Terry Pratchett - The Long Earth

He didn’t reply.

‘So you became a hero. Did you wear a cape?’ asked Selena.

Joshua didn’t like sarcasm. ‘I had an oilskin for rainy days.’

‘Actually, that was a joke.’

‘I know.’

Yet another forbidding door opened in front of them, another corridor was revealed.

‘Makes Fort Knox look like a colander, this place, doesn’t it?’ Selena said nervously.

‘Fort Knox is a colander nowadays,’ said Joshua. ‘It’s just lucky that people can’t carry out bars of gold by hand.’

She sniffed. ‘I was merely making a comparison, Joshua.’

‘Yes. I know.’

She halted. The way he’d paused in the middle of that reply was annoying, and even more annoying when what she’d really been trying to express was that, even now, all this business of stepwise worlds could be so frightening. Not to Joshua, it seemed. She forced a brief smile. ‘This is where I leave you, at least for now. I am not allowed to get too close to Lobsang. Very few people are. I know Lobsang wants to discuss your difficulties with the congressional review that’s been looking into the outcome of your earlier jaunt into the remote stepwise worlds.’

She was fishing, of course. Joshua suspected that this was, in fact, the leverage Lobsang hoped to use to recruit him.

He said nothing, and she couldn’t gauge his reaction.

She guided him gently into the room beyond. ‘Nice to have met you face to face, Joshua.’

He said, ‘May I wish you the security rating you desire, Selena.’

She stared at the closing door. She was sure that impassive face had broken into a smile.

The room within this fortress-like inner sanctum was decorated like the study of an Edwardian gentleman, even down to the log fire blazing in the fireplace. The fire was a fake, however, and not entirely convincing, at least to Joshua, who lit a genuine log fire every night out in the wild. The leather on the chair standing invitingly beside the fire, however, was real.

‘Good afternoon, Joshua,’ said a voice from the air. ‘I regret that you cannot see me, but in point of fact there is very little of me here to see. And what there is, I feel sure, would be quite dull to observe.’

Joshua settled down in the chair. For a time there was silence, almost companionable. Beside him, the fire crackled artificially. You could tell, if you listened, because of certain sequences of crackle, that the soundtrack was repeated every forty-one seconds.

The voice of Lobsang said soothingly, ‘I ought to have paid more attention to that. Yes — I mean the fire. Oh, don’t worry, Joshua, I’m no mind-reader, not yet; you were glancing at the fire every few seconds and you have a tendency to move your lips soundlessly when you are counting. Interestingly enough, nobody else has noticed that little flaw, with the fire.

‘But of course, Joshua, you do notice. You watch, and listen, and analyse, and inside that roomy cranium of yours you play yourself little videos of all the possible outcomes of the current situation that you can envisage. It was once said of an English politician that if you kicked him in the butt not a muscle would move on his face until he had decided what to do about it. It’s one of the qualities that makes you so useful, that watchfulness.

‘And you are not apprehensive, are you? I can detect no fear in you, none whatsoever. I believe this is because you are the only person who has been in this fortress of a room who knows that he could get out at any moment. Why? Because you can step without a Stepper box — oh, yes, I know about that. And without getting nauseous afterwards, too.’

Joshua did not rise to that. ‘Selena said you had something to tell me, about the congressional review?’

‘Yes, the expedition. You got into trouble with that one, didn’t you, Joshua?’

‘Look — there are only two of us in here, aren’t there? So, if you give it some thought, there is no reason whatsoever why you should repeatedly tell me what my name is . I know why you’re doing it. Dominance.’ This was a lifelong bugbear for Joshua. ‘I may not be too clever, Lobsang, but you don’t have to be clever to work out what the rules are!’

For a while there was nothing but the repeated crackling of the false fire. Later, Joshua came to understand that if there was a pause in a conversation with Lobsang, it was for effect; at the clock speeds he worked at, Lobsang could answer any question a fraction of a second after you asked it, yet after the equivalent of a lifetime of contemplation.

‘You know, we are like-minded, you and I, my friend,’ said Lobsang.

‘Let’s stick to «acquaintance» for now.’

Lobsang laughed. ‘Of course. I stand corrected. Or rather, float in a disembodied way corrected. But I would like to become your friend. Because, in the abstract, in any given situation, I believe that both of us are interested in finding out, above all, what the rules are .

‘And I believe that you are a remarkably valuable individual. You are smart enough, Joshua — you couldn’t have survived so much time out alone in the Long Earth otherwise. Oh, there are certainly others smarter than you, they are stacked high in the universities achieving little or nothing. But smart has to have a depth as well as a length. Some smart brushes over a problem. And some smart grinds exceeding slow, like the mills of God, and it grinds fine, and when it comes up with an answer, it has been tested. That’s how it is with you, Joshua.’ Lobsang laughed again. ‘And by the way my laughter is not a recording. Each laugh is a unique product of the moment, demonstrably different from any other laugh I have ever emitted. That was a laugh just for you. I was human, you know. I still am.

‘Joshua, let’s get to know one another. I want to help you. And of course I want you to help me. I cannot think of a better person to go with me on the expedition I am planning, which will involve some very far stepping indeed. I think it might rather appeal to you. You like to be far from the maddening crowd, Joshua, don’t you?’

‘Thomas Hardy’s title was about the madding crowd.’

‘Oh, of course it was. But it’s a good idea for me to make the odd little slip — not to appear all-knowing, every now and again.’

Joshua was growing impatient with this clumsy seduction. ‘Lobsang, how are you going to help me ?’

‘I know that what happened to the congressional expedition was not your fault. I can prove it.’

Now they were getting down to brass tacks, Joshua thought. ‘The assholes,’ he said.

‘Oh yes, assholes,’ said Lobsang, ‘and thusly you described them to the preliminary board of inquiry. An unknown species of primate resembling a particularly unpleasant carnivorous baboon. But I suspect the Linnaean Society will not approve your appellation. Assholes!’

‘I didn’t kill those men. Sure, I can get along without people. But I had no reason to kill anybody. Did you read the report? Those ass—’

‘Can we stick to baboons, please, Joshua? It looks better on the transcript.’

It had been a paid jaunt for Joshua, a gig arranged by his old friend Officer Jansson. ‘You’ve grown up while I’ve grown old, Joshua,’ she’d said. ‘And now I’ve got you some government work. You’ll be a kind of bodyguard and guide …’

It was an official journey to the far West worlds with a party of scientists, lawyers and a Congressman, accompanied by a platoon of soldiers. It had ended in slaughter.

The scientists had been gathering data. The lawyers had been taking photographs of the Congressman setting foot on one world after another, making a kind of visual claim to the stepwise Americas, in order to establish symbolically the aegis of the Datum federal government. The soldiers complained about the food and the state of their feet. Joshua had been happy enough to help the party, for his fee, but sensible enough to make sure his ability to step without a box and without after-effects was concealed. So he carried a potion consisting of sour milk and diced vegetables that would pass muster as vomit, the product of stepping nausea. After all, who was going to look too closely?