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Something insulting about Umbo’s mother. And then a decision that this might be out of bounds.
Good call, Param.
“The mice know we’re here. So we could probably both sleep at once. But I’ll keep watch if it makes you feel safer.”
They were in the shadow of the woods now, and Umbo piled up this year’s leaves to make a large sleeping area without much work. Param lowered herself gracefully onto the leaves. Umbo sat up with his back leaning against a tree.
After a little while, Param moved herself closer to him. She held out one hand.
Umbo looked at the hand.
“Hold my hand,” she said. “In case I slice time in my sleep.”
Umbo took her hand.
It felt good.
In a few moments, she was snoring. She didn’t slice time. The mice left them alone. So instead of waking her to take her turn, Umbo eventually lay down beside her, still holding her hand, and caught some sleep as well. When he woke up, she was awake. But still holding his hand.
“Did I fart much?” asked Umbo.
“It’s been so long since you bathed, it’s hard to tell,” said Param.
“That was good,” said Umbo. “You’re getting good at this.”
“At insulting you? That’s not even a sport, Umbo,” she said. “It’s so easy.”
But because she called him by name, it didn’t sting. In fact, it made him feel kind of good.
Awake now, they took care of their morning ablutions, taking turns going down to the river, which was near enough to have been of use to the
colony when it was new. Unlike the facemasks in Vadeshfold, the mantles in Larfold were larger and easy to avoid in the water.
Rested and a bit cleaner and emptier, Umbo mentioned that they should have thought of food, and Param said that she hardly thought of anything else, and then she sliced time again, days, weeks, until . . .
There was a flyer setting itself down a few hundred meters away.
Param and Umbo moved swiftly toward it. Of course, because they were in sliced time, the people around them moved even quicker.
They watched as the Visitors set up all kinds of equipment whose purpose Umbo couldn’t guess at. And very soon, mantled Larfolders began showing up to talk with the Visitors.
The Visitors looked like regular people. There were sharp differences between them—some with skin so light you might call it white, others so black it was blue. Far more variety than the rather uniform brown of the wallfolds they had visited so far.
Umbo decided this meant that on Earth, races that originated in one geographical area tended to marry within their tribe, while on Garden, everybody had intermarried so much within each wallfold that, because the colonies had been identical at startup, they all evolved into the same intermediate brown.
We won’t learn anything if we don’t talk to them, thought Umbo. That meant coming out of sliced time and taking things at a normal—and visible—pace.
Then there was a flurry of motion near the Visitors’ flyer, and Umbo realized what it was. Mice were scurrying up a bit of cable dangling from the ramp leading up to the flyer’s door.
Not all scurrying, though. Some of them moved downright sluggishly.
Why so slow?
Pregnant, he thought. More babies.
No. They wouldn’t want their babies to be born en route. It would be hard enough to conceal adults; younglings would be impossible to hide.
So why else might some mice be more sluggish than others in climbing the rope?
