shrank through the doorway out onto the porch. “Go, already,” said Bruce.
Morris peered through the door once more, then ran away over the porch and off into the paths of the valley.
Raymond went out of the kitchen, into his new room. David just sat hypnotized by the things in the jar.
“But what’s going to happen?” said Martha to Pella.
“What?”
“If you don’t take the pills.”
“I don’t know,” said Pella.
Five
“Misplaced intensity,” said Hiding Kneel.
Hiding Kneel was the first Archbuilder the girl had seen in the flesh—flesh and fur and shell and frond. In fact flesh was barely visible, just the black leather of its ears and eyelids. Whereas the fur was everywhere, under the papery clothes, and it was black, too, smooth and tufted, perhaps faintly musky. Shell shone beneath the fur in odd places, sleek natural armor; cheeks, wrists, what might be breastplates. The Archbuilder’s fronds seemed less horns or hair or limbs than flowers, a bundle of calla lilies topping the Archbuilder’s head, twisted, drooping elegantly to the side, tucked behind the large, clownish ears. The fronds were a kind of rhyming rebuke to the smashed towers that littered the planet: Bend, they said, and you may not crumble.
The girl and her brother had been sitting on the porch, gazing at the distant arches, when a pickup truck rumbled over the wastes, driven by the man named BenBarth. Their father sat in the cab. Hiding Kneel rode in the back of the truck, with the supplies. When the truck stopped beside the porch, the Archbuilder clambered out in a supple, slinking motion, its limbs seeming to flow in a ripple of two-way knee joints, of double elbows.
The girl felt the sight of the Archbuilder move through her, a physical thing. She clutched the porch where she sat, not looking at her brother. Her body slowly adjusted to the fact of the Archbuilder, its walking and speaking, scuffling in the dust, seemingly made of scraps, stage props, but alive, cocking its head curiously like an attentive dog, moving around the truck now beside the unconcerned men. She stared, perfectly still, fighting the urge to run. In one sense the Archbuilder was nothing, a joke, a tatter, too absurd to glance at twice. It seemed pathetic that they’d honored this thing with their endless talk, back in Brooklyn. That Caitlin had wasted her breath. At the same time, the Archbuilder burned a hole in the world, changed it utterly. It made the far-off towers loom up, made the glaring horizon draw closer. The place wasn’t rubble everywhere. Somewhere there were more Archbuilders. The rubble and what grew in the rubble belonged to them. The girl felt her body understand.
The alien leaned against Ben Barth’s truck, crossing its odd, double-jointed legs, watching as Clement and Ben Barth heaved a pallet of supplies from the back of the truck onto the porch. They’d driven the pallet from Southport, the older, bigger town, where there weredoctors, stores, a restaurant, where people came and went. From what Pella had heard she already wished they lived there instead of here, in the new settlement without even a name, this place on the edge of nothing.
Ben Barth was shaped like a question mark, and he was a head shorter than Clement. But he looked like he belonged moving supplies off a truck, where Clement looked wrong.
“I’m sorry?” said Clement to Hiding Kneel.
“Misplaced intensity,” repeated the Archbuilder.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ben Barth, with a hint of annoyance. He and Clement had one end of the pallet on the porch and were both behind it, pushing. Pella could hear the porch or the pallet splintering.
“The delivery could have been disassembled otherwhere,” said Hiding Kneel, “and transferred in miniature. Rather than this present clunking challenge.”
“Be less of a
clunking challenge
if you were helping instead of watching,” said Ben Barth. He laughed sourly, and said to Clement:
Morris peered through the door once more, then ran away over the porch and off into the paths of the valley.
Raymond went out of the kitchen, into his new room. David just sat hypnotized by the things in the jar.
“But what’s going to happen?” said Martha to Pella.
“What?”
“If you don’t take the pills.”
“I don’t know,” said Pella.
Five
“Misplaced intensity,” said Hiding Kneel.
Hiding Kneel was the first Archbuilder the girl had seen in the flesh—flesh and fur and shell and frond. In fact flesh was barely visible, just the black leather of its ears and eyelids. Whereas the fur was everywhere, under the papery clothes, and it was black, too, smooth and tufted, perhaps faintly musky. Shell shone beneath the fur in odd places, sleek natural armor; cheeks, wrists, what might be breastplates. The Archbuilder’s fronds seemed less horns or hair or limbs than flowers, a bundle of calla lilies topping the Archbuilder’s head, twisted, drooping elegantly to the side, tucked behind the large, clownish ears. The fronds were a kind of rhyming rebuke to the smashed towers that littered the planet: Bend, they said, and you may not crumble.
The girl and her brother had been sitting on the porch, gazing at the distant arches, when a pickup truck rumbled over the wastes, driven by the man named BenBarth. Their father sat in the cab. Hiding Kneel rode in the back of the truck, with the supplies. When the truck stopped beside the porch, the Archbuilder clambered out in a supple, slinking motion, its limbs seeming to flow in a ripple of two-way knee joints, of double elbows.
The girl felt the sight of the Archbuilder move through her, a physical thing. She clutched the porch where she sat, not looking at her brother. Her body slowly adjusted to the fact of the Archbuilder, its walking and speaking, scuffling in the dust, seemingly made of scraps, stage props, but alive, cocking its head curiously like an attentive dog, moving around the truck now beside the unconcerned men. She stared, perfectly still, fighting the urge to run. In one sense the Archbuilder was nothing, a joke, a tatter, too absurd to glance at twice. It seemed pathetic that they’d honored this thing with their endless talk, back in Brooklyn. That Caitlin had wasted her breath. At the same time, the Archbuilder burned a hole in the world, changed it utterly. It made the far-off towers loom up, made the glaring horizon draw closer. The place wasn’t rubble everywhere. Somewhere there were more Archbuilders. The rubble and what grew in the rubble belonged to them. The girl felt her body understand.
The alien leaned against Ben Barth’s truck, crossing its odd, double-jointed legs, watching as Clement and Ben Barth heaved a pallet of supplies from the back of the truck onto the porch. They’d driven the pallet from Southport, the older, bigger town, where there weredoctors, stores, a restaurant, where people came and went. From what Pella had heard she already wished they lived there instead of here, in the new settlement without even a name, this place on the edge of nothing.
Ben Barth was shaped like a question mark, and he was a head shorter than Clement. But he looked like he belonged moving supplies off a truck, where Clement looked wrong.
“I’m sorry?” said Clement to Hiding Kneel.
“Misplaced intensity,” repeated the Archbuilder.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ben Barth, with a hint of annoyance. He and Clement had one end of the pallet on the porch and were both behind it, pushing. Pella could hear the porch or the pallet splintering.
“The delivery could have been disassembled otherwhere,” said Hiding Kneel, “and transferred in miniature. Rather than this present clunking challenge.”
“Be less of a
clunking challenge
if you were helping instead of watching,” said Ben Barth. He laughed sourly, and said to Clement:
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