else. At least back when I lived in a hole, I knew everything there was to know about living in a hole, and now itâ€™s a year later and Iâ€™m at a place so far away, I donâ€™t even know how far away it is, watching something I donâ€™t understand go to a place so far up there is no down. And I canâ€™t go back. Iâ€™ve got to go right on to the end of whatever all this is, because I canâ€™t go back. I canâ€™t even stop.

So thatâ€™s what Grimma meant about the frogs. Once you know things, youâ€™re a different person. You canâ€™t help it.

He looked back down. Something was missing.

The Thing . . .

He ran back the way theyâ€™d come.

The little black box was where heâ€™d left it. The rods had withdrawn into it, and there werenâ€™t any lights.

â€œThing?â€ he said uncertainly.

One red light came on faintly. Masklin suddenly felt cold, despite the heat around him.

â€œAre you all right?â€ he said.

The light flickered.

â€œToo quick. Used too much pow . . .â€ it said.

â€œPow?â€ said Masklin. He tried hard not to wonder why the word hadnâ€™t been much more than a growl.

The light dimmed.

â€œThing? Thing?â€ He tapped gently on the box. â€œDid it work? Is the Ship coming? What do we do now? Wake up! Thing?â€

The light went out.

Masklin picked the Thing up and turned it over and over in his hands.

â€œThing?â€

Masklin and Gurder hurried up, with Pion behind them.

â€œDid it work?â€ said Angalo. â€œCanâ€™t see any Ship yet.â€

Masklin turned his face toward them.

â€œThe Thingâ€™s stopped,â€ he said.

â€œStopped?â€
â€œAll the lights have gone out!â€
â€œWell, what does that mean?â€ Angalo started to look panicky.

â€œI donâ€™t know!â€
â€œIs it dead?â€ said Gurder.

â€œIt canâ€™t die! Itâ€™s existed for thousands of years!â€

Gurder shook his head. â€œSounds like a good reason for dying,â€ he said.

â€œBut itâ€™s a, a thing.â€

Angalo sat down with his arms around his knees.

â€œDid it say if it got everything sorted out? Whenâ€™s the Ship coming?â€
â€œListen, donâ€™t you care? Itâ€™s run out of pow!â€
â€œPow?â€
â€œIt must mean electricity. It kind of sucks it out of wires and stuff. I think it can store it for a while, too. And now it must have run out.â€

They looked at the black box. It had spent thousands of years being handed down from nome to nome without ever saying a word or lighting a light. It had woken up again only when it had been brought into the Store, near electricity.

â€œIt looks creepy, sitting there doing nothing,â€ said Angalo.

â€œCanâ€™t we find it some electricity?â€ said Gurder.

â€œAround here? There isnâ€™t any!â€ Angalo snapped. â€œWeâ€™re in the middle of nowhere!â€

Masklin stood up and gazed around. It was just possible to see some buildings in the distance. There was a movement of vehicles around them.

â€œWhat about the Ship?â€ said Angalo. â€œIs it on its way?â€
â€œI donâ€™t know!â€
â€œHow will it find us?â€
â€œI donâ€™t know!â€
â€œWhoâ€™s driving it?â€
â€œI donâ€™tâ€”â€ Masklin stopped in horror. â€œNo one! I mean, who could be driving it? There hasnâ€™t been anyone on it for thousands of years!â€
â€œWho was going to bring it here, then?â€
â€œI donâ€™t know! The Thing, maybe?â€
â€œYou mean itâ€™s on its way and no oneâ€™s driving it?â€
â€œYes! No! I donâ€™t know!â€

Angalo squinted up at the blue sky.

â€œOh, wow,â€ he said, glumly.

â€œWe need to find some electricity for the Thing,â€ said Masklin. â€œEven if itâ€™s managed to summon the Ship, the Ship will still need to be told where we are.â€
â€œIf it summoned the Ship,â€ said Gurder. â€œIt might have run out of pow before it had time.â€
â€œWe canâ€™t be sure,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnyway, we must help the Thing. I hate to see it like that.â€

Pion, who had disappeared into the scrub, came back dragging a lizard.

â€œAh,â€ said Gurder without any enthusiasm. â€œHere comes lunch.â€
â€œIf the Thing was talking, we could tell Pion you can get awfully tired of lizard, in time,â€ said Angalo.

â€œIn about two seconds,â€ said Gurder.

â€œCome on,â€ said Masklin, wearily. â€œLetâ€™s go and find some shade and think up another plan.â€
â€œOh, a plan,â€ Gurder said, as if that were worse than lizard. â€œI like plans.â€

They ateâ€”not very wellâ€”and lay back watching the sky. The brief sleep on the way hadnâ€™t been enough. It was easy to doze.

â€œI must say, these Floridians have got it all worked out,â€ said Gurder lazily. â€œItâ€™s cold back home, and here theyâ€™ve got the heating turned up just right.â€
â€œI keep telling you, itâ€™s not the heating,â€ said Angalo, straining his eyes for any sign of a descending ship. â€œAnd the wind isnâ€™t the air conditioning, either. Itâ€™s the sun that makes you warm.â€
â€œI thought that was just for lighting,â€ said Gurder.

â€œAnd itâ€™s where all the heat comes from,â€ said Angalo. â€œI read it in a book. Itâ€™s a great ball of fire bigger than the world.â€

Gurder eyed the sun suspiciously.

â€œOh, yes?â€ he said. â€œWhat keeps it up?â€
â€œNothing. Itâ€™s just kind of there.â€

Gurder squinted at the sun again.

â€œIs this generally known?â€ he said.

â€œI suppose so. It was in the book.â€
â€œFor anyone to read? I call that irresponsible. Thatâ€™s the sort of thing that can really upset people.â€
â€œThereâ€™s thousands of suns up there, Masklin says.â€

Gurder sniffed. â€œYes, heâ€™s told me. Itâ€™s called the glaxie, or something. Personally, Iâ€™m against it.â€

Angalo chuckled.

â€œI donâ€™t see whatâ€™s so funny,â€ said Gurder coldly.

â€œTell him, Masklin,â€ said Angalo.

â€œItâ€™s all very well for you,â€ Gurder muttered. â€œYou just want to drive things fast. I want to make sense of them. Maybe there are thousands of suns, but why?â€
â€œCanâ€™t see that it matters,â€ said Angalo lazily.

â€œItâ€™s the only thing that does matter. Tell him, Masklin.â€

They both looked at Masklin.

At least, where Masklin had been sitting.

Heâ€™d gone.

Beyond the top of the sky was the place the Thing had called the universe. It containedâ€”according to the Thingâ€”everything and nothing. And there was very little everything and more nothing than anyone could imagine.

For example, it was often said that the sky was full of stars. It was untrue. The sky was full of sky. There were unlimited amounts of sky and really, by comparison, very few stars.

It was amazing, therefore, that they made such an impression. . . .

Thousands of them looked down now as something round and shiny drifted around the Earth.

It had Arnsat 1 painted on its side, which was a bit of a waste of paint since stars canâ€™t read.

It unfolded a silver dish.

It should then have turned to face the planet below it, ready to beam down old movies and new news.

It didnâ€™t. It had new orders.

Little puffs of gas jetted out as it turned around and searched the sky for a new target.

By the time it had found it, a lot of people in the old movies and new news business were shouting very angrily at one another down telephone lines, and some of them were feverishly trying to give it new instructions.

But that didnâ€™t matter, because it wasnâ€™t listening anymore.

Masklin galloped through the scrub. Theyâ€™ll argue and bicker, he thought. Iâ€™ve got to do this quickly. I donâ€™t think weâ€™ve got a lot of time.

It was the first time heâ€™d been really alone since the days when heâ€™d lived in a hole and had to go out hunting by himself because there was no one else.

Had it been better then? At least it had been simpler. You just had to try to eat without being eaten. Just getting through the day was a triumph. Everything had been bad, but at least it had been a kind of understandable, nome-sized badness.

In those days the world had ended at the highway on one side and the woods beyond the field on the other side. Now it had no kind of boundaries at all, and more problems than he knew what to do with.

But at least he knew where to find electricity. You found it near buildings with humans in them.

The scrub ahead of Masklin opened out onto a track. He turned onto it and ran faster. Go along any track and youâ€™d find humans on it somewhere. . . .

There were footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw Pion. The young Floridian gave him a worried smile.

â€œGo away!â€ Masklin said. â€œGo on! Go! Go back! Why are you following me? Go away!â€

Pion looked hurt. He pointed up the track and said something.

â€œI donâ€™t understand!â€ shouted Masklin.

Pion stuck a hand high above his head, palm downward.

â€œHumans?â€ Masklin guessed. â€œYes. I know. I know what Iâ€™m doing. Go back!â€

Pion said something else.

Masklin lifted up the Thing. â€œTalking box no go,â€ he said helplessly. â€œGood grief, why should I have to speak like this? You must be at least as intelligent as me. Go on, go away. Go back to the others.â€

He turned and ran. He looked back briefly and saw Pion watching him.

How much time have I got? he wondered. Thing once told me the Ship flies very fast. Maybe it could be here any minute. Maybe itâ€™s not coming at all. . . .

He saw figures loom over the scrub. Yes, follow any track and sooner or later you find humans. They get everywhere.

Yes, maybe the Ship isnâ€™t coming at all.

If it isnâ€™t, he thought, then what Iâ€™m going to do now is probably the most stupid thing any nome has ever done anywhere in the total history of nomekind.

He stepped out into a circle of gravel. A small truck was parked in it, with the name of the Floridian god NASA painted on the side. Close by, a couple of humans were bent over a piece of machinery on a tripod.

They didnâ€™t notice Masklin. He walked closer, his heart thumping.

He put down the Thing.

He cupped his hands around his mouth.

He tried to shout as clearly and as slowly as possible.

â€œHey, there! You! Hum-mans!â€
â€œHe did what?â€ shouted Angalo.

Pion ran through his pantomime of gestures again.

â€œTalked to humans?â€ said Angalo. â€œWent in a thing with wheels?â€
â€œI thought I heard a truck engine,â€ said Gurder.

Angalo pounded a fist into his palm.

â€œHe was worried about the Thing,â€ he said. â€œHe wanted to find it some electricity!â€
â€œBut we must be miles from any buildings!â€ said Gurder.

â€œNot the way Masklinâ€™s going!â€ Angalo snarled.

â€œI knew it would come to this!â€ Gurder moaned. â€œShowing ourselves to humans! We never used to do that sort of thing in the Store! What are we going to do?â€

Masklin thought: Up to now, itâ€™s not too bad.

The humans hadnâ€™t really known what to do about him. Theyâ€™d even backed away! And then one of them had rushed to the truck and talked into a machine on a string. Probably some sort of telephone, Masklin thought knowledgeably.

When he hadnâ€™t moved, one of the humans had fetched a box out of the back of the truck and crept toward him as if expecting Masklin to explode. In fact, when he waved, the human jumped back clumsily.

The other humans said something, and the box was cautiously put down on the gravel a few feet from Masklin.

Then both humans watched him expectantly.

He kept smiling, to put them at their ease, and climbed into the box. Then he gave them another wave.

One of the humans reached down gingerly and picked up the box, lifting it up in the air as though Masklin were something very rare and delicate. He was carried to the truck. The human got in and, still holding the box with exaggerated care, placed it on its knees. A radio crackled with deep human voices.

