Seventeen

 

 

Eggs.

Observing the domes and spires through which they were hiking, Cody could not banish the image from his mind: something a hundred feet high, or maybe two, having the appearance of solid, banded sandstone, suddenly rumbling and cracking and splitting wide open to release—what? Every image his brain unwillingly conjured to fill the void was more disturbing than the next.

Kelli helped to calm him. If the danger was that great, she argued, then surely Kuwarra would not have brought them here. There had to be a reason why their actual presence was required. If it was simply a matter of finding and gathering something, some special ingredient for a potion or pill, the elder could have come by himself, or in company with Oelefse, or Oelefse and Cody, just as her husband and his European friend had gone to fetch the blue leaves of the ilecc to bring her out of her coma.

Her rationale, Cody realized, was sound. But while he approved of the logic that led to an inarguable conclusion, he didn’t like it.

Kookaburras and galahs guffawed in the Livistonia palms that filled the chasm. Where fast-flowing runoff from the Wet had scooped depressions in the sand of the creek bed, dark pools had collected, their depths as still and shadowed as the dust-free surface of black pearls. Even in the near perpetual shade, it was incredibly hot. Sweat poured down everyone’s face except Kuwarra’s, staining collars and sleeves. Tjapu Kuwarra did not sweat. In any event he had nothing to stain, having left everything in the way of clothing back in the Jackaroo but for a skimpy pair of briefs.

The chasm widened out into a bowl-shaped pit. The far side was dominated by a vast undercut ledge, a smooth-ceilinged cavern large enough to hold a thousand people. Splashing through ankle-deep water, they halted beneath the ceiling of the impressive natural amphitheater. Even a whisper was clearly audible, reflected and magnified by the superb natural acoustics of their red earth surroundings.

Slipping his pack off his back, Kuwarra brought out an incongruously powder-blue, cheap plastic lady’s makeup kit. From its contents he extracted glutinous paints and natural resins with which he proceeded to paint his body from face to feet, not neglecting to dab some bright reds and yellows in his remarkable beard. Cody looked on in quiet fascination, doing his best to describe the simple but bold patterns to Kelli. Working in silence, Oelefse stripped off his own clothes and proceeded to emulate his friend and colleague. The designs with which he streaked his pale skin were utterly different from those that decorated the nearly nude form of the aged aborigine.

When both elders turned to face Cody, he wondered if he would also be expected to offer up his torso for duty as a canvas. Or worse, Kelli’s. Noting the look of concern on the archaeologist’s face, Oelefse hastened to reassure him.

“You are perceptive, Coschocton Westcott, but you are not a member of the Society. There is work to be done here, and it is for my friend Tjapu and me to do.”

Cody nodded understandingly. “What about Kelli and me? What do you want us to do?”

“Stay out of the way.” Kuwarra’s eyes were roaming the sheer stone walls that enclosed them. “Stand. Watch. And be ready.”

“We can do that,” Kelli told him. “Where do you have to go next?”

“Where?” Kuwarra gestured expansively. “We are there, miss.”

Turning in a slow circle, Cody examined the handsomely banded, wind- and water-washed sandstone. It contained every earth tone imaginable, from deep magenta to bright yellow. He saw nothing but gravel, boulders, weathered stone domes, and sand. Since entering the range they had not seen a single Interloper. They were afraid of this place, their guide had explained. Of the bunyip. What in hell was a bunyip?

Did he want to find out?

Settling himself down on a cool patch of sand by the water’s edge, Kuwarra passed something to Oelefse. It was a half-foot long piece of wood, smooth on both sides, shaped something like a squashed banana. Intricate painted patterns decorated both flattened sides. At one of the two pointed ends, a stout knotted string passed through a hand-drilled hole. Oelefse held the string loosely, letting the piece of wood dangle near his ankle.

Taking up the hollow tube he had been carrying, Kuwarra put one open end to his mouth. Beeswax formed a smooth seal between lips and wood. When he blew into it the resultant drone, enhanced by the acoustics of the sandstone amphitheater, spooked every bird from its midday roost for half a mile around. Wings briefly filled the sky overhead before disappearing in all directions.

What the aborigine patriarch played could not be called a tune, but it was surely music, Cody knew. As an archaeologist, he had heard didgeridoo before, though it had been nothing like this. Instead of a hypnotic, barely modulated drone, Kuwarra punctuated his playing with as weird an assortment of whoops, squawks, squeals, and moans as could be found in a haunted house on Allhallows Eve. In his hands the didgeridoo became a living thing, an imprisoned orchestra, an insistent long-distance call to an atavistic past that went beyond music to penetrate to the heart of whatever it was that made its listeners human. It was mesmerizing, enthralling, all-embracing, and the Kija elder played without pausing to breathe, utilizing the traditional cycle breathing that had been developed for use simultaneously with the instrument itself.

Within a banded beehive dome of a hill across the shallow water, something stirred.

