Every step was dangerous.

  Every step might trigger an explosion or something worse. Still, Mo'Steel didn't hesitate. He walked briskly, loving the risk, the uncertainty. He was almost disappointed when they got close enough to the column to see it better.

  Mo'Steel was surprised to see that the column continued up Into the environment above. He craned his neck, trying to get a better view. The statue was broad, solid, substantial. It lacked the rectangular base most of the statues they'd sailed past rested on. Even from down below, Mo'Steel could see the statue was old. He recognized the thing. He'd seen it during the last few minutes he'd spent aboard the Constitution.

  "It's the Squid statue," he said.

  Billy nodded wordlessly.

  "Squids?" Alberto asked.

  "When we got flushed, a battle was taking place around that statue," Mo'Steel said. "Looks like the fight is over now, though."

  "Who was fighting?" Kubrick asked eagerly.

  Mo'Steel studied him. He'd be useful in a battle. He was angry enough, Mo'Steel was getting used to Kubrick's see-through look, too. The shock was wearing off. Fake skin was only slightly more radical than fake bones and Mo'Steel had plenty of those.

  "Aliens," Mo'Steel said. "Blue Meanies and Squids."

  Kubrick and his dad exchanged looks, and Mo'Steel smiled. They thought he was crazy. Well, why not? They would see for themselves eventually. If they lived long enough.

  "Why were they fighting over a statue?" Kubrick asked.

  Mo'Steel shrugged. "Maybe they needed a focal point for their living room."

  Alberto had a distant look in his eyes. The same look Jobs got when he was pondering a thorny puzzle. "You say this master computer creates environments based on the data we had aboard the shuttle?" Alberto asked.

  "Best as we can figure," Mo'Steel said.

  "And the other statues up there were recognizable masterpieces?" Alberto asked.

  "We saw David" Mo'Steel said."Something by Picasso. The Sphinx."

  "Did anyone up there recognize this — this Squid statue?" Alberto asked.

  "Don't think so," Mo'Steel said uncertainly. "Things were happening kind of fest. Not a lot of time for chitter chatter. Why? What are you getting at?"

  "I don't think this is a statue," Alberto said."The other statues are contained in the environment, as you call it. This is the only one that continues down into the basement. I think this is a part of the ship."

  Alberto began to move around the column, studying it from every angle. Billy grazed it with his fingertips. Kubrick didn't seem to be doing more than staring off across the vast basement, putting as much space as possible between himself and his father.

  Mo'Steel's mind had already moved on. He wanted to find a way back up into the environment. Anything at all could be going on up there and he wanted part of the action.

  "What else is down here?" he asked Kubrick.

  "Not much," Kubrick answered. "No way out that we could find. Rooms like the one you came out of. Some equipment, but we haven't been able to make any sense of it."

  "What kind of equipment?" Mo'Steel asked.

  "Computers."

  "Show me," Mo'Steel said.

  "I don't think that's a good idea," Kubrick said.

  "Why? What are you guys so afraid of?"

  "Those," Kubrick said, his gaze settling on something behind Mo'Steel.

  CHAPTER 6

  "THE NEW WORLD IS A BIG MOVIE THEATER."

  Mo'Steel spun around just in time to see massive pillars of brilliant light snap into existence. They were like three-foot-thick laser beams randomly spaced. Mo'Steel instantly imagined gigantic movie projectors projecting toward the ceiling.

  "Grab your seats, everyone," Mo'Steel said. "Looks like the light show is just beginning."

  The lights played against the glass ceiling, changing from blue to brown to white. Mo'Steel moved closer to get a better look.

  Kubrick grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly back."Careful," he said.

  "What's the big deal?" Mo'Steel asked. "It's just light."

  "So are laser beams, just light," Alberto said. "That doesn't stop them from cutting through bone. Watch this."

  He yanked a button off the ragged jacket he wore."See this button?" he asked like a magician. He waited for Mo'Steel to nod and then cautiously approached one of the light beams and tossed the button in.

  "So?" Mo'Steel asked.

  "Wait," Alberto said.

  A few minutes passed, and then the lights clicked off as if someone had thrown a switch in the projection room. Mo'Steel stared at the floor around where the beam had been.

  No button.

  "The lights are extremely destructive," Alberto said. "Dissolving metal takes great quantities of energy."

  "Also, they come up in different places each time," Kubrick said."The only safe place is near the pits."

  "Now that we know what's up there," Alberto said, "I think they must be some sort of matterenergy projectors creating the different environments."

  "The New World is a big movie theater," Mo'Steel said. "And we got stuck in the projectionist's booth somehow."

  "Something like that," Alberto agreed.

  "So where are the controls?" Mo'Steel asked.

  "Maybe we can get rid of the war scenes and play some extreme-skiing disks."

  "Are you good with computers?" Alberto asked.

