Robin pointed to a tall communications array roughly a kilometer away. “I’m guessing that would be it,” she said.
“I’m guessing you’d be right,” Creek said. “Ready for a walk?”
“I like how you ask me these things as if you’re giving me the option,” Robin said. “You’ve been doing this all the time since we’ve met. I just want you to know that it doesn’t really make me feel like I have a choice in the matter.”
Creek smiled. “I don’t want to come across as pushy,” he said.
“It’s a little late for that,” Robin said. “Come on. I’m sure this place used to be a very nice place to visit, but right now all I want to do is get off this rock and on that nice big Navy boat up there.” She set off in the direction of the communications array. Creek collected up the Nidu rifle, placed the finger in his pocket, grabbed a water canister, and followed after Robin.
The communications array terminated in a small control room located in a natural if irregular amphitheatre created by the lava flow. This was where the memorial ceremony was scheduled to take place. Like every portion of the former plain, the amphitheatre was bleak, black rock with no sign of animal life or vegetation. It was as if life, insulted by the planet cracker and resulting lava flow, had rejected the plain of Pajmhi from that point forward. Creek didn’t blame it for the decision.
“Harry,” Robin said, and pointed to something on the side of the control room. Creek looked at what seemed like a heap of trash for a minute until it resolved itself into a dead Nidu; probably the communications engineer, who had come to the site to prepare for the Neverland passenger arrival.
Creek turned back to Robin. “Head back to the pod,” he said. “Wait there until I come to get you.”
“Harry—” Robin said, looking past his shoulder. Creek swung around and saw something the size of a grizzly stalking toward him. It had come through the door of the communication center. Creek raised up his Nidu rifle, sighted in, and fired at the thing.
And forgot the Nidu finger was still in his pants pocket.
“Oh, shit,” Creek said, and wheeled backward. The creature grabbed him, cocked back its massive arm, and slugged him dead in the temple. Creek could hear Robin scream for the briefest fraction of a second before the lights went out completely.
Creek felt water splashing on his face and into his nostrils. He coughed himself back into consciousness and propped himself up from the floor he was lying upon.
“Hello, Creek,” a man’s voice said to him. “Nice nap?”
Creek looked up and saw Rod Acuna over him, leaning against the counter of the broadcast terminal inside the communications control center. Acuna held a gun casually but firmly in his hand; it was pointed at Creek. Behind and to the side of Acuna, Creek saw Robin, securely held by what Creek now recognized as a Nagch.
“Hello, Acuna,” Creek said. “Of all the people I was expecting to see, you were not one of them.”
“You know who I am,” Acuna said. “Well, isn’t that cozy. I’m glad I could surprise you. Surprises are fun. And you know, I think you should take my presence here as a compliment.”
“Really,” Creek said. “How so?”
“It shows my faith in you, Creek,” Acuna said. “After I got that picture of you in my regimental newsletter and passed it along, everyone else was so sure that they would just pluck you and Little Bo Peep here off that cruise liner. But I knew better. I knew you’d get away from them. And you know why, don’t you?”
“Because I got away from you,” Creek said.
“Check out the brain on you,” Acuna said. “Exactly right. You got away from me. So I asked myself, if I were Harry Creek and I was going to keep from getting captured on a cruise liner in space, where would I go? And here we are. I had to just about shoot someone to make them give me a ride down here, but now I think they’ll be glad I made the effort.”
“You came with the Nidu,” Creek said.
“I did,” Acuna said. “And I’m going to leave with them. And so is Takk here”—he gestured with his non–gun-holding hand to the Nagch—“and so is your girlfriend. You, on the other hand, will be staying.”
“No room on the shuttle for me?” Creek said.
“There’s room,” Acuna said. “You’re not going to go because you and I are going to settle up now. You broke my arm and my nose in our last encounter, if you’ll recall. It cost someone a lot of money for my QuickHeal session.”
“Sorry about that,” Creek said.
