"And I remember your sense of humor," Zoya said, sitting down wearily on a crate of pickle jars. She leaned back, giggled a little more, then said, "Oh, it's so good to laugh. It's been so long since there was something to laugh about… people to laugh with." She looked around at everybody. "We're so happy to have found you."
John said, "I'm afraid our situation doesn't have many humorous aspects. Overall, we may be in a worse way than you were, and you may want to reconsider throwing in with us when you learn the whole story."
"I would be very interested to hear your story," Yuri said. "But my first question is… what is that strange vehicle, there?" He pointed to Carl's Chevy.
"That's a tale I'd be interested to hear," I said, casting a sidelong glance at Carl. "What do you say, Carl? Want to spill it now?"
Sharing a wooden crate with Lori and munching a pickled egg, Carl thought it over and said, "Let me work up to it."
"I saw it operate in a vacuum," Yuri said, "so I know it's Skyway-worthy, but it's simply fantastic that it could be, since it doesn't even have…" He threw up his hands. "What am I saying? It's hardly fantastic compared to what it did to the barrier." Yuri turned to Carl. "Wherever did you get this vehicle?"
"I keep telling everybody," Carl said through a mouthful of egg, "but nobody believes me. I got it from some aliens who kidnapped me on Earth and brought me out to the Skyway."
Yuri shook his head. "On Earth, you say? But very few aliens have ever gone to Earth―a few diplomats, a handful of tourists. How could―?"
"They picked me up in a starship," Carl said, and when Yuri looked blankly at him, he shrugged and added, "See?"
Susan interjected, "He forgot to tell you that all of this happened a hundred and fifty years ago."
Noticing Zoya's puzzled stare, Susan laughed and threw out her arms helplessly.
"I see," Zoya said.
"I'm afraid it's not at all clear to us," I said. "I'd like Carl to elaborate at some point, but while he's working up to it I think we should assess our situation. Anybody got any ideas as to what we should do―for now, at least?"
"Maybe we're in a position to bargain with the Roadbugs," Roland said. "After all, we can defend ourselves―at least Carl can―to some extent. And I've seen the offensive weapons on that Chevy." He turned to Carl. "What do you call them? Tansanian Devils?"
"Tasmanian Devils. Just a nickname. Call 'em anything you want."
"Appropriate, in any case. Anyway, perhaps we can negotiate our way out of here."
"That's a thought," I said. "The Roadbugs seemed not to want to harm us, and it did look as though they wanted to talk to us. They even may have tried, but the audio amp wasn't taking a feed from the Roadbug channel at the time―" I thought of something and snapped my fingers. "Sam should have recorded it on ten-second delay, and he would have told us and played it back. He didn't break down until we got into the tunnel." I chewed my lip, trying to remember.
"Maybe the balloons were mucking with the Bugs' communications," Liam suggested.
"Maybe," I answered. "If there was a message from the Bugs, it's been erased. Sam may have been in the process of going haywire right then." I sat down on a metal barrel. "Any other ideas?"
"We could simply sneak about until we find a way out of here," John said.
"We'd get caught again for sure on the surface," Sean countered.
"Very likely," John said dourly.
"That doesn't leave us much choice then," Carl put in. "We either shoot our way out and make a break for the nearest portal, or we give ourselves up."
"I didn't say anything about shooting," John said. "I don't think that would be wise."
"They know we're in here and they'll be looking for us. We may have to tangle with them eventually."
"Well, we've successfully avoided them so far. The place seems empty."
"That may be," I said, "because it's so big. But for once I agree with you, John. The Bugs seem to want something from us. Let's talk with them first before we contemplate any gunplay. We'll always have that method as a last resort."
"Shall we get on the Roadbug channel and put out a call?" Roland asked.
"Not just yet," I answered. "Instead of just munching, why don't we all sit down and eat a good meal. Then we can talk business."
"Aren't we vulnerable like this?" Carl said. "I should be outside in the Chevy standing guard."
I sighed and leaned back against a stack of wooden crates. "Yeah, you should, I guess. But if they wanted to stomp us they would have done it topside. And since we've decided on diplomacy…"
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Carl said. "Look, I'm done eating. Why don't I go up into the cab and keep an eye out, just in case?"
"No need," I told him. "I've got the bogey alert on and piped through to the trailer speakers. We'll know when they arrive."
So we quit munching and broke out the heavy-duty foodstuffs: smoked ham, bread from hotpaks, cheese, pickles, crackers, more not-so-fresh fruit (the apples we're getting bruised and pulpy by that time), and peanut-butter cookies for desert. They'd been kept in the freezer.
"These are good," I said. "Homemade?"
"Liam is a master pastry chef," Sean said.
Zoya had eaten lightly, saying she didn't want to overstretch her stomach, but Yuri had dug in, ignoring Zoya's warnings, and now looked as though he were paying the price.
Yuri massaged his midsection, smiling queasily. "A little too much too fast. Again, I should have listened, Zoya."
"Strange that you never seem to learn," Zoya replied stiffly.
"I said I was sorry," Yuri snapped back. "I was hungry."
"You were perfectly aware of the consequences, yet you went ahead anyway. It's behavior I can't fathom."
"Hunger, my dear," Yuri retorted, "is hardly difficult to comprehend. If you can't fathom it, as you say, you had best refrain from making judgments on human behavior in general, and on the behavior of this human in particular." He crumpled an empty hotpak and stared at it moodily.
After an uncomfortable silence, Zoya sighed.
"I must apologize for both of us," she said. "The strains of the journey…" She looked at me. "Please understand."
"It's completely understandable, Zoya," I said, "and you don't have to apologize. We've been biting each others' heads off lately and we haven't had half the trouble you've had."
"Thank you, Jake. Still, we should not have quarreled in public."
"Think of us as family, Zoya. For better or worse, all we have is each other. It's better to get these things out in the open. We don't want to let resentments fester."
I finished off my bottle of S & L and set it aside. "I'd rather ride with a truckload of brawlers than a bunch of smoldering volcanos. Besides, when the fists fly, it's kind of fun to watch."
Both Darla and Susan reddened slightly.
John recited,
"I was angry with my friend,
I told my wrath, my wrath did end;
I was angry with my foe,
I told it not, my wrath did grow."
"Blake, I think," he said, smiling, "though you might amend that second line to read, 'I punched him up, my wrath did end.' "
"Or," Roland said, "'I kicked his arse, and that was the end. ' "
This drew a laugh from everybody and generally eased the mood.
In a rich dramatic tone, Sean recited:
"And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium."
"Yeats," he said, cracking open another bottle of beer.
John regarded him sardonically. "Was that apropos of anything in particular?"
"No," Sean answered, "but when someone starts quoting bloody English poets I feel the urge to reassert my ethnic heritage."
"Some animosities never die," Roland said.