  "Not especially," Mo'Steel said.

  "Pity," Alberto said."Still, you're right. We have at least fifteen minutes before the lights come back. Come on. I'll show you the pits. Those are as close to controls as anything we've found."

  They started off across the vast open space with Alberto leading the way, suddenly brave and in control now that there was no immediate danger. He walked fast, then faster and faster until he was practically jogging.

  Soon Mo'Steel could see where they were heading: a sunken pit that resembled a living room. The space glowed with a dim light. Fabric-covered chairs like the bucket seats in a fast car were spaced here and there, but Mo's attention was drawn to something that looked roughly equivalent to the plasma screen on his old computer at home.

  He hopped down into the pit and eagerly tapped the screen with his fingertips. "Come on, baby," he muttered."Give me something."

  Nothing. He ran his fingers along the edges searching for a button. Nothing. There was no keyboard, no help button, no friendly talking interface. Nothing, zilch, nada, zero. Not even a dusty pmanual.

  Where was Jobs when you needed him?

  Oh, right, upstairs trying to sail a ship that had already been a relic when his grandmother was born.

  Mo'Steel took a step back, frustrated, unable to think of what to do next. He bumped into Billy, who was hovering right behind him.

  "Billy, sorry, man," Mo'Steel said. "I sort of forgot you were underfoot."

  "It's a face," Billy said.

  "A face?"

  "It has no brain," Billy said.

  "I think he's saying that it's a screen, a readout," Alberto said impatiently."The brains of the machine are elsewhere."

  "So let's look," Mo'Steel suggested.

  For the next ten minutes, Alberto and Mo'Steel crawled around in the pit. They searched the panels, the chairs, and even the floor with their fingertips. Mo'Steel found nothing. Not even an old paper clip or a dusty piece of gum.

  Billy and Kubrick sat on the floor Not exactly together, just near each other The two of them watched as the others searched.

  "Dad, we've tried that a hundred times," Kubrick I said finally.

  "What do you suggest we do instead?" Alberto said.

  "I don't know," Kubrick said. "I just know that what you're doing is pointless."

  Angry red blotches broke out on Alberto's face and neck."Fine," he said."You think you're so smart, that's just fine. You figure out what we should do next."

  "While you do what?" Kubrick demanded.

  "Rest," Alberto said harshly. "I want to close my eyes on this godforsaken place and, if my brain will let me, actually forget I'm here for as long as I can sleep."

  "You mean you want to get away from me," Kubrick muttered.

  Alberto made no sign that he'd heard his son.

  Mo'Steel watched with amazement as Alberto defiantly climbed onto one of the padded chairs. He had to work at it. The chairs hadn't been built for humans. They were too far off the ground. Alberto was forced to scramble up like a little kid. Once he was seated, the armrests hit him at about shoulder height.

  "Do you think the Blue Greenies or the Squids built this stuff?" Kubrick asked. He seemed determined to ignore his father's little temper tantrum.

  "Blue Meaniesy," Mo'Steel said. "And no. The proportions are all wrong. Check out the ergonomics. Whoever built that had long legs, short arms, and a huge head."

  Mo'Steel watched as Alberto yawned, stretched, and settled himself into the alien chair.

  "Can I get you anything?" Kubrick asked. "Maybe a pillow and your slip —" He trailed off when Alberto suddenly sat up.

  "This thing is active!" Alberto exclaimed, all hints of anger or impatience gone from his voice."! heard music. Very fast music. Oddly fast."

  "Do you think it's the computer interface?" Mo'Steel asked eagerly.

  "That's exactly what I think!" Alberto said.

  "You guys haven't sat in one of these before?" Mo'Steel demanded.

  "We have, several times," Alberto said. "But not this one. Maybe the others were inoperative." A broad smile lit up his face as he settled back in the chair. "There it is again!" he reported. The smile faded as he concentrated on what he was hearing.

  "Music. Nothing I recognize. Getting faster now. More..."

  His face blanked out. Like a TV screen does when you pull the plug. He was still looking at them, but his eyes were dead. His mouth dropped open so wide Mo'Steel could see a filling glittering in one of his molars.

  Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

  CHAPTER 7

  "THE CIVIL WAR IS ALREADY ON."

  Jobs knew the others were tired and generally annoyed with life and one another. He was tired and annoyed. They'd struggled with the mast for hours. That was according to Jobs's internal clock. He didn't have a watch to consult and the night sky above them remained completely unchanged. No darkening into deep night like the real sky. A painter's version of reality.

  His back hurt. Right in the middle. He tried to stretch it out, but that didn't seem to help.

  Jobs thought that dropping the mast section had calmed the ship's swaying. A little. Maybe. Really, if Jobs was honest with himself, any effect was difficult to perceive. But he had a hard time believing they had done all that work for basically no reason.

  "Now what?" Tate asked.

  "Now we have to set the sail," Jobs said.

