The Long Utopia

28

ONCE THE GREAT New York viaduct had passed beyond the horizon, there was no more sign of the silver beetles. Not for mile after mile, hour after hour.

Heading steadily south, they tracked the eastern coast of North America, which, as far as Joshua could tell from maps downloaded into Lobsang’s tablets, more or less matched the geography of the Datum – minus the people, and plus a choking blanket of forest that in most places extended all the way to the sea. Lobsang claimed that in places he could see the forest colonizing the sea itself, with trees rooted in the tidal areas, like banyans. Inland too the character of the forest gradually changed. In the increasing warmth as they headed south, Joshua thought the forests looked lusher, richer, a more vibrant green, perhaps.

But they could see more evidence of disruption, more damage done by storms and freak waves. Even out to sea they peered down on the wave-smashed ruin of a coral reef.

For a late lunch, Joshua rustled up more clam chowder and served it with bread.

‘You know, Lobsang, I’ve been with you over a week now and I still can’t get over the fact that you faked your death. I always suspected you weren’t entirely gone, but still … Even by the standards of your bizarro life, that’s quite a stunt.’

‘I didn’t mean to deceive anyone. Especially not my friends. But it was not all artifice, not a simple lie. The aftermath of the confrontation with the Next was like a death to me. I, who had always regarded myself as the custodian of humanity, was ignored.’

Joshua grinned. ‘Ouch. It’s like that episode of classic Trek where the Greek gods lost their worshippers.’

‘Joshua, I’m trying to describe my deepest existential crisis. Perhaps we could discuss Star Trek some other time.’

‘Sorry.’

‘I had a breakdown, Joshua. In a sense I did die, or part of me. And the surviving piece has become a pioneer. A farmer. Once I tried to apprehend the problems of all mankind. Now I am immersed in the particular. Or I was.’ Lobsang sighed. ‘And yet here I am. Agnes, my anchor, had me face up to my wider responsibilities.’

‘And Sally Linsay.’

Lobsang looked at him sharply. ‘Sally? What about her?’

‘I talked this over with Agnes. Lobsang, you keep talking about coincidences, or the lack of them. Isn’t it a coincidence that this crisis with the beetles has blown up slap bang in the world you happen to be homesteading?’

‘I have wondered about that …’

‘She set you up.’

‘Who?’

‘Sally, of course. You say you went to her for advice on a suitable world. And she brought you out here?’

‘That’s so.’

Joshua laughed. ‘She knew there were problems here. Or she guessed it; her intuition about the Long Earth is pretty powerful. Remember how we first met her?’ It had been on their first jaunt together into the deep Long Earth – on The Journey, as fanboy types now referred to it. ‘There we were drifting through the High Meggers for the very first time, two bozos in a leaky prototype airship – and she’d already gotten wind of the crisis First Person Singular had caused, that massive stepwise disruption, and she was waiting for us. And now she’s got hold of you and Agnes and dropped you right on top of this latest drama. That’s why the world is blowing up under you, Lobsang. Sally made sure you were here when it did.’

Lobsang seemed angry. ‘If that’s true she should have consulted me.’

‘Would you have gone to New Springfield if she had? You’ve just been telling me about your breakdown, about your need to escape. This was the only way she could swing it.’

Lobsang was silent, frozen.

Joshua sighed. ‘You never guessed, did you? For all your world-spanning intellect, for all your experiments with humanity, you’re still horribly naive about people, aren’t you, Lobsang?’ He glanced out of the window, looking south, the Atlantic to his left-hand side, choppy and foam-capped, the storm-lashed forest to his right. ‘No sign of any action down there. I think I’ll take some exercise. There’s a fold-out treadmill in back. Call me if anything changes.’

‘Oh, I will,’ said Lobsang stonily.

Joshua looked back with a grin. ‘Poor old Lobsang. You want me to gather a few laurel leaves? It wouldn’t hurt—’

‘Go take your run, Valienté.’