Well, no going back now. Knowing that, Masklin very nearly relaxed. Perhaps it was best to look at it as just another step along lifeâ€™s sidewalk.

They kept staring at him, as if they didnâ€™t believe what they were seeing.

The truck lurched off. After a while it turned onto a concrete road, where another truck was waiting. A human got out, spoke to the driver of Masklinâ€™s truck, laughed in a slow human way, looked down at Masklin, and stopped laughing very suddenly.

It almost ran back to its own truck and started speaking into another telephone.

I knew this would happen, Masklin thought. They donâ€™t know what to do with a real nome. Amazing.

But just so long as they take me somewhere where thereâ€™s the right kind of electricity . . .

Dorcas, the engineer, had once tried to explain electricity to Masklin, but without much success because Dorcas wasnâ€™t too certain about it either. There seemed to be two kinds, straight and wiggly. The straight kind was very boring and stayed in batteries. The wiggly kind was found in wires in the walls and things, and somehow the Thing could steal some of it if it was close enough. Dorcas used to talk about wiggly electricity in the same tone of voice Gurder used for talking about Arnold Bros (est. 1905). Heâ€™d tried to study it back in the Store. If it was put into freezers it made things cold, but if the same electricity went into an oven it made things hot, so how did it know?

Dorcas used to talk, Masklin thought. I said â€œused to.â€ I hope he still does.

He felt light-headed and oddly optimistic. Part of him was saying: Thatâ€™s because if you for one second think seriously about the position youâ€™ve put yourself in, youâ€™ll panic.

Keep smiling.

The truck purred along the road, with the other truck following it. Masklin saw a third truck rattle down a side road and pull in behind them. There were a lot of humans on it, and most of them were watching the skies.

They didnâ€™t stop at the nearest building but drove on to a bigger one with many more vehicles outside. More humans were waiting for them.

One of them opened the truck door, doing it very slowly even for a human.

The human carrying Masklin got out of the truck.

Masklin looked up at dozens of staring faces. He could see every eyeball, every nostril. Every one of them looked worried. At least, every eyeball did. The nostrils just looked like nostrils.

They were worried about him.

Keep smiling.

He stared back up at them and, still almost giggling with repressed panic, said, â€œCan I help you, gentlemen?â€

9

SCIENCE: A way of finding things out and then making them work. Science explains what is happening around us the whole time. So does RELIGION, but science is better because it comes up with more understandable excuses when itâ€™s wrong. There is a lot more Science than you think.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

GURDER, ANGALO, AND Pion sat under a bush. It gave them a bit of shade. The cloud of gloom over them was almost as big.

â€œWeâ€™ll never even get home without the Thing,â€ said Gurder.

â€œThen weâ€™ll get Masklin out,â€ said Angalo.

â€œThatâ€™ll take forever!â€
â€œYeah? Well, thatâ€™s nearly as long as weâ€™ve got here, if we canâ€™t get home.â€ Angalo had found a pebble that was almost the right shape to attach to a twig with strips torn off his coat; heâ€™d never seen a stone axe in his life, but he had a definite feeling that there were useful things that could be done with a stone tied to the end of a stick.

â€œI wish youâ€™d stop fiddling with that thing,â€ Gurder said. â€œWhatâ€™s the big plan, then? Us against the whole of Floridia?â€
â€œNot necessarily. You neednâ€™t come.â€
â€œCalm down, Mr. To-the-Rescue. One idiotâ€™s enough.â€
â€œI donâ€™t hear you coming up with any better ideas.â€ Angalo swished the axe through the air once or twice.

â€œI havenâ€™t got any.â€

A small red light started to flash on the Thing.

After a while, a small square hole opened up and there was a tiny whirring sound as the Thing extended a little lens on a stick. This turned around slowly.

Then the Thing spoke.

â€œWhere,â€ it asked, â€œis this place?â€

It tilted the lens up and there was a pause while it surveyed the face of the human looking down at it.

â€œAnd why?â€ it added.

â€œIâ€™m not sure,â€ said Masklin. â€œWeâ€™re in a room in a big building. The humans havenâ€™t hurt me. I think one of them has been trying to talk to me.â€
â€œWe appear to be in some sort of glass box,â€ said the Thing.

â€œThey even gave me a little bed,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd I think the thing over there is some kind of lavatoryâ€”but look, what about the Ship?â€
â€œI expect it is on its way,â€ said the Thing calmly.

â€œExpect? Expect? You mean you donâ€™t know?â€
â€œMany things can go wrong. If they have gone right, the Ship will be here soon.â€
â€œIf they donâ€™t, Iâ€™m stuck here for life!â€ said Masklin bitterly. â€œI came here because of you, you know.â€
â€œYes, I know. Thank you.â€

Masklin relaxed a bit.

â€œTheyâ€™re being quite kind,â€ he said. He thought about this. â€œAt least I think so,â€ he added. â€œItâ€™s hard to tell.â€

He looked through the transparent wall. A lot of humans had been in to look at him in the last few minutes. He wasnâ€™t quite certain whether he was an honored visitor or a prisoner or maybe something in between.

â€œIt seemed the only hope at the time,â€ he said lamely.

â€œI am monitoring communications.â€
â€œYouâ€™re always doing that.â€
â€œA lot of them are about you. All kinds of experts are rushing here to have a look at you.â€
â€œWhat kind of experts? Experts in nomes?â€
â€œExperts in talking to creatures from other worlds. Humans havenâ€™t met anyone from another world, but theyâ€™ve still got experts in talking to them.â€
â€œAll this had better work,â€ said Masklin soberly. â€œHumans really know about nomes now.â€
â€œBut not what nomes are. They think you have just arrived.â€
â€œWell, thatâ€™s true.â€
â€œNot arrived here. Arrived on the planet. Arrived from the stars.â€
â€œBut weâ€™ve been here for thousands of years! We live here!â€
â€œHumans find it a lot easier to really believe in little people from the sky than little people from the Earth. They would rather think of little green men than leprechauns.â€

Masklinâ€™s brow wrinkled. â€œI didnâ€™t understand any of that,â€ he said.

â€œDonâ€™t worry about it. It doesnâ€™t matter.â€ The Thing let its lens swivel around to see more of the room.

â€œVery nice. Very scientific,â€ it said.

Then it focused on a wide plastic tray by Masklin.

â€œWhat is that?â€
â€œOh, fruit and nuts and meat and stuff,â€ said Masklin. â€œI think theyâ€™ve been watching me to see what I eat. I think these are quite bright humans, Thing. I pointed to my mouth and they understood I was hungry.â€
â€œAh,â€ said the Thing. â€œTake me to your larder.â€
â€œPardon?â€
â€œI will explain. I have told you that I monitor communications?â€
â€œAll the time.â€
â€œThere is a joke. That is, a humorous anecdote or story, known to humans. It concerns a ship from another world landing on this planet, and strange creatures get out and say to a gas pump, trash can, slot machine, or similar mechanical device, â€˜Take me to your leader.â€™ I surmise this is because they are unaware of the shape of humans. I have substituted the similar word larder, referring to a place where food is stored. This is a humorous pun, or play on words for hilarious effect.â€

It paused.

â€œOh,â€ said Masklin. He thought about it. â€œThese would be the little green men you mentioned?â€
â€œVery . . . Wait a moment. Wait a moment.â€
â€œWhat? What?â€ said Masklin urgently.

â€œI can hear the Ship.â€

Masklin listened as hard as he could.

â€œI canâ€™t hear a thing,â€ he said.

â€œNot sound. Radio.â€
â€œWhere is it? Where is it, Thing? Youâ€™ve always said the Shipâ€™s up there, but where?â€

The remaining tree frogs crouched amid the moss to escape the heat of the afternoon sun.

Low in the eastern sky was a sliver of white.

It would be nice to think that the tree frogs had legends about it. It would be nice to think that they thought the sun and moon were distant flowersâ€”a yellow one by day, a white one by night. It would be nice to think they had legends about them, and said that when a good frog died, its soul would go to be big flowers in the sky. . . .

The trouble is that itâ€™s frogs weâ€™re talking about here. Their name for the sun was â€œ.â€“.â€“mipmip.â€“.â€“.â€ Their name for the moon was â€œ.â€“.â€“mipmip.â€“.â€“.â€ Their name for everything was â€œ.â€“.â€“mipmip.â€“.â€“.â€ And when youâ€™re stuck with a vocabulary of one word, itâ€™s pretty hard to have legends about anything at all.

The leading frog, however, was dimly aware that there was something wrong with the moon.

It was growing brighter.

â€œWe left the Ship on the moon?â€ said Masklin. â€œWhy?â€
â€œThatâ€™s what your ancestors decided to do,â€ said the Thing. â€œSo they could keep an eye on it, I assume.â€

Masklinâ€™s face lit up slowly, like clouds at sunrise.

â€œYou know,â€ he said, excitedly, â€œright back before all this, right back when we used to live in the old hole, I used to sit out at nights and watch the moon. Perhaps in my blood I really knew that up thereâ€”â€
â€œNo, what you were experiencing was probably primitive superstition,â€ said the Thing.

Masklin deflated. â€œOh. Sorry.â€
â€œAnd now, please be quiet. The Ship is feeling lost and wants to be told what to do. It has just woken up after fifteen thousand years.â€
â€œIâ€™m not very good at mornings myself,â€ Masklin said.

There is no sound on the moon, but this doesnâ€™t matter because there is no one to hear anything. Sound would just be a waste.

But there is light.

Fine moondust billowed high across the ancient plains of the moonâ€™s dark crescent, expanding in boiling clouds that went high enough to catch the rays of the sun. They glittered.

Down below, something was digging itself out.

â€œWe left it in a hole?â€ said Masklin.

Lights rippled back and forth across all the surfaces of the Thing.

â€œDonâ€™t say thatâ€™s why you always lived in holes,â€ it said. â€œOther nomes donâ€™t live in holes.â€
â€œNo, thatâ€™s true,â€ said Masklin. â€œI ought to stop thinking only about theâ€”â€

He suddenly went quiet. He stared out of the glass tank, where a human was trying to interest him in marks on a blackboard.

â€œYouâ€™ve got to stop it,â€ he said. â€œRight now. Stop the Ship. Weâ€™ve got it all wrong. Thing, we canâ€™t go! It doesnâ€™t belong to just us! We canâ€™t take the Ship!â€

The three nomes lurking near the Shuttle launching place watched the sky. As the sun neared the horizon, the moon sparkled like a Christmas decoration.

â€œIt must be caused by the Ship!â€ said Angalo. â€œIt must be!â€ He beamed at the others. â€œThatâ€™s it, then. Itâ€™s on its way!â€
â€œI never thought it would work . . .â€ Gurder began.

Angalo slapped Pion on the back, and pointed.

â€œSee that, my lad?â€ he said. â€œThatâ€™s the Ship, that is! Ours!â€

Gurder rubbed his chin and nodded thoughtfully at Pion.

â€œYes,â€ he said. â€œThatâ€™s right. Ours.â€
â€œMasklin says thereâ€™s all kinds of stuff up there,â€ said Angalo dreamily. â€œAnd masses of space. Thatâ€™s what space is well known for, lots of space. Masklin said the Ship goes faster than light goes, which is probably wrong, otherwise howâ€™d you see anything? Youâ€™d turn the lights on, and all the light would drop backward out of the room. But itâ€™s pretty fastâ€”â€

Gurder looked back at the sky again. Something at the back of his mind was pushing its way to the front and giving him a curious gray feeling.

