Paul Theroux - O-Zone

"You'd need a torch. It's armored fiber."

"Skells have torches. Most aliens have torches!"

"There's no aliens here," Hardy said. "There's no one here but us."

The others had begun to listen, and after Hardy spoke, a silence fell. They were unused to such silences: this one was riotous with insects and birds and the papery swish of leaves.

"So who's for a hike?" Hooper said.

And the silence continued. It was a vigilant pause, as the travelers looked outward from what they had begun to call their camp — beyond the security apparatus, the cameras, the soft wires and beams and the eyes on stalks and the masses of positioned lights. They looked out at the shaggy yellow-green woods that surrounded them. The road was overgrown, there was no path, a building just below the terrace was split; there were insect mutters and the chirps of birds — and mewing doves, and the soft chattering rap of a woodpecker. Overhead, a turkey vulture circled slowly like a severed kite. They were all thinking: Where are we?

"We'll just walk a few clicks," Hooper said, taunting gently. "Who's for some fresh air?"

They murmured at the absurdity of it; they were all wearing masks and breathing Assisted Air.

Hardy said, "We should make the most of the daylight. Establish some kind of satellite link. Keep in touch. Get Fizzy's mainframe working. It gets dark here."

"Really dark," Barry said.

"Imagine that," Rinka said, and still in her flat anxious voice, "That's going to be different."

The thought of darkness brought to them a foretaste of blindness, an intimation of terror. It was never dark in their tower at Coldharbor, and they were used to the skylights of New York and some streets, lit from below. It was the simplest fact of life: light was safety and darkness danger.

"We won't be able to see a thing," Holly said, anticipating the night. "I'm not going."

Willis Murdick said, "I've got some lights in my bubble we could bring. You don't even have to carry them — they fit over your helmet."

Moura said, "We don't have any kind of map."

"This is a hike," Hooper said. "It's not an expedition. Just a stroll down the street."

"I don't stroll down the street in New York," Holly said. "Why should I do it here?"

"Anyway," Fisher said, "there's no street here."

"Through the trees," Hooper said.

"There's no path," Barry said.

"We'll make one," Hooper said, but it sounded like a hollow promise. He saw there was no enthusiasm for the walk— indeed, he sensed a degree of fear among them. They were new here, and not yet accustomed to the light and sound of the empty place; he knew the dusk and the darkness would be much worse for them.

"I've got just the thing," Willis said, and brought out a long flat object from a tube. "Ever seen one? A chain-sword? For bushwhacking?"

He also had a thick helmet and mask, he said, and thigh boots, and a new suit of armored fiber. "What's the point of coming to a place like this if you haven't got the hardware?" He salivated and swallowed noisily as he described each new thing. They were the best, he said — based on the most advanced research, made with new substances, developed in outer space, and tested on the moon and in orbital stations. He kept swallowing, as if he were tasting something unusual and splendid. He said his chain-sword had an extension that gave it a meter-long blade.

"There's your blade," he said, shooting it to its full length. "And there's your cutting edge. Oh, sure, your whole edge is heated and high-speed."

He was chomping with satisfaction inside his mask.

"What's that fixture?" Hooper said, tapping a ring and collar at the front of Murdick's faceplate. "Is that going to be useful on our hike?"

"It's a suckhole," Murdick said.

"Your husband is such a total tool!" Fisher said to Holly.

"It's for the food I brought," Murdick said. "You're all going to need suckholes. But don't worry. I've got suckholes and adapters for everyone. You just snap 'em on your faceplate."

"What about our hike?" Hooper said.

The eight travelers in their suits and masks tried to look important and preoccupied, but they were silent, they had no answer: they shifted uneasily on the terrace, avoiding each other's gazes, and glancing out at the woods. The light seemed to be draining out of the trees, leaving a blackening glow in the thickness of ragged boughs.

"What if we trip and fall down?" Barry Eubank said. "I know we're alone here, but that's not it. You could rip a suit you could crack a mask. You could get hurt pretty bad out there."

The others had turned to see what Hooper's reaction would be. Hooper said nothing. The sun dazzled against his faceplate. So the travelers looked out again, past the security apparatus; and again their odd movements and glances seemed dominated by the thought of danger.

Slowly Holly said, "That could be awful in the dark."

"We can't pick the flowers, we can't drink the water, we can't eat the fruit or cut any branches," Moura said. "And you want to hike it, Hooper?"

"It seems to be getting dark already," Rinka said.

It was only a lumpy pillow of cloud passing across the sun, but it left a chill on them with its brief shadow of darkness.

"Let's have this damned party and then get out of here," Barry said.

They were timid, Hooper saw, and even he had become unsure. They still stood together in their expensive masks and suits, facing the ragged trees and looking for openings or the malevolent eyes of animals. They saw nothing but the irregular wall of woods, so dense there could only be more of the same behind it. They split up again, pretending to be busy, but after a while most of them had returned to the edge of the terrace and paced along the perimeter wire — using their security beam as the margin of their promenade.

They looked outward at O-Zone as if looking offshore. They studied the indecipherable shakings of the trees. Moura spoke suddenly, as if saying out loud what everyone had been thinking. It really was like looking at the sea, she said — the rough waves and changing colors. "We've got no idea at all about what's underneath it!"

"Don't be stupid," Fisher said. "Murdick's got sensors and pods with thermal imaging!"

"What does that mean, Fizzy?"

"It means you can see anything in those bushes," the boy said. "The porker doesn't even know what thermal imaging is!"

But Moura was staring at him.

"Are you going, then?"

Fisher said nothing. There was only the swish and scrape of his trouser legs rubbing as he walked across the terrace. And then from inside Firehills came a reply — a loud quack of anger.

Night came down and everyone said wasn't it a good thing they hadn't gone with Hooper on his hike?

Moura Allbright and Rinka Eubank stayed outside at the edge of their lighted island and stared into the dark. The night had a blackness of unusual depth. It seemed bottomless and mocking, and they were alarmed by the rising tide of night noise — the scratch of insects, the smash of leafy boughs, and was that the wind? And above all this murk and babble was the starlight — a whole sky of sandgrains. It had been so long since either of the women had seen this — they lived under a starless sky in New York.

"Aren't they pretty?" Rinka said.

Moura agreed. But there was no comfort in stars. Their cold light was deadened by distance. She thought how stars only made her feel more isolated and made this darkness thicker.

Rinka said, "Do you remember the accident?"

"The incident?" Moura said. "Not really."

"All that reassuring talk scared the hell out of me," Rinka said. "And then the rumors of sabotage? The evacuation that went wrong? The casualties that were supposedly smuggled out and buried in mass graves? The panic, the blame—"