The story explained Noxon’s obvious ignorance of airport procedures, made the deformity of his facemask into an asset rather than a liability, got them a lot of sympathy from airline personnel, and allowed Noxon to get through security without identification papers. As Ram whispered to him as they walked through the terminal to the gate, “Behind that facemask you could be fifteen or fifty. But nobody expects a fifteen-year-old Indian kid from the high Andes to have identification.”
Meanwhile, Noxon looked at everything and everyone they passed. This was his first view of the Earth that would soon send the Destroyers to kill Garden; he had to learn who these people were.
He knew of high technology from the starships that were buried in each wallfold of Garden. He had conversed with computers, he had been raised by a mechanical man, and he had flown from place to place in flyers. He had seen the library in Odinfold, and the empty ruins of their great cities. But he had not been prepared for the degree to which technology pervaded the lives of ordinary people on Earth.
“Everybody’s rich,” said Noxon to Ram Odin, as they sat together on an airplane flying from Lima to Atlanta.
“Shhh,” said Ram Odin softly. “They think they’re poor, because they know that somebody somewhere has something they don’t have.”
“Anybody can buy passage on a flyer here,” said Noxon softly.
“To be fair, this is only an airplane,” said Ram Odin. “It can’t go into space.”
“They can talk to anybody, anywhere in the world, and it takes no time at all. Where I come from, rulers and generals have to send messengers, and it takes days to get a reply.”
“Remember, please, that high technology was deliberately suppressed where you come from,” whispered Ram Odin. “In eleven thousand years, you would certainly have surpassed this level of technology, if you hadn’t been so closely watched. The Odinfolders did.”
“It’s better to be a commoner here than a king in Aressa Sessamo,” said Noxon.
“Kings in Aressa Sessamo tend to be killed,” said Ram Odin, “so I can’t disagree with your point. Just remember how close Earth came to being destroyed by a comet only a few decades ago.”
“And remember how few years will pass before Garden is—”
A flight attendant interrupted them. “Can I bring you anything to drink?” she asked Ram Odin. Then, to Noxon, she said, “I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything alcoholic, young man, but we have a good selection of soft drinks and juices.”
Noxon only smiled at her. He had no idea what to ask for.
“He’ll have apple juice,” said Ram Odin, “and so will I.”
“You have to keep yourself in shape, I know,” said the flight attendant.
Ram Odin grinned at her.
“Why did she say that?” asked Noxon. “It seems presumptuous of her.”
“I think I picked the wrong time to travel,” said Ram Odin. “I’ve already been named as one of the possible pilots of the foldship, so people who are following the starship program know who I am.”
“A pilot is famous?” asked Noxon.
“A very low level of fame,” said Ram Odin. “It won’t get crazy until I’m selected as the pilot.”
“We could have sliced our way through this trip,” said Noxon. “They would never have known we were on the airplane, and the trip would have been over in a few minutes.”
“Next time,” said Ram Odin. “I have to admit that I’m enjoying being home on Earth. I like having money and something to spend it on.”
“Are you rich here?”
“I make a decent living,” said Ram. “But no, not rich.”
Noxon had had his misgivings when they boarded the plane. But he couldn’t say anything at the time, since officially he could speak only Quechua. “Isn’t the pre-voyage version of yourself going to find out you’re here?”
Ram Odin grinned. “He’s going to find out that somebody got a duplicate of his credit chip. My guess is that the police will be waiting to arrest me as an identity thief when we land in Atlanta.”
“How does that help us accomplish our purpose here?” asked Noxon.
“It doesn’t. So we will slice our way off the plane.”
In Atlanta, the police boarded the plane before any passengers were allowed to leave. But by then, Noxon’s and Ram Odin’s seats appeared to be empty. Because time slicing slowed down their movements so much, they were the last ones off the plane before the door closed, and by the time they got to the head of the ramp into the terminal, the police had abandoned their search.
Inside the terminal, Noxon sliced them forward by several days. Ram Odin quickly abandoned his credit chip. “Sorry,” he said to Noxon. “I won’t do that again.”
“You’re going to be recognized,” said Noxon.
“I really am about twelve years older now than I was at this point in the past. My face is thicker and as you can see, I’m letting my beard grow. Plus, I expect to spend a lot of time invisible, thanks to you.”
“I have a better idea,” said Noxon. He took Ram’s hand, attached to a path, and popped back to the year before. “Are you famous now?” asked Noxon.
“No,” said Ram Odin. “But it still doesn’t solve the money problem. We can’t afford to walk to where we’re going, and without money, we can’t get transportation.”
“Why can’t we walk?” asked Noxon. “If it takes too long, when we arrive I’ll take us back in time.”
“It’s not the time, or not just the time it takes to walk. It’s that nobody does it. There aren’t roads with places for pedestrians.”
“Can’t we work somewhere for a few days and earn passage?” asked Noxon. “Loaf and Umbo did that on a riverboat.”
“You have to have a certified identity to get hired anywhere, for any job,” said Ram. “And we don’t have any.”
“How do we get them?”
“Be born on Earth, and don’t have a duplicate of yourself running around getting resentful when you claim to be him.”
“How do we get identities?” asked Noxon.
“We don’t,” said Ram Odin. “We sneak aboard public transportation and ride in discomfort, for free.”
Fortunately, Noxon’s time-slicing was now so effective that they could get on a bus and walk slowly up the aisle and back to the door during the five-hour ride to Huntsville. To them it took only three minutes and a few steps.
“I warn you,” said Noxon, as they walked through town. “We can’t steal food while we’re slicing, because our hands just go right through anything we’re picking up.”
“Why don’t we sink into the ground?” asked Ram Odin.
“Because we don’t,” said Noxon. “For the same reason that paths stay in a fixed position relative to a spinning planet. I don’t understand the rules, but we stay on the surface.”
Noxon was used to walking hundreds of miles in a row, stopping only for sleep and meals. Ram Odin was not. So when they reached the door of the house Ram was looking for, miles from the bus station, he was sweaty and exhausted, while Noxon wasn’t even tired.
“Why do you think these people will help us?” asked Noxon.
“Because we have something to trade,” said Ram Odin.
“What do we have?” asked Noxon.
“Time travel,” said Ram Odin.
“This already sounds like a bad idea,” said Noxon.
“It’s a brilliant idea, and I think you’ll enjoy every minute of it. Well, maybe not the first few minutes, but all the rest of them.”
“What happens in the first few minutes?”
“We have to prove to them that we’re not insane.”
The door was answered by a young woman wearing large opaque glasses. “I don’t think I know you. Do you have an appointment?”
“A long-standing one, and you do know me, Deborah Wheaton. I’m betting you left your glasses in reading mode.”
“I did. But it can’t be you, Cousin Ram, because you’re in Houston training and competing to be pilot of the first starship.”