â€œOur Ship,â€ he said. â€œThe one that brought nomes here.â€
â€œYeah, thatâ€™s right,â€ said Angalo, hardly hearing him.

â€œAnd itâ€™ll take us all back,â€ Gurder went on.

â€œThatâ€™s what Masklin said, andâ€”â€
â€œAll nomes,â€ said Gurder. His voice was as flat and heavy as a sheet of lead.

â€œSure. Why not? I expect Iâ€™ll soon work out how to drive it back to the quarry, and we can pick them all up. And Pion here, of course.â€
â€œWhat about Pionâ€™s people?â€ said Gurder.

â€œOh, they can come too,â€ said Angalo expansively. â€œThereâ€™s probably even room for their geese!â€
â€œAnd the others?â€

Angalo looked surprised. â€œWhat others?â€
â€œShrub said there were lots of other groups of nomes. Everywhere.â€

Angalo looked blank. â€œOh, them. Well, I donâ€™t know about them. But we need the Ship. You know what itâ€™s been like ever since we left the Store.â€
â€œBut if we take the Ship away, what will they have if they need it?â€

Masklin had just asked the same question.

The Thing said, â€œ01001101010101110101010010 110101110010.â€
â€œWhat did you say?â€

The Thing sounded tetchy. â€œIf I lose concentration, there might not be a Ship for anyone,â€ it said. â€œI am sending fifteen thousand instructions per second.â€

Masklin said nothing.

â€œThatâ€™s a lot of instructions,â€ the Thing added.

â€œBy rights the Ship must belong to all the nomes in the world,â€ said Masklin.

â€œ010011001010010010 . . .â€
â€œOh, shut up and tell me when the Ship is going to get here.â€
â€œ0101011001 . . . Which do you want me to do? . . . 01001100 . . .â€
â€œWhat?â€
â€œI can shut up OR I can tell you when the Ship is going to arrive. I canâ€™t do both.â€
â€œPlease tell me when the Ship is going to arrive,â€ said Masklin patiently, â€œand then shut up.â€
â€œFour minutes.â€
â€œFour minutes!â€
â€œI could be three seconds off,â€ said the Thing. â€œBut I calculate it as four minutes. Only now itâ€™s three minutes thirty-eight seconds. Itâ€™ll be three minutes and thirty-seven seconds any second now. . . .â€
â€œI canâ€™t hang around in here if itâ€™s coming that soon!â€ said Masklin, all thoughts of his duty to the nomes of the world temporarily forgotten. â€œHow can I get out? This thingâ€™s got a lid on it.â€
â€œDo you want me to shut up first, or get you out and then shut up?â€ said the Thing.

â€œPlease!â€
â€œHave the humans seen you move?â€ said the Thing.

â€œWhat do you mean?â€
â€œDo they know how fast you can run?â€
â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ said Masklin. â€œI suppose not.â€
â€œGet ready to run, then. But first put your hands over your ears.â€

Masklin thought it would be best to obey. The Thing could be deliberately infuriating at times, but it didnâ€™t pay to ignore its advice.

Lights on the Thing made a brief star-shaped pattern.

It started to wail. The sound went up and then went beyond Masklinâ€™s hearing. He could feel it even with his hands over his ears; it seemed to be making unpleasant bubbles in his head.

He opened his mouth to shout at the Thing, and the walls exploded. One moment there was glass, and the next there were bits of glass, drifting out like a jigsaw puzzle where every piece had suddenly decided it wanted some personal space. The lid slid down, almost hitting him.

â€œNow pick me up and run,â€ ordered the Thing, before the shards had spilled across the table.

Humans around the room were turning to look in that slow, clumsy way humans had.

Masklin grabbed the Thing and took off across the polished surface.

â€œDown!â€ he said. â€œWeâ€™re high up, how do we get down?â€ He looked around desperately. There was some sort of machine at the other end of the table, covered with little dials and lights. Heâ€™d watched one of the humans using it.

â€œWires,â€ he said. â€œThereâ€™s always wires!â€

He skidded around, dodged easily around a giant hand as it tried to grab him, and sped along the table.

â€œIâ€™ll have to throw you over,â€ he panted. â€œI canâ€™t carry you down!â€
â€œIâ€™ll be all right.â€

Masklin slid to a stop by the table edge and threw the Thing down. There were wires running down toward the floor. He leaped for one, swung around madly, and then half fell and half slid down it.

Humans were lurching toward him from everywhere. He picked up the Thing again, hugging it to his chest, and darted forward. There was a footâ€”brown shoe, dark blue sock. He zigged. There were two more feetâ€”black shoes, black socks. And they were about to trip over the first foot . . .

He zagged.

There were more feet, and hands reaching vainly down. Masklin was a blur, dodging and weaving between feet that could flatten him.

And then there was nothing but open floor.

Somewhere an alarm sounded, its shrill note sounding deep and awesome to Masklin.

â€œHead for the door,â€ suggested the Thing.

â€œBut more humansâ€™ll be coming in,â€ hissed Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s good, because weâ€™re going out.â€

Masklin reached the door just as it opened. A gap of a few inches appeared, with more feet behind it.

There wasnâ€™t any time to think. Masklin ran over the shoe, jumped down on the other side, and ran on.

â€œWhere now? Where now?â€
â€œOutside.â€
â€œWhich way is that?â€
â€œEvery way.â€
â€œThank you very much!â€

Doors were opening all along the corridor. Humans were coming out. The problem was not evading captureâ€”it would take a very alert human even to see a nome running at full speed, let alone catch oneâ€”but simply avoiding being trodden on by accident.

â€œWhy donâ€™t they have mouseholes? Every building should have mouseholes!â€ Masklin moaned.

A boot stamped down an inch away. He jumped.

The corridor was filling with humans. Another alarm started to sound.

â€œWhyâ€™s all this happening? I canâ€™t be causing all this? There canâ€™t be all this trouble over just one nome!â€
â€œItâ€™s the Ship. They have seen the Ship.â€

A shoe almost awarded Masklin the prize for the most perfectly flattened nome in Florida. As it was, he almost ran into it.

Unlike most shoes, it had a name on it. It was a Crucial Street Drifter with Real Rubber Sole, Patâ€™d. The sock above it looked as though it could be a Histyle Odorprufe, made of Guaranteed eighty-five percent Polyputheketlon, the most expensive sock in the world.

Masklin looked farther up. Beyond the great sweep of blue trouser and the distant clouds of sweater was a beard.

It was Grandson Richard, 39.

Just when you thought there was no one watching over nomes, the universe went and tried to prove you wrong. . . .

Masklin took a standing jump and landed on the trouser leg, just as the foot moved. It was the safest place. Humans didnâ€™t often tread on other humans.

The foot took a step and came down again. Masklin swung backward and forward, trying to pull himself up the rough cloth. There was a seam an inch away. He managed to grab it; the stitches gave a better handhold.

Grandson Richard, 39, was in a crush of people all heading the same way. Several other humans banged into him, almost jarring Masklin loose. He kicked his boots off and tried to grip with his toes.

There was a slow thumping as Grandson Richardâ€™s feet hit the ground.

Masklin reached a pocket, got a decent foothold, and climbed on. A bulky label helped him up to the belt. Masklin was used to labels in the Store, but this was pretty big even by big label standards. It was covered in lettering and had been riveted to the trousers, as if Grandson Richard were some sort of machine.

â€œâ€˜Grossbergers Hagglers, the First Name in Jeans,â€™â€ he read. â€œAnd thereâ€™s lots of stuff about how good they are, and pictures of cows and things. Why dâ€™you think he wants labels all over him?â€
â€œPerhaps if he hasnâ€™t got labels, he doesnâ€™t know what his clothes are,â€ said the Thing.

â€œGood point. Heâ€™d probably put his shoes on his head.â€

Masklin glanced back at the label as he grabbed the sweater.

â€œIt says here that these jeans won a gold medal in the Chicago Exhibition in 1910,â€ he said. â€œTheyâ€™ve certainly lasted well.â€

Humans were streaming out of the building.

The sweater was much easier to climb. Masklin hauled himself up quickly. Grandson Richard had quite long hair, which also helped when it was time to climb up onto the shoulder.

A doorframe passed briefly overhead, and then the deep blue of the sky.

â€œHow long, Thing?â€ Masklin hissed. Grandson Richardâ€™s ear was only a few inches away.

â€œForty-three seconds.â€

The humans spilled out onto the wide concrete space in front of the building. Some more hurried out of the building, carrying machinery. They kept running into one another because they were all staring at the sky.

Another group was clustered around one human, who was looking very worried.

â€œWhatâ€™s going on, Thing?â€ Masklin whispered.

â€œThe human in the middle of the group is the most important one here. It came to watch the Shuttle launch. Now all the others are telling it that itâ€™s got to be the one to welcome the Ship.â€
â€œThatâ€™s a bit of a nerve. Itâ€™s not their Ship.â€
â€œYes, but they think itâ€™s coming to talk to them.â€
â€œWhy should they think that?â€
â€œBecause they think theyâ€™re the most important creatures on the planet.â€
â€œHah!â€
â€œAmazing, isnâ€™t it?â€ said the Thing.

â€œEveryone knows nomes are more important,â€ said Masklin. â€œAt least . . . every nome does.â€ He thought about this for a moment and shook his head. â€œSo thatâ€™s the head human, is it? Is it some sort of extra-wise one, or something?â€
â€œI donâ€™t think so. The other humans around it are trying to explain to it what a planet is.â€
â€œDoesnâ€™t it know?â€
â€œMany humans donâ€™t. Mistervicepresident is one of them. 001010011000.â€
â€œYouâ€™re talking to the Ship again?â€
â€œYes. Six seconds.â€
â€œItâ€™s really coming. . . .â€
â€œYes.â€

10

GRAVITY: This is not properly understood, but it is what makes small things, like nomes, stick to big things, like planets. Because of SCIENCE, this happens whether you know about gravity or not. Which goes to show that Science is happening all the time.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

ANGALO LOOKED AROUND.

â€œGurder, come on.â€

Gurder leaned against a tuft of grass and fought to get his breath back.

â€œItâ€™s no good,â€ he wheezed. â€œWhat are you thinking of? We canâ€™t fight humans alone!â€
â€œWeâ€™ve got Pion. And this is a pretty good axe.â€
â€œOh, thatâ€™s really going to scare them. A stone axe. If you had two axes, I expect theyâ€™d give in right away.â€

Angalo swung it backward and forward. It had a comforting feel.

â€œYouâ€™ve got to try,â€ he said simply. â€œCome on, Pion. What are you watching? Geese?â€

Pion was staring at the sky.

â€œThereâ€™s a dot up there,â€ said Gurder, squinting.

â€œItâ€™s probably a bird,â€ said Angalo.

â€œDoesnâ€™t look like a bird.â€
â€œThen itâ€™s a plane.â€
â€œDoesnâ€™t look like a plane.â€

Now all three of them were staring upward, their upturned faces forming a triangle.

There was a black dot up there.

â€œYou donâ€™t think he actually managed it, do you?â€ said Angalo uncertainly.