“Think nothing of it,” Acuna said, and shot Creek in the left arm midway between the wrist and elbow, shattering his radius and ulna. Creek collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, smearing blood on the concrete floor. Robin screamed again and started begging for someone to help them.
Acuna watched Creek twist for a while and then got up from the counter and walked over to him. “That takes care of the arm,” Acuna said, and kicked Creek square in the face, causing a burst of blood to fountain out his nose. “And that should square us for the broken nose.” He stepped away and raised his gun. “And this is the interest on both. Goodbye, Creek.”
Takk was only mildly interested in the interaction between Acuna and Creek. What he was more interested in—indeed, what he was almost entirely consumed with—was Robin.
Acuna had retrieved Robin while Takk had carried Creek into the comm center; once inside, however, they swapped. “Try not to lose her,” Acuna had said, shoving the girl at Takk, who looked up at him with terrified eyes.
Takk gently put his huge paw on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” Takk said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You just clubbed my friend into a coma,” Robin said. “Pardon me if I don’t relax.”
There it was. Just like it was prophesied by Dwellin:
The Lamb will come to the house of strangers
With a journey of many miles behind it;
It will be made welcome by those who dwell within
But will be yet full of fears.
Takk had been reading the prophecies pretty much nonstop since Archie McClellan had handed them over prior to ingestion; it’d be fair to say that he’d memorized most of them at this point (Nagch had excellent memories for the written word). They had fascinated Takk. He was not by inclination one easily swayed by mysticism, preferring instead the sense of order and comforting ritual religion could provide (after reading the preface to the prophecies, he would have considered himself more of an Ironist than an Empathist, if he were a member of the Church). Yet there was something compelling about the idea that these prophecies not only might come true, but were thought to come true through the conscious decision of the Church members to make them so. It was an interesting juxtaposition between fate and free will that allowed for both to exist—nay, required them to go hand-in-hand, skipping merrily through the field.
Takk recognized of course that the prophecy he was thinking of was not an exact fit. The communications hut could be considered a “house” only in the broadest and most liberal sense of the term, the one that granted that any structure could theoretically be a home to someone. And yet other elements fit very well. Had not the Lamb traveled many miles? Indeed—light-years, in fact, a distance that made mockery of the term “mile.” Did Takk not just tell her not to worry (and did so unprompted by prophecy—he only consciously thought of the prophecy afterward)? And was she not, and reasonably so, Takk thought, full of fears?
Takk racked his brain for other prophecies that matched the situation, but came up empty. There was nothing in the prophecies that said anything about someone like Acuna antagonizing someone like this Creek fellow. This didn’t entirely surprise Takk, either. There’s not a prophecy for everything in the universe, even if one is willing to deconstruct the writing down to its most general and symbolic level. Dwellin was understandably focused on the issues surrounding the Evolved Lamb and its trials; he’d naturally skip parts here and there. From what Takk understood of the background of the pr
ophecies and Dwellin, by the end he was well-nigh incoherent off of alcohol and cheap over-the-counter pharmaceuticals. It would have been difficult for him to develop and sustain more than one prophetic narrative.
Acuna shot Creek in the arm; Creek, who been propping himself up with the arm, fell back to the floor, bleeding and moaning. Robin screamed.
“Oh, God, oh God,” she said. “Oh God, Harry. Help us, Please help us.” She started repeating the sentence, with variations, for the next several seconds.
And it was here that Takk recognized a situation similar to another prophecy—or if not an exact situation, at least a situation where one of Dwellin’s exhortation stanzas could certainly apply:
Lo! The Lamb stands not alone but with those
Who see themselves within it.
He who helps the Lamb helps himself.
He who serves the Lamb saves himself.
