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“Rigg has that effect on people,” said Loaf. “Wears ’em right out.”
“Why not leave the city yesterday?” asked Rigg.
They looked at him like he was crazy. “Didn’t you just tell us it was impossible?” asked Loaf.
“But what if it isn’t?” asked Rigg. “I attached Param to the past by having her hold your hand. However these abilities of ours work, when human beings join hands they become like a single unit—they move through time together. Who’s to say that I couldn’t have joined you in the past at the same time Param did, by simply continuing to hold her hand, too?”
“But that never happened before—you never actually went into the past,” said Umbo. “Or not completely—part of you stayed here.”
“I never linked to anybody,” said Rigg. “I took a knife, but I didn’t hold on to the man. Did you ever link with somebody in the past?”
Umbo thought back. “I never touched anybody at all, except Loaf, and I brought him with me.”
Rigg was still thinking it through. “I think it’ll be best if we don’t try to find an earlier version of ourselves. I know that causal flows are preserved, but I don’t like tying the whole stream of time into knots if we can help it. We don’t understand the rules so I’d like to keep it simple.”
“So . . . we just pick somebody randomly out of the past and say, ‘Excuse me, do you mind if I and my three friends hold on to your body parts for a few minutes?’”
“Not randomly,” said Rigg. “Someone we can trust.”
“Oh, right,” said Loaf. “Aressa is full of trustworthy strangers.”
Then Rigg remembered somebody that he could trust. Somebody who was not part of Mother’s world at all.
“I have a friend,” he said.
Olivenko came out of his small flat and rumbled down the stairs toward the street. Time for a decent breakfast for once, before joining his unit and standing his watch.
As he reached the landing before the last flight of stairs to the street door, he saw Rigg Sessamekesh standing there.
“Rigg,” he said. “How did you get out of—”
Rigg shook his head.
Olivenko immediately nodded. Just speaking Rigg’s name aloud might attract attention—fortunately, he had not spoken loudly and few people in the building rose as early in the morning as he did.
“Olivenko,” said Rigg, “you remember all we talked about. You remember the danger that I’m in.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Well, I know—it’s not a guess or a logical deduction or even spying, but I absolutely know that in two days, Flacommo will be killed, his house invaded, my mother arrested, and my sister and I will hide and become fugitives, along with two other friends of mine.”
“And you want me to help you get away?”
“I do,” said Rigg.
“But they’ll be watching for you.”
“No, they won’t,” said Rigg. “Because they already know where we are.”
“What?”
“Param and I, at this moment you’re living through, are in Flacommo’s house, being observed.”
Olivenko knew enough to wait for the explanation.
“You think I’m going to explain, and I am, but not right now, because in about five minutes somebody else is going to come down those stairs and I don’t want him to see you talking with me.”
“So let’s go find your friends,” said Olivenko.