What had been a dot was now a small dark circle.

â€œItâ€™s not moving, though,â€ said Gurder.

â€œItâ€™s not moving sideways, anyway,â€ said Angalo, still speaking very slowly. â€œItâ€™s moving more sort of down.â€

What had been a small dark circle was a larger dark circle, with just a suspicion of smoke or steam around its edges.

â€œIt might be some sort of weather,â€ said Angalo. â€œYou know. Special Floridian weather?â€
â€œOh, yeah? One great big hailstone, right? Itâ€™s the Ship! Coming for us!â€

It was a lot bigger now and yet, and yet . . . still a very long way off.

â€œIf it could come for us just a little way away, I wouldnâ€™t mind,â€ Gurder quavered. â€œI wouldnâ€™t mind walking a little way.â€
â€œYeah,â€ said Angalo, beginning to look desperate. â€œItâ€™s not so much coming as, as . . .â€
â€œ. . . dropping,â€ said Gurder.

He looked at Angalo.

â€œShall we run?â€ he said.

â€œItâ€™s got to be worth a try,â€ said Angalo.

â€œWhere shall we run to?â€
â€œLetâ€™s just follow Pion, shall we? He started running a while ago.â€

Masklin would be the first to admit that he wasnâ€™t too familiar with forms of transport, but what they all seemed to have in common was a front, which was in front, and a back, which wasnâ€™t. The whole point was that the front was where they went forward from.

The thing dropping out of the sky was a diskâ€”just a top connected to a bottom, with edges round the sides. It didnâ€™t make any noise, but it seemed to be impressing the humans no end.

â€œThatâ€™s it?â€ he said.

â€œYes.â€
â€œOh.â€

And then things seemed to come into focus.

The Ship wasnâ€™t big. It needed a new word. It wasnâ€™t dropping through the thin wisps of cloud up there, it was simply pushing them aside. Just when you thought youâ€™d got some idea of the size, a cloud would stream past and the perspective would wind back. There had to be a special word for something as big as that.

â€œIs it going to crash?â€ he whispered.

â€œI shall land it on the scrub,â€ said the Thing. â€œI donâ€™t want to frighten the humans.â€
â€œRun!â€
â€œWhat do you think Iâ€™m doing?â€
â€œItâ€™s still right above us!â€
â€œIâ€™m running! Iâ€™m running! I canâ€™t run any faster!â€

A shadow fell across the three running nomes.

â€œAll the way to Floridia to be squashed under our own Ship,â€ moaned Angalo. â€œYou never really believed in it, did you? Well, now youâ€™re going to believe in it really hard!â€

The shadow deepened. They could see it racing across the ground ahead of themâ€”gray around the edges, spreading into the darkness of night. Their own private night.

â€œThe others are still out there somewhere,â€ said Masklin.

â€œAh,â€ said the Thing. â€œI forgot.â€
â€œYouâ€™re not supposed to forget things like that!â€
â€œIâ€™ve been very busy lately. I canâ€™t think of everything. Just nearly everything.â€
â€œWell donâ€™t squash anyone!â€
â€œI shall stop it before it lands. Donâ€™t worry.â€

The humans were all talking at once. Some of them had started to run toward the falling ship. Some were running away from it.

Masklin risked a glance at Grandson Richardâ€™s face. It was watching the ship with a strange, rapt expression.

As Masklin stared, the big eyes swiveled slowly sideways. The head turned around. Grandson Richard stared down at the nome on his shoulder.

For the second time, the human saw him. And this time, there was nowhere to run.

Masklin rapped the Thing on its lid.

â€œCan you slow my voice down?â€ he said quickly. An amazed expression was forming on the humanâ€™s face.

â€œWhat do you mean?â€
â€œI mean you just repeat what I say, but slowed down. And louder. So itâ€”so he can understand it?â€
â€œYou want to communicate? With a human?â€
â€œYes! Can you do it?â€
â€œI strongly advise against it! It could be very dangerous!â€

Masklin clenched his fists. â€œCompared to what, Thing? Compared to what? How much more dangerous than not communicating, Thing? Do it! Right now! Tell him . . . tell him weâ€™re not trying to hurt any humans! Right now! I can see his hand moving already! Do it!â€ He held the box right up to Grandson Richardâ€™s ear.

The Thing started to speak in the low, slow tones of human speech.

It seemed to go on for a long time.

The humanâ€™s expression froze.

â€œWhat did you say? What did you say?â€ said Masklin.

â€œI said, if he harms you in any way I shall explode and blow his head off,â€ said the Thing.

â€œYou didnâ€™t!â€
â€œI did.â€
â€œYou call that communicating?â€
â€œYes. I call it very effective communicating.â€
â€œBut itâ€™s a dreadful thing to say! Anyway . . . you never told me you could explode!â€
â€œI canâ€™t. But it doesnâ€™t know that. Itâ€™s only human,â€ said the Thing.

The Ship slowed its fall and drifted down across the scrublands until it met its own shadow. Beside it, the tower where the Shuttle had been launched looked like a pin alongside a very large black plate.

â€œYou landed it on the ground! You said you wouldnâ€™t!â€ said Masklin.

â€œItâ€™s not on the ground. It is floating just above the ground.â€
â€œIt looks as though itâ€™s on the ground to me!â€
â€œIt is floating just above it,â€ repeated the Thing patiently.

Grandson Richard was looking at Masklin down the length of his nose. He looked puzzled.

â€œWhat makes it float?â€ Masklin demanded.

The Thing told him.

â€œAuntie who? Whoâ€™s she? Thereâ€™s relatives on board?â€
â€œNot Auntie. Anti. Antigravity.â€
â€œBut thereâ€™s no flames or smoke!â€
â€œFlames and smoke are not essential.â€

Vehicles were screaming toward the bulk of the Ship.

â€œUm. Exactly how far off the ground did you stop it?â€ Masklin inquired.

â€œFour inches seemed adequateâ€”â€

Angalo lay with his face pressed into the sandy soil.

To his amazement, he was still alive. Or at least, if he was dead, then he was still able to think. Perhaps he was dead, and this was wherever you went afterward.

It seemed pretty much like where heâ€™d been before.

Letâ€™s see, now. Heâ€™d looked up at the great thing dropping out of the sky right toward his head, and had flung himself down, expecting at any second to become just a little greasy mark in a great big hole.

No, he probably hadnâ€™t died. Heâ€™d have remembered something important like that.

â€œGurder?â€ he ventured.

â€œIs that you?â€ said Gurderâ€™s voice.

â€œI hope so. Pion?â€
â€œPion!â€ said Pion, somewhere in the darkness.

Angalo pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

â€œAny idea where we are?â€ he said.

â€œIn the Ship?â€ suggested Gurder.

â€œDonâ€™t think so,â€ said Angalo. â€œThereâ€™s soil here, and grass and stuff.â€
â€œThen where did the Ship go? Whyâ€™s it all dark?â€

Angalo brushed the dirt off his coat. â€œDunno. Maybe . . . maybe it missed us. Maybe we were knocked out, and now itâ€™s nighttime?â€
â€œI can see a bit of light around the horizon,â€ said Gurder. â€œThatâ€™s not right, is it? Thatâ€™s not how nights are supposed to be.â€

Angalo looked around. There was a line of light in the distance. And there was also a strange sound, so quiet that you could miss it but which, once you had noticed it, also seemed to fill up the world.

He stood up to get a better view.

There was a faint thump.

â€œOuch!â€

Angalo reached up to rub his head. His hand touched metal. Crouching a little, he risked turning his head to see what it was heâ€™d hit.

He went very thoughtful for a while.

Then he said, â€œGurder, youâ€™re going to find this amazingly hard to believe. . . .â€
â€œThis time,â€ said Masklin to the Thing, â€œI want you to translate exactly, do you understand? Donâ€™t try to frighten him!â€

Humans had surrounded the Ship. At least, they were trying to surround it, but youâ€™d need an awful lot of humans to surround something the size of the Ship. So they were just surrounding it in places.

More trucks were arriving, many of them with sirens blaring. Grandson Richard had been left standing by himself, watching his own shoulder nervously.

â€œBesides, we owe him something,â€ said Masklin. â€œWe used his satellite. And we stole things.â€
â€œYou said you wanted to do it your way. No help from humans, you said,â€ said the Thing.

â€œItâ€™s different now. There is the Ship,â€ said Masklin. â€œWeâ€™ve made it. Weâ€™re not begging anymore.â€
â€œMay I point out that youâ€™re sitting on his shoulder, not him on yours,â€ said the Thing.

â€œNever mind that,â€ said Masklin. â€œTell itâ€”I mean, ask him to walk toward the Ship. And say please. And say that we donâ€™t want anyone to get hurt. Including me,â€ he added.

Grandson Richardâ€™s reply seemed to take a long time. But he did start to walk toward the crowds around the Ship.

â€œWhat did he say?â€ said Masklin, hanging on tightly to the sweater.

â€œI donâ€™t believe it,â€ said the Thing.

â€œHe doesnâ€™t believe me?â€
â€œHe said his grandfather always talked about the little people, but he never believed it until now. He said: Are you like the ones in the old Store?â€

Masklinâ€™s mouth dropped open. Grandson Richard was watching him intently.

â€œTell him yes,â€ Masklin croaked.

â€œVery well. But I do not think itâ€™ll be a good idea.â€

The Thing boomed. Grandson Richard rumbled a reply.

â€œHe says his grandfather made jokes about little people in the Store,â€ said the Thing. â€œHe used to say they brought him luck.â€

Masklin felt the horrible sensation in his stomach that meant the world was changing again, just when he thought he understood it.

â€œDid his grandfather ever see a nome?â€ he said.

â€œHe says no. But he says that when his grandfather and his grandfatherâ€™s brother were starting the Store and stayed late every night to do the office work, they used to hear sounds in the walls, and they used to tell each other there were little Store people. It was a sort of joke. He says that when he was small, his grandfather used to tell him about little people who came out at night to play with the toys.â€
â€œBut the Store nomes never did things like that!â€ said Masklin.

â€œI didnâ€™t say the stories were true.â€

The Ship was a lot closer now. There didnâ€™t seem to be any doors or windows anywhere. It was as featureless as an egg.

Masklinâ€™s mind was in turmoil. Heâ€™d always believed that humans were quite intelligent. After all, nomes were very intelligent. Rats were quite intelligent. And foxes were intelligent, more or less. There ought to be enough intelligence sloshing around in the world for humans to have some too. But this was something more than intelligence.

He remembered the book called Gulliverâ€™s Travels. It had been a big surprise to the nomes. There had never been an island of small people. He was certain of that. It was a, a, a made-up thing. There had been lots of books in the Store that were like that. Theyâ€™d caused no end of problems for the nomes. For some reason, humans needed things that werenâ€™t true.

They never really thought nomes existed, he thought, but they wanted to believe that we did.

â€œTell him,â€ he said, â€œtell him I must get into the Ship.â€

Grandson Richard whispered. It was like listening to a gale.

â€œHe says there are too many people.â€
â€œWhy are all the humans around it?â€ said Masklin, bewildered. â€œWhy arenâ€™t they frightened?â€

Grandson Richardâ€™s reply was another gale.