Dwellin wrote this particular stanza at a time when Andrea Hayter-Ross experimented with holding back the pitiful allowance she provided him, just to see what he would do. Dwellin wrote this stanza, among others vaguely hinting that it was good to serve the Lamb (at the last minute prior to sending them to Hayter-Ross, he excised one of the more desperate ones in which he flat-out asked for cash), and was also shortly thereafter arrested at a Vons supermarket for stealing a Clark Bar. Hayter-Ross paid his bail, and in one of the rare moments where she felt bad about making Dwellin jump through silly hoops, gave him a bonus on his cash installment and took him out to dinner at a smorgasbord.
Takk knew nothing of this backstory, nor would it have mattered to him if he had. What mattered to him was the Lamb was asking for help—and that by asking for it, had invited Takk to help himself as well.
Truth to be told, Takk was getting tired of the Ftruu. It was overwhelming and exciting and even a little gratifying at first—a nice adventure and an interesting way to see the universe. But over the last few months and especially the last few days, what Takk mostly felt was tired. Tired of living with the criminal element, which was not an especially invigorating element in any meaningful sense, tired of feeling the obligation of trying forbidden things, tired of meeting new people only in circumstances where he beat them or ate them.
In other words, Takk was primed for a religious epiphany, and as he watched Acuna jam his boot into Creek’s face, one hammered into him with lightning-hot intensity. His time of Ftruu was over, suddenly and irrevocably, and thank God for that. It was time for him to make the choice to return to the ranks of the moral, and to those engaged in the process of bettering the universe, not destroying it as a way to get they wanted; people like the Nidu ambassador or the human Jean Schroeder or even Rod Acuna, who didn’t actually want much of anything other than to be angry and get paid for it.
Acuna lifted his gun again to aim at Creek’s head; Robin turned into Takk’s chest to avoid the scene, still whispering for help. With one enormous paw, Takk swiftly but gently moved Robin aside, stepped forward, opened his insides, and sent his intestinal tendrils whipping toward Acuna. One hooked Acuna’s arm just as he fired his gun, twisting the barrel to the right and ricocheting the bullet off the concrete floor into the wall. The gun flew from the surprised Acuna’s hand. Other tendrils hooked and wrapped around Acuna’s legs, waist and neck. In less than a second Acuna was secured in Takk’s constrictive grip.
Acuna nevertheless managed to crane his neck, Takk’s tendril hooks tearing his flesh as he did so, to get a glimpse of the Nagch.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Acuna managed to croak out.
“I’m serving the Lamb,” Takk replied, and with a mighty jerk swallowed Acuna whole.
“Holy Christ,” Brian said to Creek, who was sitting at the comm center’s terminal. “What the hell happened to you? You look worse than usual.”
“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” Creek said. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
Brian did, catching up Creek with tales of lawsuits, usurpations, church schemes, and intelligent computers waging the Battle of Pajmhi over and over and over and over. And then he told Creek what he learned from Andrea Hayter-Ross. Creek sighed and put his head into his (right) hand.
“You look tired,” Brian said.
“I look like I’ve been shot in the arm and kicked in the face,” Creek said.
“That too,” Brian said. “But I meant besides that.”
“I am tired,” Creek said. “I want this whole thing to go away.”
“It’s not going to go away,” Brian said, as gently as he could. “You know that.”
“I know,” Creek said. “But I’m telling you what, Brian, the next time your brother comes to me asking me to run a computer search for him, I’m going to punch his goddamn lights out. Where is he, by the way?”
“He’s on the way to Nidu with the secretary of state for the coronation, for whomever it will be for, whenever it may happen. Where’s Robin?”
“She’s outside, talking to a new friend of hers,” Creek said. “Or should I say, a new follower?” Creek outlined the events of the last several minutes.
“Never a dull moment with you around,” Brian said.
“Despite my preference to the contrary,” Creek said.
“Are you sure she’s safe with that thing?” Brian said.
“He could have let Acuna kill me and take her,” Creek said. “If he wanted to do anything bad to her, that would have been the time. I also gave her Acuna’s gun. How is the Neverland?”