  Six faces stared hostilely back at him. Jobs wondered if they were going to refuse. Then what? He'd have to try to do the job himself. They had to get control over the helm.

  "Which sail?" 2Face asked finally. She sounded exhausted.

  "I'll show you." Jobs didn't know the name for the sail, but he thought of it as the "main course" — a name he'd heard in some old movie about pirates. It was one of the biggest sails they had on board. It would be harder to set — much harder than the little sails they had been dealing with — but Jobs hoped it would be the only sail they'd need.

  He led the way down the rope ladder to the next-lower platform. The others followed him, with Anamull reaching the platform last. The ship was still wallowing dangerously in the swell, but from the lower platform the movement seemed less extreme.

  Just below them was the yardarm — a piece of wood that ran parallel to the mast like the short section of a cross. The sail was gathered up against the yardarm like a sail-sausage.

  "We're going to have to climb down there to unfurl the sail," Jobs said. He pointed to a rope that ran about three feet below the yardarm.

  Tate looked uncertain."After you."

  This was really more Mo'Steel's thing. Jobs thought as he headed down the ladder toward the yardarm. The thought made his heart feel even heavier.

  Jobs climbed down until the yardarm was even with his waist. He reached out and placed his right foot on the foot rope. He gave it a little weight to test its strength. The rope sagged a little, but held.

  The foot rope was maybe an inch in diameter. Several lengths of similar rope connected the foot rope to the yardarm. Jobs couldn't see what was holding the connector pieces in place — probably nothing more than a complicated knot.

  Jobs sighed. The Constitution was beautiful and all, but he longed for steel and titanium and nylon. Materials that weren't weakened by things like sun and salt water. Materials you could trust.

  "You going to stand there all night?" Tate had come down the ladder behind Jobs.

  "No," Jobs said."Just taking a moment to ponder my own mortality."

  "Maybe it's better not to do that," Tate said.

  Jobs nodded, moved his left arm onto the yardarm, stepped out onto the foot rope, and inched over to make room for Tate.

  It was like walking a tightrope. A wet, slippery tightrope. He had a dizzying view of the deck hundreds of feet below. A view he did not enjoy.

  Tate stepped onto the foot rope. Her added weight gave Jobs a good bounce. He felt his heart pounding in his throat as he clung to the yardarm. 2Face came after her.

  "The rest of you need to go to port!" Jobs called. He didn't want anyone else on his side of the foot rope. It was bouncy enough already. One good bounce at the wrong time would land him in the ocean or toss him down onto the deck.

  D-Caf, Anamull, Edward, and Roger Dodger moved into position.

  The sail was attached to the yardarm with a series of short sections of rope. They spent ten minutes fighting to loosen the slippery wet knots. Jobs's fingers were bruised, raw, and bleeding before the job was half done. When they were finally finished, the sail loosened up on the yardarm. But it was still gathered up like a fancy window treatment.

  "Let go of the lines!" Jobs called, pointing above his head.

  Four lines lashed the sails in place. Jobs inched over until he could reach one. The rope was curled around a wooden cleat. Jobs uncurled it and let it out. The far starboard side of the sail dropped down and began flailing in the wind.

  "Roger Dodger! D-Caf!" Jobs yelled above the noise."Get down on deck and tie the sail down."

  "Aye-aye!" D-Caf said with one of his strange, nervous laughs.

  Fifteen minutes and dozens of little adjustments later, the job was done. Violet turned the ship into the swells and Jobs had the satisfaction of feeling the ship calm under him.

  Finally.

  Jobs did a sidestepping walk back to the fighting top. His back and shoulder muscles ached, but he felt exhausted in a good way. All of the hard work had been worth it.

  "Let's get something to drink," Tate said with an enormous yawn.

  "What do you want?" Anamull asked. "Salty water or rum mixed with salty water?"

  "Whatever's left," Tate said. She swung off the platform and began climbing down the rope ladder. Anamull was right behind her Jobs was about to follow when he felt someone touch his arm.

  2Face.

  "Wait," she whispered urgently. "I need to talk to you."

  Jobs sighed deeply. He was tired. He didn't feel like having a heavy conversation. On the other hand, 2Face had lost her father that day. He could spare her a few minutes. He stayed put while Anamull and D-Caf scuttled by them and made their way down the ladder Anamull gave Jobs a long questioning look, but Jobs ignored him.

  "What do you think of the situation?" 2Face asked when they were alone. She stood on the platform, hands resting lightly on the rail, gazing out to sea. The scene seemed a lot less threatening now that the ship had calmed.

  Jobs rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. He took his time. When he finished, he rolled his head back and forth from side to side."What situation?" he finally asked.

  "Wylson washed overboard," 2Face said. "We have to presume she's dead. I don't know about you, but I'm wondering who that leaves in charge. Yago seems to think it's him."

 

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