â€œHe says they think some creatures from another world will come out and talk to them.â€
â€œWhy?â€
â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ said the Thing. â€œPerhaps they donâ€™t want to be alone.â€
â€œBut thereâ€™s no one in it! Itâ€™s our Shipâ€”â€ Masklin began.

There was a wail. The crowd put their hands over their ears.

Lights appeared on the darkness of the Ship. They twinkled all over the hull in patterns that raced backward and forward and disappeared. There was another wail.

â€œThere isnâ€™t anyone in it, is there?â€ said Masklin. â€œNo nomes were left on it in hibernation or anything?â€

High up on the Ship a square hole opened. There was a whiffling noise, and a beam of red light shot out and set fire to a patch of scrub several hundred yards away.

People started to run.

The Ship rose a few feet, wobbling alarmingly. It drifted sideways a little. Then it went straight up so fast that it was just a blur and jerked to a halt high over the crowd. And then it turned over. And then it went on its edge for a while.

It floated back down again and landed, more or less. That is, one side touched the ground and the other rested on the air, on nothing.

The Ship spoke, loudly.

To the humans it must have sounded like a high-pitched chattering.

What it actually said was: â€œSorry! Sorry! Is this a microphone? Canâ€™t find the button that opens the door . . . letâ€™s try this one. . . .â€

Another square hole opened. Brilliant blue light flooded out.

The voice boomed out across the country again.

â€œGot it!â€ There was the distorted thud-thud of someone who isnâ€™t certain if their microphone is working and who is tapping it experimentally. â€œMasklin, are you out there?â€
â€œThatâ€™s Angalo!â€ said Masklin. â€œNo one else drives like that! Thing, tell Grandson Richard I must get on the Ship! Please!â€

The human nodded.

Humans were milling around the base of the Ship. The doorway was too high up for them to reach.

With Masklin hanging on grimly, Grandson Richard pushed his way through the throng.

The Ship wailed again.

â€œEr,â€ came Angaloâ€™s hugely amplified voice, apparently talking to someone else. â€œIâ€™m not sure about this switch, but maybe itâ€™s . . . Certainly Iâ€™m going to press it, why shouldnâ€™t I press it? Itâ€™s next to the door oneâ€”it must be safe. Look, shut up. . . .â€

A silver ramp wound out of the doorway. It looked big enough for humans.

â€œSee? See?â€ said Angaloâ€™s voice.

â€œThing, can you speak to Angalo?â€ said Masklin. â€œTell him Iâ€™m out here, trying to get to the Ship?â€
â€œNo. He appears to be randomly pressing buttons. It is to be hoped that he does not press the wrong ones.â€
â€œI thought you could tell the Ship what to do!â€ said Masklin.

The Thing managed to sound shocked. â€œNot when a nome is in it,â€ it said. â€œI canâ€™t tell it not to do what a nome tells it to do. Thatâ€™s what being a machine is all about.â€

Grandson Richard was shoving his way through the pushing, shouting mass of humans, but it was hard going.

Masklin sighed.

â€œAsk Grandson Richard to put me down,â€ he said. Then he added, â€œAnd say thank you. Say it . . . it would have been nice to talk more.â€

The Thing did the translation.

Grandson Richard looked surprised. The Thing spoke again. Then he reached up a hand toward Masklin.

If he had to make that list of horrible moments, Masklin would have put this one at the top. Heâ€™d faced foxes, heâ€™d helped to drive the Truck, heâ€™d flown on a gooseâ€”but none of them was half so bad as letting a human being actually touch him. The huge whorled fingers uncurled and passed on either side of his waist. He shut his eyes.

Angaloâ€™s booming voice said, â€œMasklin? Masklin? If anything badâ€™s happened to you, thereâ€™s going to be trouble.â€

Grandson Richardâ€™s fingers gripped Masklin lightly, as though the human were holding something very fragile. Masklin felt himself being slowly lowered toward the ground. He opened his eyes. There was a forest of human legs around him.

He looked up into Grandson Richardâ€™s huge face and, trying to make his voice as deep and slow as possible, said the only word any nome had said directly to a human in fifteen thousand years.

â€œGood-bye.â€

Then he ran through the maze of feet.

Several humans with official-looking trousers and big boots were standing at the bottom of the ramp. Masklin scurried between them and ran on upward.

Ahead of him blue light shone out of the open hatchway. As he ran, he saw two dots appear on the lip of the entrance.

The ramp was long. Masklin hadnâ€™t slept for hours. He wished heâ€™d got some sleep on the bed when the humans were studying him; it had looked quite comfortable.

Suddenly, all his legs wanted to do was go somewhere close and lie down.

He staggered to the top of the ramp, and the dots became the heads of Gurder and Pion. They reached out and pulled him into the Ship.

He turned around and looked down into a sea of human faces below him. Heâ€™d never looked down on a human face before.

They probably couldnâ€™t even see him. Theyâ€™re waiting for the little green men, he thought.

â€œAre you all right?â€ said Gurder urgently. â€œDid they do anything to you?â€
â€œIâ€™m fine, Iâ€™m fine,â€ murmured Masklin. â€œNo one hurt me.â€
â€œYou look dreadful.â€
â€œWe should have talked to them, Gurder,â€ said Masklin. â€œThey need us.â€
â€œAre you sure youâ€™re all right?â€ said Gurder, peering anxiously at him.

Masklinâ€™s head felt full of cotton. â€œYou know you believed in Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?â€ he managed to say.

â€œYes,â€ said Gurder.

Masklin gave him a mad, triumphant grin.

â€œWell, he believed in you, too! How about that?â€

And Masklin folded up, very gently.

11

THE SHIP: The machine used by nomes to leave Earth. We donâ€™t yet know everything about it, but since it was built by nomes using SCIENCE, we will.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

THE RAMP WOUND in. The doorway shut. The Ship rose in the air until it was high above the buildings.

And it stayed there while the sun set.

The humans below tried shining colored lights at it, and playing tunes at it, and eventually just speaking to it in every language known to humans.

It didnâ€™t seem to take any notice.

Masklin woke up.

He was on a very uncomfortable bed. It was all soft. He hated lying on anything softer than the ground. The Store nomes liked sleeping on fancy bits of carpet, but Masklinâ€™s bed had been a bit of wood. Heâ€™d used a piece of rag for a cover and thought that was luxury.

He sat up and looked around the room. It was fairly empty. There was just the bed, a table, and a chair.

A table and a chair.

In the Store, the nomes had made their furniture out of matchboxes and cotton reels; the nomes living Outside didnâ€™t even know what furniture was.

This looked rather like human furniture, but it was nome sized.

Masklin got up and padded across the metal floor to the door. Nome sized, again. A doorway made by nomes for nomes to walk through.

It led into a corridor lined with doors. There was an old feel about it. It wasnâ€™t dirty or dusty. It just felt like somewhere that had been absolutely clean for a very, very long time.

Something purred toward him. It was a small black box, rather like the Thing, mounted on little treads. A small revolving brush on the front was sweeping dust into a slot. At least, if there had been any dust it would have been sweeping it. Masklin wondered how many times it had industriously cleaned this corridor, while it waited for nomes to come back. . . .

It bumped into his foot, beeped at him, and then bustled off in the opposite direction. Masklin followed it.

After a while he passed another one. It was moving along the ceiling with a faint clicking noise, cleaning it.

He turned the corner and almost walked into Gurder.

â€œYouâ€™re up!â€
â€œYes,â€ said Masklin. â€œEr. Weâ€™re on the Ship, right?â€
â€œItâ€™s amazingâ€”!â€ Gurder began. He was wild-eyed, and his hair was sticking up at all angles.

â€œIâ€™m sure it is,â€ said Masklin reassuringly.

â€œBut thereâ€™s all these . . . and thereâ€™s great big . . . and thereâ€™s these huge . . . and youâ€™d never believe how wide . . . and thereâ€™s so much . . .â€ Gurderâ€™s voice trailed off. He looked like a nome who would have to learn new words before he could describe things.

â€œItâ€™s too big!â€ he blurted out. He grabbed Masklinâ€™s arm. â€œCome on,â€ he said, and half ran along the corridor.

â€œHow did you get on?â€ said Masklin, trying to keep up.

â€œIt was amazing! Angalo touched this panel thing and it just moved aside and then we were inside and there was an elevator thing and then we were in this great big room with a seat and Angalo sat down and all these lights came on and he started pressing buttons and moving things!â€
â€œDidnâ€™t you try to stop him?â€

Gurder rolled his eyes. â€œYou know Angalo and machines,â€ he said. â€œBut the Thing is trying to get him to be sensible. Otherwise weâ€™d be crashing into stars by now,â€ he added gloomily.

He led the way through another arch intoâ€”

Well, it had to be a room. It was inside the Ship. It was just as well he knew that, Masklin thought, because otherwise heâ€™d think it was Outside. It stretched away, as big as one of the departments in the Store.

Vast screens and complicated-looking panels covered the walls. Most of them were dark. Shadowy gloom stretched away in every direction, except for a little puddle of light in the very center of the room.

It illuminated Angalo, almost lost in a big padded chair. He had the Thing in front of him, on a sloping metal board studded with switches. He had obviously been arguing with itâ€”when Masklin walked up, Angalo glared at him and said, â€œIt wonâ€™t do what I tell it!â€

The Thing looked as small and black and square as it could.

â€œHe wants to drive the Ship,â€ it said.

â€œYouâ€™re a machine! You have to do what youâ€™re told!â€ snapped Angalo.

â€œIâ€™m an intelligent machine, and I donâ€™t want to end up very flat at the bottom of a deep hole,â€ said the Thing. â€œYou canâ€™t pilot the Ship yet.â€
â€œHow do you know? You wonâ€™t let me try! I drove the Truck, didnâ€™t I? It wasnâ€™t my fault all those trees and streetlights and things got in the way,â€ he added, after catching Masklinâ€™s eye.

â€œI expect the Ship is more difficult,â€ said Masklin diplomatically.

â€œBut Iâ€™m learning about it all the time,â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™s easy. All the buttons have got little pictures on them. Look . . .â€

He pressed a button.

One of the big screens lit up, showing the crowds outside the ship.

â€œTheyâ€™ve been waiting there for ages,â€ said Gurder.

â€œWhat do they want?â€ said Angalo.

â€œSearch me,â€ said Gurder. â€œWho knows what humans want?â€

Masklin stared at the throng below the Ship.

â€œTheyâ€™ve been trying all sorts of stuff,â€ said Angalo. â€œFlashing lights and music and stuff like that. And radio too, the Thing says.â€
â€œHavenâ€™t you tried talking back to them?â€ said Masklin.

â€œNo. Havenâ€™t got anything to say,â€ said Angalo. He rapped on the Thing with his knuckles. â€œRight, Mr. Cleverâ€”if Iâ€™m not going to do the driving, who is?â€
â€œMe.â€
â€œHow?â€
â€œThere is a slot by the seat.â€
â€œI see it. Itâ€™s the same size as you.â€
â€œPut me in it.â€

Angalo shrugged and picked up the Thing. It slid smoothly into the floor until only the top of it was showing.

