Terry Pratchett - The Long Earth

The others absorbed that in silence. It struck Joshua as an astounding, eerie thought, a song-memory that spanned worlds.

They walked on. It was a calm, warm afternoon, though marked by brief, light showers that everybody seemed to ignore. There were no vehicles, no pack animals, just a few handcarts, and the fish racks everywhere.

Joshua said to Sally, ‘Maybe we should cut to the chase. So you know about trolls. In fact you seem very fond of trolls. You know about the humanoid migration. You brought us to this place where there’s a strange human — troll community… You want something from us, that’s obvious. Is it to do with the migration, Sally?’

She said nothing at first. Then: ‘Yes. All right. I’ve had no intention of concealing anything from you. It’s just that it’s better if you work it out for yourselves. Yes, I’m concerned about the migration. It’s a disturbance that’s echoing up and down the Long Earth. And, yes, I don’t think I can, or should, go investigating the cause alone. But somebody has to, right?’

‘Then we have the same goals,’ Lobsang said.

Joshua pressed, ‘Come on, out with it, Sally. Time for an honest trade. We’ll help you but you need to be fully truthful with us. You knew this place was here, and how to find it. How come? And how did you get out so far in the first place?’

Sally looked wary. ‘Can I trust you two? I mean really trust you?’

‘Yes,’ said Joshua.

‘No,’ said Lobsang. ‘Anything you tell me that can be used for the betterment of mankind as a whole will be utilized as I see fit. However, I will not do anything to harm you, or your family. Trust me on that. You know something we don’t about the connectivity of the Long Earth, don’t you?’

A couple walked by, hand in hand; she looked Swedish, he was very nearly midnight black.

Sally took a deep breath. ‘My family calls them soft places.’

Joshua asked, ‘Soft places?’

‘Short cuts. They’re usually, but not always, far inland, at the heart of a continent. They are usually near water and they get stronger around twilight. Can’t exactly tell you what they look like, or how I find them. It’s more of a feeling than anything else.’

‘I don’t think I understand—’

‘They are places that allow you fast travel over multiple Earths at a time.’

‘Seven-league boots—’

Lobsang murmured, ‘I suspect wormholes would be a better metaphor.’

‘But they shift,’ Sally said. ‘They open and close. You have to find the way, and follow it… You have to be taught what to look for. But it isn’t something you learn, it’s like something you remember — something you were told about a long time ago and then when you need it, it pops up. It’s not like Stepper stuttering. It’s more like, well, a helping hand. It’s kind of organic, you know? Like sailors knowing the currents of the sea, the ebb and flow, wind and tide, even the saltiness of the water. And they do drift, they open and close, or reconnect to somewhere new. It’s hit and miss at first, but these days I can get to any destination in three or four steps, if the tide’s flowing right.’

Joshua tried to imagine this. He visualized the Long Earth as a tube of worlds, a hosepipe, along which he plodded one world at a time. These soft places were like — what? Holes in the pipe walls, enabling you to short-cut vast strings of possible Earths? Or maybe it was like a metro network, invisible beneath a city’s roads, connecting point to point, a network with its own topology independent of what went on above ground. And in that network there would be nodes, exchanges…

Lobsang asked bluntly, ‘How do they work? Your soft places.’

‘Well, how would I know? My father had hypotheses, about the structure of the Long Earth. He spoke about solenoids. Chaotic mathematical structures. Don’t ask me. If I ever find him—’

‘How many people do you know have this talent?’

She shrugged. ‘Not even all of my own family. But I know that there are others out there; occasionally I meet people. All I can really say is that I know a soft place when I find one, and then I generally have a good idea of how far it will go and in which direction. My granddad on my mother’s side, he was a real stepper, he could sense a soft place two miles off. Granddad called them the fairy ways. He was Irish by birth, and he said that if you stepped into a soft place you could step lively , as he called it. Mom said that when you stepped lively you were building up a debt which would one day have to be repaid.’

Joshua asked, ‘So what about Happy Landings? How come people come unstuck and drift here, like the mayor says?… Maybe it’s something to do with the network of soft places. People drift and gather, like snowflakes collecting in a hollow, maybe.’

‘Yes, perhaps it’s something like that,’ Lobsang said. ‘We know that stability is somehow a key to the Long Earth. Maybe Happy Landings is something like a potential well. And it’s clearly been operating long before Step Day, deep into the past.’

‘Yeah,’ Sally said sceptically. ‘Look, all this isn’t the point. The trolls are nervous — even here; I can tell if you can’t. That’s what we need to focus on. That’s why I’m sticking with you two clowns and your ridiculous aerial barge. Because in your dim way you’ve seen what I’ve seen. That all across the Long Earth something is scaring the trolls and the other humanoids. And that scares me. And, like you, I need to figure out what’s going on.’

Joshua asked, ‘But what concerns you most, Sally? The threat to people, or to the trolls?’

‘What do you think?’ she snapped back.

At twilight there was evensong, courtesy of the trolls. Troll song was the trolls; they lived in a world of constant chatter.

But then so did the people of Happy Landings. Even at dusk they were still out and about, strolling, waving, laughing, generally finding pleasure in one another’s company. Fires were lit everywhere; in the Pacific North-west on most worlds there was no shortage of firewood. And, Joshua noticed, as evening drew in more people were pouring in from neighbouring communities, on foot, some drawing small carts bearing children and old folk. The Humptulips core of Happy Landings wasn’t isolated, then.

Some, they learned, came from as far away as this world’s footprint of Seattle. And that district on this Earth had been called Seattle since 1954, when a lady called Kitty Hartman, minding her own business on her way home from Pike Place Market, stepped without knowing, and was amazed by the disappearance of the buildings around her. The travellers from the Mark Twain were introduced to Mrs Montecute, as she was now known: white-haired, exceptionally spry, very happy to talk.

‘Of course, it was rather a shock, you know, and I remember thinking, I don’t even know what state I’m in! I’m not in Washington any more, that’s for sure. I wondered if I should have brought a little dog and a pair of red shoes! And then the first person I met here was François Montecute, who really was kind of cute like his name, who really did turn my head, and who really was an artist between the sheets if you get my drift.’ She told them this with the cheerful directness of an elderly lady who is determined to make young people aware that she has had sex, too, and by the sound of it quite a considerable amount.

There was a certain contented aura about Mrs Montecute, and it seemed to Joshua that everyone in Happy Landings shared it, to some extent. It was hard to pin down.

Sally said when he tried to express this, ‘I know what you mean. Everybody seems so, well, sensible. I have come here many times and it’s always the same. You never get complaints, or competitiveness. They don’t need government, not really. You could say that Mayor Spencer is the first among equals. When there is any big project to be undertaken, they just knuckle down and get on with it.’