“She’s safe,” Brian said. “Safe as can be expected, anyway. The British Columbia is keeping the Nidu off of her. And the Nidu are keeping the British Columbia from sending a shuttle to pick you up. Everyone up there has taken the safety off the trigger but they’re keeping their iron in the holster. I think they’re waiting to hear about you and Robin.”
Creek sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going out to talk to her now. She’s going to like all of this even less than I do.”
“It’s the only thing that will work,” Brian said. “And it will work. We’ll make it work.”
Creek smiled. “We better,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere, Brian. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” Brian said.
Creek got up gingerly so as not to bump his injured arm, which was now in a sling; at Robin’s request Takk had gone to the pod and retrieved the first aid kit. Creek went outside to see Robin and Takk standing and talking; seeing him approach, Robin turned to Creek and smiled.
“Tell me you got everything to work,” she said.
“Everything works,” Creek said, and turned to Takk. “Would you excuse us for a moment, Takk? I need to talk Robin for a minute.”
Takk reached over and touched Robin on the arm. “We’ll talk about this some more later,” he said.
Robin squeezed his paw. “I’d really like that,” she said. Takk departed.
“Nice to have a fan club,” Creek said.
“No kidding,” Robin said. “Although all this stuff about the ‘Evolved Lamb’ makes me nervous. Takk seems really nice—as nice as you can be and eat people, I mean—but I hope he’s not going to be too upset when he eventually figures out I’m not some sort of mystical creature.”
“Hold that thought,” Creek said. “Because there have been some interesting developments.”
“Yeah?” Robin said. “They can’t be any stranger than hearing that you’re supposed to be the divine object of worship.”
“Robin,” Creek said. “Do you trust me? I mean, do you really trust me. Trust me as in if I tell you something you’d be willing to do it, even if it seems irredeemably insane.”
Robin stared at Creek for a minute, then started laughing. “Oh, God, Harry,” she said, finally. “Since I’ve met you what have we done that’s not been insane? Do you even realize how ridiculous your question is at this point?”
“So that’s a ‘yes,’” Creek said.
“It’s a ‘yes,” Robin said. “I trust you with my life, Harry.
It’s worked for me so far. So hit me with what you’ve got.”
“Well, let’s start with the big one,” Creek said. “You’re your own nation.”
Robin considered that for a moment. “For your sake, that had better not be a comment about the size of my ass,” she said.
The shuttle landed inside the natural amphitheatre and deposited Narf-win-Getag and Jean Schroeder, whose relationship to the Nidu Robin and Creek had learned from Takk. The two approached Creek and Robin when Takk stepped forward. “That’s far enough,” Takk said.
“Back off,” Schroeder said. “Remember that you’re working for me.”
Takk leaned into Schroeder. “I don’t work for you any more, little man,” he said.
“Takk,” Robin said. Takk eased back from Schroeder. “Thank you, Takk,” she said.
“Are we going to play intimidation games all day,” Narf-win-Getag said. “Or are we going to get to our negotiations? There is very little time, and I am quite busy.”
“Yes, we’re well aware of how busy you’ve been,” Creek said. “Seeing that we spent some time earlier in the day avoiding some of your business.”
“And well done, I must say,” Narf-win-Getag said, to Creek. “You live up to your billing, Mr. Creek.”
“That’s Prime Minister Creek to you, Ambassador,” Creek said.
“Is it now?” Narf-win-Getag said, bemused. “Well, isn’t this interesting. An entire nation right here in front me. All two of you.”
“Three,” Takk said.
“But of course,” Narf-win-Getag said. “Three it is. And I suppose you’re the minister of defense.”
“It’s funny that you mock us,” Robin said. “Considering that from what I hear, you were the reason this little nation exists.”
“You are quite right, Miss Baker,” Narf-win-Getag said. “Or is it Queen Robin? By all means, I don’t wish to violate protocol by addressing you incorrectly.”