â€œLook, er,â€ said Angalo, â€œcanâ€™t I do something? Operate the windshield wipers or something? Iâ€™d feel like a twerp sitting here doing nothing.â€

The Thing didnâ€™t seem to hear him. Its light flickered on and off for a moment, as if it were making itself comfortable in a mechanical kind of way. Then it said, in a much deeper voice than it had ever used before: â€œRIGHT.â€

Lights came on all over the Ship. They spread out from the Thing like a tide; panels lit up like little skies full of stars, big lights in the ceiling flickered on, there was a distant banging and fizzing as electricity was woken up, and the air began to smell of thunderstorms.

â€œItâ€™s like the Store at Christmas Fayre,â€ said Gurder.

â€œALL SYSTEMS IN WORKING ORDER,â€ boomed the Thing. â€œNAME OUR DESTINATION.â€
â€œWhat?â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd donâ€™t shout.â€
â€œWhere are we going?â€ said the Thing. â€œYou have to name our destination.â€
â€œItâ€™s got a name already. Itâ€™s called the quarry, isnâ€™t it?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhere is it?â€ said the Thing.

â€œItâ€™sâ€”â€ Masklin waved an arm vaguely. â€œWell, itâ€™s over that way somewhere.â€
â€œWhich way?â€
â€œHow should I know? How many ways are there?â€
â€œThing, are you telling us you donâ€™t know the way back to the quarry?â€ said Gurder.

â€œThat is correct.â€
â€œWeâ€™re lost?â€
â€œNo. I know exactly what planet weâ€™re on,â€ said the Thing.

â€œWe canâ€™t be lost,â€ said Gurder. â€œWeâ€™re here. We know where we are. We just donâ€™t know where we arenâ€™t.â€
â€œCanâ€™t you find the quarry if you go up high enough?â€ said Angalo. â€œYou ought to be able to see it, if you go up high enough.â€
â€œVery well.â€
â€œCan I do it?â€ said Angalo. â€œPlease?â€
â€œPress down with your left foot and pull back on the green lever, then,â€ said the Thing.

There wasnâ€™t so much a noise as a change in the type of silence. Masklin thought he felt heavy for a moment, but then the sensation passed.

The picture in the screen got smaller.

â€œNow, this is what I call proper flying,â€ said Angalo, happily. â€œNo noise and none of that stupid flapping.â€
â€œYes, whereâ€™s Pion?â€ said Masklin.

â€œHe wandered off,â€ said Gurder. â€œI think he was going to get something to eat.â€
â€œOn a machine that no nome has been on for fifteen thousand years?â€ said Masklin.

Gurder shrugged. â€œWell, maybe thereâ€™s something at the back of a cupboard somewhere,â€ he said. â€œI want a word with you, Masklin.â€
â€œYes?â€

Gurder moved closer and glanced over his shoulder at Angalo, who was lying back in the control seat with a look of dreamy contentment on his face.

He lowered his voice.

â€œWe shouldnâ€™t be doing this,â€ he said. â€œI know itâ€™s a dreadful thing to say, after all weâ€™ve been through. But this isnâ€™t just our Ship. It belongs to all nomes, everywhere.â€

He looked relieved when Masklin nodded.

â€œA year ago you didnâ€™t even believe there were any other nomes anywhere,â€ Masklin said.

Gurder looked sheepish. â€œYes. Well. That was then. This is now. I donâ€™t know what I believe in anymore, except that there must be thousands of nomes out there we donâ€™t know about. There might even be other nomes living in Stores! Weâ€™re just the lucky ones who had the Thing. So if we take the Ship away, there wonâ€™t be any hope for them.â€
â€œI know, I know,â€ said Masklin wretchedly. â€œBut what can we do? We need the Ship right now. Anyway, how could we find these other nomes?â€
â€œWeâ€™ve got the Ship!â€ said Gurder.

Masklin waved a hand at the screen, where the landscape was spreading out and becoming misty.

â€œItâ€™d take forever to find nomes down there. You couldnâ€™t do it even with the Ship. Youâ€™d have to be on the ground. Nomes keep hidden! You nomes in the Store didnâ€™t know about my people, and we lived a few miles away. Weâ€™d never have found Pionâ€™s people except by accident. Besidesâ€â€”he couldnâ€™t resist prodding Gurder gentlyâ€”â€œthereâ€™s a bigger problem, too. You know what we nomes are like. Those other nomes probably wouldnâ€™t even believe in the Ship.â€

He was immediately sorry heâ€™d said that. Gurder looked more unhappy than heâ€™d ever seen him.

â€œThatâ€™s true,â€ the Abbot said. â€œI wouldnâ€™t have believed it. Iâ€™m not sure I believe it now, and Iâ€™m on it.â€
â€œMaybe, when weâ€™ve found somewhere to live, we can send the Ship back and collect any other nomes we can find,â€ Masklin hazarded. â€œIâ€™m sure Angalo would enjoy that.â€

Gurderâ€™s shoulders began to shake. For a moment Masklin thought the nome was laughing, and then he saw the tears rolling down the Abbotâ€™s face.

â€œUm,â€ he said, not knowing what else to say.

Gurder turned away. â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ he muttered. â€œItâ€™s just that thereâ€™s so much . . . changing. Why canâ€™t things stay the same for five minutes? Every time I get the hang of an idea, it suddenly turns into something different and I turn into a fool! All I want is something real to believe in! Whereâ€™s the harm in that?â€
â€œI think you just have to have a flexible mind,â€ said Masklin, knowing even as he said the words that this probably wasnâ€™t going to be a lot of help.

â€œFlexible? Flexible? My mindâ€™s got so flexible I could pull it out of my ears and tie it under my chin!â€ snapped Gurder. â€œAnd it hasnâ€™t done me a whole lot of good, let me tell you! Iâ€™d have done better just believing everything I was taught when I was young! At least Iâ€™d only have been wrong once! This way Iâ€™m wrong all the time!â€

He stamped away down one of the corridors.

Masklin watched him go. Not for the first time he wished he believed in something as much as Gurder did so he could complain to it about his life. He wished he was backâ€”yes, even back in the hole. It hadnâ€™t been too bad, apart from people being cold and wet and getting eaten all the time. But at least he had been with Grimma. They would have been cold and wet and hungry together. He wouldnâ€™t have been so lonely. . . .

There was a movement by him. It turned out to be Pion, holding a tray of what had to be . . . fruit, Masklin decided. He put aside being lonely for a moment and realized that hunger had been waiting for an opportunity to make itself felt. Heâ€™d never seen fruit that shape and color.

He took a slice from the proffered tray. It tasted like a nutty lemon.

â€œItâ€™s kept well, considering,â€ he said, weakly. â€œWhere did you get it?â€

It turned out to have come from a machine in a nearby corridor. It looked fairly simple. There were hundreds of pictures of different sorts of food. If you touched a picture, there was a brief humming noise and then the food dropped onto a tray in a slot. Masklin tried pictures at random and got several different sorts of fruit, a squeaky green vegetable thing, and a piece of meat that tasted rather like smoked salmon.

â€œI wonder how it does it,â€ he said aloud.

A voice from the wall beside him said: â€œWould you understand if I told you about molecular breakdown and reassembly from a wide range of raw materials?â€
â€œNo,â€ said Masklin truthfully.

â€œThen itâ€™s all done by Science.â€
â€œOh. Well, thatâ€™s all right, then. That is you, Thing, isnâ€™t it?â€
â€œYes.â€

Chewing on the fish meat, Masklin wandered back to the control room and offered some of the food to Angalo. The big screen was showing nothing but clouds.

â€œWonâ€™t see any quarry in all this,â€ he said.

Angalo pulled one of the levers back a bit. There was that brief feeling of extra weight again.

They stared at the screen.

â€œWow,â€ said Angalo.

â€œThat looks familiar,â€ said Masklin. He patted his clothes until he found the folded, crumpled map theyâ€™d brought all the way from the Store.

He spread it out, and glanced from it to the screen.

The screen showed a disk, made up mainly of different shades of blue and wispy bits of cloud.

â€œAny idea what it is?â€ said Angalo.

â€œNo, but I know what some of the bits are called,â€ said Masklin. â€œThat one thatâ€™s thick at the top and thin at the bottom is called South America. Look, itâ€™s just like it is on the map. Only it should have the words â€˜South Americaâ€™ written on it.â€
â€œStill canâ€™t see the quarry, though,â€ said Angalo.

Masklin looked at the image in front of them. South America. Grimma had talked about South America, hadnâ€™t she? Thatâ€™s where the frogs lived in flowers. Sheâ€™d said that once you knew about things like frogs living in flowers, you werenâ€™t the same person.

He was beginning to see what she meant.

â€œNever mind about the quarry for now,â€ he said. â€œThe quarry can wait.â€
â€œWe should get there as soon as possible, for everybodyâ€™s sake,â€ said the Thing.

Masklin thought about this for a while. It was true, he had to admit. All kinds of things might be happening back home. He had to get the Ship back quickly, for everybodyâ€™s sake.

And then he thought: Iâ€™ve spent a long time doing things for everybodyâ€™s sake. Just for once, Iâ€™m going to do something for me. I donâ€™t think we can find other nomes with this Ship, but at least I know where to look for frogs.

â€œThing,â€ he said, â€œtake us to South America. And donâ€™t argue.â€

12

FROGS: Some people think that knowing about frogs is important. They are small and green, or yellow, and have four legs. They croak. Young frogs are tadpoles. In my opinion, this is all there is to know about frogs.

From A Scientific Encyclopedia
for the Inquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri

FIND A BLUE planet. . . .

Focus

This is a planet. Most of it is covered in water, but itâ€™s still called Earth.

Find a country . . .

Focus

. . . blues and greens and browns under the sun, and long wisps of rain cloud being torn by the mountains . . .

Focus

. . . on a mountain, green and dripping, and thereâ€™s a . . .

Focus

. . . tree, hung with moss and covered with flowers and . . .

Focus

. . . on a flower with a little pool in it. Itâ€™s an epiphytic bromeliad.

Its leaves, although they might be petals, hardly quiver at all as three very small and very golden frogs pull themselves up and gaze in astonishment at the fresh clear water. Two of them look at their leader, waiting for it to say something suitable for this historic occasion.

Itâ€™s going to be â€œ.â€“.â€“.mipmip.â€“.â€“.â€

And then they slide down the leaf and into the water.

Although the frogs can spot the difference between day and night, theyâ€™re a bit hazy on the whole idea of Time. They know that some things happen after other things. Really intelligent frogs might wonder if there is something that prevents everything happening all at once, but thatâ€™s about as close as they can get to it.

So how long it was before a strange night came in the middle of the day is hard to tell, from a frogâ€™s point of view. . . .

A wide black shadow drifted over the treetops and came to a halt. After a while there were voices. The frogs could hear them, although they didnâ€™t know what they meant or even what they were. They didnâ€™t sound like the kind of voices frogs were used to.

What they heard went like this: â€œHow many mountains are there, anyway? I mean, itâ€™s ridiculous! Who needs this many mountains? I call it inefficient. One would have done. Iâ€™ll go mad if I see another mountain. How many more have we got to search?â€
â€œI like them.â€
â€œAnd some of the trees are the wrong height.â€
â€œI like them too, Gurder.â€
â€œAnd I donâ€™t trust Angalo doing the driving.â€
â€œI think heâ€™s getting better, Gurder.â€
â€œWell, I just hope no more airplanes come flying around, thatâ€™s all.â€

Gurder and Masklin swung in a crude basket made out of bits of metal and wire. It hung from a square hatchway under the Ship.

There were still huge rooms in the Ship that they hadnâ€™t explored yet. Odd machines were everywhere. The Thing had said the Ship had been used for exploring.

Masklin hadnâ€™t quite trusted any of it. There were probably machines that could have lowered and pulled up the basket easily, but heâ€™d preferred to loop the wire around a pillar inside the Ship and, with Pion helping inside, to pull themselves up and down by sheer nomish effort.

The basket bumped gently on the tree branch.

The trouble was that humans wouldnâ€™t leave them alone. No sooner had they found a likely-looking mountain than airplanes or helicopters would buzz around, like insects around an eagle. It was distracting.

Masklin looked along the branch. Gurder was right. This would have to be the last mountain.

But there were certainly flowers here.

He crawled along the branch until he reached the nearest flower. It was three times as high as he was. He found a foothold and pulled himself up.

There was a pool in there. Six little yellow eyes peered up at him.

Masklin stared back.

So it was true, after all. . . .

He wondered if there was anything he should say to them, if there was anything they could possibly understand.

It was quite a long branch, and quite thick. But there were tools and things in the Ship. They could let down extra wires to hold the branch and winch it up when it was cut free. It would take some time, but that didnâ€™t matter. It was important.

The Thing had said there were ways of growing plants under lights the same color as the sun, in pots full of a sort of weak soup that helped plants grow. It should be the easiest thing to keep a branch alive. The easiest thing in . . . the world.

If they did everything carefully and gently, the frogs would never know.

If the world was a bathtub, the progress of the Ship through it would be like the soap, shooting backward and forward and never being where anyone was expecting it to be. You could spot where it had just been by airplanes and helicopters taking off in a hurry.

Or maybe it was like the ball in a roulette wheel, bouncing around and looking for the right number. . . .

Or maybe it was just lost.

They searched all night. If there was a night. It was hard to tell. The Thing tried to explain that the Ship went faster than the sun, although the sun actually stood still. Some parts of the world had night while other parts had day. This, Gurder said, was bad organization.

â€œIn the Store,â€ he said, â€œit was always dark when it should be. Even if it was just somewhere built by humans.â€ It was the first time theyâ€™d heard him admit the Store was built by humans.

There didnâ€™t seem to be anywhere familiar.

Masklin scratched his chin.

â€œThe Store was in a place called Blackbury,â€ he said. â€œI know that much. So the quarry couldnâ€™t have been far away.â€

Angalo waved his hand irritably at the screens.

â€œYes, but itâ€™s not like the map,â€ he said. â€œThey donâ€™t stick names on places! Itâ€™s ridiculous! Howâ€™s anyone supposed to know where anywhere is?â€
â€œAll right,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut youâ€™re not to fly down low again to try to read the signposts. Every time you do that, humans rush into the streets and we get lots of shouting on the radio.â€
â€œThatâ€™s right,â€ said the Thing. â€œPeople are bound to get excited when they see a ten-million-ton starship trying to fly down the street.â€
â€œI was very careful last time,â€ said Angalo stoutly. â€œI even stopped when the traffic lights went red. I donâ€™t see why there was such a fuss. All the trucks and cars started crashing into one another, too. And you call me a bad driver.â€

Gurder turned to Pion, who was learning the language fast. The geese nomes had a knack for that. They were used to meeting nomes who spoke other languages.

â€œYour geese never got lost,â€ he said. â€œHow did they manage it?â€
â€œThey just did not get lost,â€ said Pion. â€œThey knew always where they going.â€
â€œIt can be like that with animals,â€ said Masklin. â€œTheyâ€™ve got instincts. Itâ€™s like knowing things without knowing you know them.â€
â€œWhy doesnâ€™t the Thing know where to go?â€ said Gurder. â€œIt could find Floridia, so somewhere important like Blackbury ought to be no trouble.â€
â€œI can find no radio messages about Blackbury. There are plenty about Florida,â€ said the Thing.

â€œAt least land somewhere,â€ said Gurder. Angalo pressed a couple of buttons.

â€œThereâ€™s just sea under us right now,â€ he said. â€œAndâ€”whatâ€™s that?â€

Below the Ship and a long way off, something tiny and white skimmed over the clouds.

â€œCould be goose,â€ said Pion.

â€œI . . . donâ€™t . . . think . . . so,â€ said Angalo carefully. He twiddled a knob. â€œIâ€™m really learning about this stuff,â€ he said.

The picture on the screen flickered a bit, and then expanded.

There was a white dart sliding across the sky.

â€œIs it the Concorde?â€ said Gurder.

â€œYes,â€ said Angalo.

â€œItâ€™s going a bit slow, isnâ€™t it?â€
â€œOnly compared to us,â€ said Angalo.

â€œFollow it,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWe donâ€™t know where itâ€™s going,â€ said Angalo in a reasonable tone of voice.

â€œI do,â€ said Masklin. â€œYou looked out of the window when we were on the Concorde. We were going toward the sun.â€
â€œYes. It was setting,â€ said Angalo. â€œWell?â€
â€œItâ€™s morning now. Itâ€™s going toward the sun again,â€ Masklin pointed out.

â€œWell? What about it?â€
â€œIt means itâ€™s going home.â€

Angalo bit his lip while he worked this out.

â€œI donâ€™t see why the sun has to rise and set in different places,â€ said Gurder, who refused to even try to understand basic astronomy.

â€œGoing home,â€ said Angalo, ignoring him. â€œRight. I see it. So we go with it, yes?â€
â€œYes.â€

Angalo ran his hands over the Shipâ€™s controls.

â€œRight,â€ he said. â€œHere we go. I expect the Concorde drivers will probably be quite pleased to have some company up here.â€

The Ship drew level with the plane.

â€œItâ€™s moving around a lot,â€ said Angalo. â€œAnd itâ€™s starting to go faster, too.â€
â€œI think they may be worried about the Ship,â€ said Masklin.

â€œCanâ€™t see why,â€ said Angalo. â€œCanâ€™t see why at all. Weâ€™re not doing anything except following â€™em.â€
â€œI wish we had some proper windows,â€ said Gurder, wistfully. â€œWe could wave.â€
â€œHave humans ever seen a ship like this before?â€ Angalo asked the Thing.

â€œNo. But theyâ€™ve made up stories about ships coming from other worlds.â€
â€œYes, theyâ€™d do that,â€ said Masklin, half to himself. â€œThatâ€™s just the sort of thing theyâ€™d do.â€
â€œSometimes they say the ships will contain friendly peopleâ€”â€
â€œThatâ€™s us,â€ said Angalo.

â€œâ€”and sometimes they say they will contain monsters with wavy tentacles and big teeth.â€

The nomes looked at one another.

Gurder cast an apprehensive eye over his shoulder. Then they all stared at the passages that radiated off the control room.

â€œLike alligators?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWorse.â€
â€œEr,â€ Gurder said, â€œwe did look in all the rooms, didnâ€™t we?â€
â€œItâ€™s something they make up, Gurder. Itâ€™s not real,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhoever would want to make up something like that?â€
â€œHumans would,â€ said Masklin.

â€œHuh,â€ said Angalo, nonchalantly trying to swivel around in the chair in case any tentacled things with teeth were trying to creep up on him. â€œI canâ€™t see why.â€
â€œI think I can. Iâ€™ve been thinking about humans a lot.â€
â€œCanâ€™t the Thing send a message to the Concorde drivers?â€ said Gurder. â€œSomething like â€˜Donâ€™t worry, we havenâ€™t got any teeth and tentacles, guaranteedâ€™?â€
â€œThey probably wouldnâ€™t believe us,â€ said Angalo. â€œIf I had teeth and tentacles all over the place, thatâ€™s just the sort of message Iâ€™d send. Cunning.â€

The Concorde screamed across the top of the sky, breaking the transatlantic record. The Ship drifted along behind it.

â€œI reckon,â€ said Angalo, looking down, â€œthat humans are just about intelligent enough to be crazy.â€
â€œI think,â€ said Masklin, â€œthat maybe theyâ€™re intelligent enough to be lonely.â€

The plane touched down with its tires screaming. Fire engines raced across the airport, and there were other vehicles behind them.

The great black Ship shot over them, turned across the sky like a Frisbee, and slowed.

â€œThereâ€™s the reservoir!â€ said Gurder. â€œRight under us! And thatâ€™s the railway line! And thatâ€™s the quarry! Itâ€™s still there!â€
â€œOf course itâ€™s still there, idiot,â€ muttered Angalo, as he headed the ship toward the hills, which were patchy with melting snow.

â€œSome of it,â€ said Masklin.

A pall of black smoke hung over the quarry. As they got closer, they saw it was rising from a burning truck. There were more trucks around it, and also several humans who started to run when they saw the shadow of the Ship.

â€œLonely, eh?â€ snarled Angalo. â€œIf theyâ€™ve hurt a single nome, theyâ€™ll wish theyâ€™d never been born!â€
â€œIf theyâ€™ve hurt a single nome, theyâ€™ll wish Iâ€™d never been born,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut I donâ€™t think anyoneâ€™s down there. They wouldnâ€™t hang around if the humans came. And who set fire to the truck?â€
â€œYay!â€ said Angalo, waving a fist in the air.

Masklin scanned the landscape below them. Somehow he couldnâ€™t imagine people like Grimma and Dorcas sitting in holes, waiting for humans to take over. Trucks didnâ€™t just set fire to themselves. A couple of buildings looked damaged, too. Humans wouldnâ€™t have done that, would they?

He stared at the field by the quarry. The gate had been smashed, and a pair of wide tracks led through the slush and mud.

â€œI think they got away in another truck,â€ he said.

â€œWhat do you mean, yay?â€ said Gurder, lagging a bit behind the conversation.

â€œAcross the fields?â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™d get stuck, wouldnâ€™t it?â€

Masklin shook his head. Perhaps even a nome could have instincts. â€œFollow the tracks,â€ he said urgently. â€œAnd quickly!â€
â€œQuickly? Quickly? Do you know know difficult it is to make this thing go slowly?â€ Angalo nudged a lever. The ship lurched up the hillside, straining at the indignity of restraint.

Theyâ€™d been up here before, on foot, months ago. It was hard to believe.

The hills were quite flat on the top, forming a kind of plateau overlooking the airport. There was the field where there had been potatoes. There was the thicket where theyâ€™d hunted, and the wood where theyâ€™d killed a fox for eating nomes.

And there . . . there was something small and yellow, rolling across the fields.

Angalo craned forward.

â€œLooks like some kind of a machine,â€ he admitted, fumbling for levers without taking his eyes off the screen. â€œWeird kind of one, though.â€

There were other things moving on the roads down there. They had flashing lights on top.

â€œThose cars are chasing it, do you think?â€ said Angalo.

â€œMaybe they want to talk to it about a burning truck,â€ said Masklin. â€œCan you get to it before they do?â€

Angalo narrowed his eyes. â€œListen, I think we can get to it before they do even if we go via Floridia.â€ He found another lever and gave it a nudge.

There was the briefest flicker in the landscape, and the truck was now right in front of them.

â€œSee?â€ he said.

â€œMove in more,â€ said Masklin.

Angalo pressed a button. â€œSee, the screen can show you belowâ€”â€ he began.

â€œThereâ€™s nomes!â€ said Gurder.

â€œYeah, and those cars are running away!â€ shouted Angalo. â€œThatâ€™s it, run away! Otherwise itâ€™s teeth-and-tentacles time!â€
â€œSo long as the nomes donâ€™t think that too,â€ said Gurder. â€œMasklin, do you thinkâ€”â€

Once again, Masklin wasnâ€™t there.

I should have thought about this before, he thought.

The piece of branch was thirty times longer than a nome. Theyâ€™d been keeping it under lights, and it seemed to be growing quite happily with one end in a pot of special plant water. The nomes who had once flown in the Ship had obviously grown lots of plants that way.

Pion helped him drag the pot toward the hatch. The frogs watched Masklin with interest.

When it was positioned as well as the two of them could manage, Masklin let the hatch open. It wasnâ€™t one that slid aside. The ancient nomes had used it as a kind of elevator, but it didnâ€™t have wiresâ€”it went up and down by some force as mysterious as auntieâ€™s gravy or whatever it was.

It dropped away. Masklin looked down and saw the yellow truck roll to a halt. When he straightened up, Pion was giving him a puzzled look.

â€œFlower is a message?â€ said the boy.

â€œYes. Kind of.â€
â€œNot using words?â€
â€œNo,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhy not?â€

Masklin shrugged.

â€œDonâ€™t know how to say them.â€

It nearly ends there. . . .

But it shouldnâ€™t end there.

Nomes swarmed all over the Ship. If there were any monsters with tentacles and teeth, theyâ€™d have been overwhelmed by sheer force of nome.

Young nomes filled the control room, where they were industriously trying to press buttons. Dorcas and his trainee engineers had disappeared in search of the Shipâ€™s engines. Voices and laughter echoed along the gray corridors.

Masklin and Grimma sat by themselves, watching the frogs in their flower.

â€œI had to see if it was true,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThe most wonderful thing in the world,â€ said Grimma.

â€œNo. I think there are probably much more wonderful things in the world,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut itâ€™s pretty good, all the same.â€

Grimma told him about events in the quarryâ€”the fight with the humans, and the stealing of Big John the earthmover to escape. Her eyes gleamed when she talked about fighting humans. Masklin looked at her with his mouth open in admiration. She was muddy, her dress torn; her hair looked like it had been combed with a hedge, but she crackled with so much internal power that she was nearly throwing off sparks. Itâ€™s a good thing we got here in time, he thought. Humans ought to thank me.

â€œWhat are we going to do now?â€ she said.

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ said Masklin. â€œAccording to the Thing, thereâ€™s worlds out there with nomes on them. Just nomes, I mean. Or we can find one all to ourselves.â€
â€œYou know,â€ said Grimma, â€œI think the Store nomes would be happier just staying on the Ship. Thatâ€™s why they like it so much. Itâ€™s like being in the Store. All the Outside is outside.â€
â€œThen Iâ€™d better go along to make sure they remember that there is an Outside. Itâ€™s sort of my job, I suppose,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd when weâ€™ve found somewhere, I want to bring the Ship back.â€
â€œWhy? Whatâ€™ll be here?â€ said Grimma.

â€œHumans,â€ said Masklin. â€œWe should talk to them.â€
â€œHuh!â€
â€œThey really want to believe in . . . I mean, they spend all their time making up stories about things that donâ€™t exist. They think itâ€™s just themselves in the world. We never thought like that. We always knew there were humans. Theyâ€™re terribly lonely and donâ€™t know it.â€ He waved his hands vaguely. â€œItâ€™s just that I think we might get along with them,â€ he finished.

â€œTheyâ€™d turn us into pixies!â€
â€œNot if we come back in the Ship. If thereâ€™s one thing even humans can tell, itâ€™s that the Ship isnâ€™t very pixieish.â€

Grimma reached out and took his hand.

â€œWell . . . if thatâ€™s what you really want to do . . .â€
â€œIt is.â€
â€œIâ€™ll come back with you.â€

There was a sound behind them. It was Gurder. The Abbot had a bag slung around his neck and had the drawn, determined look of someone who is going to See It Through no matter what.

â€œEr. Iâ€™ve come to say good-bye,â€ he said.

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ said Masklin.

â€œI heard you say youâ€™re coming back in the Ship?â€
â€œYes, butâ€”â€
â€œPlease donâ€™t argue.â€ Gurder looked around. â€œIâ€™ve been thinking about this ever since we got the Ship. There are other nomes out there. Someone ought to tell them about the Ship coming back. We canâ€™t take them now, but someone ought to find all the other nomes in the world and make sure that they know about the Ship. Someone ought to be telling them about whatâ€™s really true. It should be me, donâ€™t you think? Iâ€™ve got to be useful for something.â€
â€œAll by yourself?â€ said Masklin.

Gurder rummaged in the bag.

â€œNo, Iâ€™m taking the Thing,â€ he said, producing the black cube.

â€œErâ€”â€ Masklin began.

â€œDonâ€™t worry,â€ said the Thing. â€œI have copied myself into the Shipâ€™s own computers. I can be here and there at the same time.â€
â€œItâ€™s something I really want to do,â€ said Gurder helplessly.

Masklin thought about arguing and then thought, Why? Gurder will probably be happier like this. Anyway, itâ€™s true, this Ship belongs to all nomes. Weâ€™re just borrowing it for a while. So Gurderâ€™s right. Maybe someone ought to find the rest of them, wherever they are in the world, and tell them the truth about nomes. I canâ€™t think of anyone better for the job than Gurder. Itâ€™s a big world. You need someone really ready to believe.

â€œDo you want anyone to go with you?â€ he said.

â€œNo. Maybe I can find some nomes out there to help me.â€ He leaned closer. â€œTo tell the truth,â€ he said, â€œIâ€™m looking forward to it.â€
â€œEr. Yes. Thereâ€™s a lot of world, though,â€ said Masklin.

â€œIâ€™ve taken that into consideration. Iâ€™ve been talking to Pion.â€
â€œOh? Well . . . if youâ€™re sure . . .â€
â€œYes. More than Iâ€™ve ever been about anything, now,â€ said Gurder. â€œAnd Iâ€™ve been pretty sure of a lot of things in my time, as you know.â€
â€œWeâ€™d better find somewhere suitable to set you down.â€
â€œThatâ€™s right,â€ said Gurder. He tried to look brave. â€œSomewhere with a lot of geese,â€ he said.

They left him at sunset, by a lake. It was a brief parting. If the Ship stayed anywhere for more than a few minutes now, humans would flock toward it.

The last Masklin saw of him was a small waving figure on the shore. And then there was just a lake, turning into a green dot on a dwindling landscape. A world unfolded, with one invisible nome in the middle of it.

And then there was nothing.

The control room was full of nomes watching the landscape unroll as the Ship rose.

Grimma stared at it.

â€œI never realized it looked like that,â€ she said. â€œThereâ€™s so much of it!â€
â€œItâ€™s pretty big,â€ said Masklin.

â€œYouâ€™d think one world would be big enough for all of us,â€ said Grimma.

â€œOh, I donâ€™t know,â€ said Masklin. â€œMaybe one world isnâ€™t big enough for anyone. Where are we heading, Angalo?â€

Angalo rubbed his hands and pulled every lever all the way back.

â€œSo far up,â€ he said, with satisfaction, â€œthat there is no down.â€

The Ship curved up, toward the stars. Below, the world stopped unrolling because it had reached its edges, and became a black disk against the sun.

Nomes and frogs looked down on it.

And the sunlight caught it and made it glow around the rim, sending rays up into the darkness, so that it looked exactly like a flower.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TERRY PRATCHETTâ€™S novels have sold more than thirty-two million copies and have inspired a devoted worldwide following. In addition to his best-selling adult books about Discworld, Mr. Pratchett has also written several books for young readers, including THE WEE FREE MEN and the Johnny Maxwell trilogy: ONLY YOU CAN SAVE MANKIND, JOHNNY AND THE DEAD, and JOHNNY AND THE BOMB. Mr. Pratchett was awarded Britainâ€™s highest honor for a childrenâ€™s novel, the Carnegie Medal, for THE AMAZING MAURICE AND HIS EDUCATED RODENTS.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

AUTHORâ€™S NOTE

No character in this book is intended to resemble any living creature of whatever size on any continent, especially if theyâ€™ve got lawyers.

Iâ€™ve also taken liberties with the Concorde itself, despite British Airwaysâ€™ kindness in letting me have a look around one. It really did look like shaped sky. But it didnâ€™t fly nonstop to Miami; it made a stop in Washington. But who wants to stop in Washington? Nomes couldnâ€™t do anything in Washington except cause trouble.

Itâ€™s also just possible that people on the Concorde didnâ€™t have to eat special airline-food pink wobbly stuff. But everybody else has to.

OTHER WORKS

The Wee Free Men

A Hat Full of Sky

The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

The Carpet People

The Dark Side of the Sun

Strata

THE JOHNNY MAXWELL TRILOGY

Only You Can Save Mankind

Johnny and the Dead

Johnny and the Bomb

The Unadulterated Cat (illustrated by Gray Jolliffe)

Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman)

THE DISCWORLD SERIES

The Color of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Equal Rites

Mort

Sourcery

Wyrd Sisters

Pyramids

Guards! Guards!

Eric

Moving Pictures

Reaper Man

Witches Abroad

Small Gods

Lords and Ladies

Men at Arms

Soul Music

Feet of Clay

Interesting Times

Maskerade

Hogfather

Jingo

The Last Continent

Carpe Jugulum

The Fifth Elephant

The Truth

The Thief of Time

Night Watch

Monstrous Regiment

The Last Hero: A Discworld Fable

(illustrated by Paul Kidby)

CREDITS

Cover art Â© 2004 by S. Saelig Gallagher

Cover design by Bradford Foltz

Cover Â© 2004 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

COPYRIGHT

HarperTrophyÂ® is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

â€œMy Wayâ€ (Anka/Francis/Revaus) Â© Barclay Morris Ste. Anonyme/Jeune Musiques

By permission of Warner Chappell Music Ltd

The Bromeliad Trilogy

Copyright Â© 1998 by Terry and Lyn Pratchett including

Wings

Copyright Â© 1990 by Terry and Lyn Pratchett

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

EPub Edition Â© JANUARY 2012 ISBN: 9780062193834

First Harper Trophy edition, 2004

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*About three seconds. Frogs donâ€™t have good memories.

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*About as long as two and a half days, to a nome.

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*Little dishes of strange wobbly stuff tasting of pink turn up in nearly every meal on all airplanes. No one knows why. Thereâ€™s probably some sort of special religious reason.

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*For generations the Store nomes had known that temperature was caused by air conditioning and the heating system; like many of them, Gurder never quite gave up certain habits of thinking.

“No one said anything about stealing a plane,” said Masklin quickly. “We aren’t going to steal a plane. We’re just going for a ride on one, I hope.”

“Wow!”

“And we’re not going to try to drive it, Angalo!”

Angalo shrugged.

“All right,” he said. “But suppose I’m on it, and the driver becomes ill, then I expect I’ll have to take over. I mean, I drove the Truck pretty well—”

“You kept running into things!” said Gurder.

“I was learning. Anyway, there’s nothing to run into in the sky except clouds, and they look pretty soft,” said Angalo.

“There’s the ground!”

“Oh, the ground wouldn’t be a problem. It’d be too far away.”