As soon as Cody saw the sheer rock face begin to quiver, he put an arm around Kelli and drew her back, instinctively putting room between them and the two elders. Bits and pieces of the highly colored sandstone crust began to flake away from underlying stone, tumbling to the sandy creek bed below. Kuwarra never broke off playing. If anything, his playing grew more insistent, more convoluted, evolving into the didgeridoo equivalent of a fugue. Cody paid less attention to the panoply of sounds than he did to the shuddering stone.

Kelli took an unexpected step forward and pointed. “I can see it!”

The archaeologist squinted, scanning the exfoliating rock. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the wail of the ancient musical instrument and the now rapidly peeling cliff face.

“Where? I don’t see anything.”

“There—it’s right there!” She was gesturing emphatically. “Can’t you see it?”

Between a band of yellow and a band of mauve, the rock was parting, cracking open, widening to reveal a dark hollow place in the solid stone. To Cody it looked like a mouth opening wide as a pair of colossal lips parted. But that was all he could see.

“Oh—it’s coming out!” Kelli took several steps backward, compelling her husband to retreat with her.

“What? What’s coming out?” Anxious and frustrated, Cody stared so intently at the widening maw in the cliff that the backs of his eyes began to throb. “I don’t see any . . .”

There was a crack of thunder. A crack of thunder in a cloudless, clear blue sky. The two-hundred-foot-high dome split vertically, like a mound of rainbow sherbet cleaved down the middle by a hot butcher knife. From depths within emerged a bluish silhouette, grotesque and malformed beyond imagining. Shimmering and glittering with malevolent fire, it turned a thousand luminescent fangs the length of a man in the direction of the four tiny figures on the sand below. Without warning, preamble, or hesitation, it struck, a descending synthesis of all that was sharp and lethal.

Just before it attacked, Oelefse had begun to whirl the banana-shaped piece of wood over his head, like a loop on the end of a lariat. With each revolution the brightly painted wood thrummed through the air, generating a deep-throated humming like the whir of a colossal, contemplative bumblebee. As the mad aggregate of blue-tinged razors lunged at Kuwarra, the wooden bullroarer struck. Fangs exploded, bursting on contact with the ancient device in a shower of azure sparks that flamed briefly blue before sinking into the sand. Outraged and thwarted, the horrific visage withdrew preparatory to striking again.

“It’s an outline!” Clinging tightly to his beloved, Cody tried to shield her as best he could. “Just an electric blue outline. There’s nothing else there.”

Within the tenuous safety of his arms, Kelli struggled to swallow, and failed. “No, Cody. It’s more than that. I—I can see all of it.”

“But how . . .” As he turned slightly to meet her blank gaze, the rest of the archaeologist’s question died in his throat. All he could see was a silhouette, a suggestion, a roiling hint of what the flickering blue enclosed. Damaged, altered, her perception transfigured, Kelli could not see him. But her clouded eyes could see—other things. The truth was right there, blatant as the stone that surrounded them. In spite of himself, despite his fear for his wife’s safety and his overriding desire to shield her, he pulled away from what he saw. He could not be blamed for doing so. No one could have withstood the horror he saw then—not even Oelefse.

The bunyip was reflected in her eyes.

As it drew back, gathering itself to strike again, Oelefse whirled to face the two archaeologists. His painted countenance was no longer that of the urbane European gentleman. Like the rest of him, his expression seemed to have slipped back ten thousand years in time. Even as he shouted, he continued to whip the bullroarer over his head while Tjapu Kuwarra sustained the steady drone of the didgeridoo.

“Kelli Westcott! Inhale! Take a deep breath. Now, as deep as you can! Do it!

Questions flared like matchheads in Cody’s mind, but there was no time for thinking. Reacting to Oelefse’s command, a startled Kelli sucked in as much of the ozone-tinged air as she thought she could. Beneath her shirt her chest expanded with the effort. It coincided with the bunyip’s second attack.

Once again the strike was deflected by the disk of power generated by Oelefse’s bullroarer. But this time the frightful apparition was not hammered backwards. Instead, reflecting the angle at which it had impacted the bullroarer’s circle of influence, it was shunted sideways, knocked askew. Something caught hold of it, drawing it forward instead of casting it away. Though it struggled mightily, twisting and writhing like a runaway dynamo with awful insensate life, it could not resist.

Cody felt as if he had been struck by a pillow filled with pudding. The force of it knocked him down, breaking his grip on Kelli’s shoulders, then picked him up and threw him six feet away so that he landed flat on his back on the soft sand. Looking on in helpless horror and fascination, he watched as a single flash of condensed blue lightning vanished down his wife’s smooth-skinned, tanned throat.

Kelli sat down hard, her hands at her sides bracing herself in a sitting position. Startled, dazed, she blinked several times, as if she had swallowed nothing more than an errant bug. Putting aside didgeridoo and bullroarer, the two elders instantly rushed to her aid. As they started to help her up, a furious Cody brushed them aside.

“What happened?” Trembling with rage, he stared down at his stunned wife. “What did you do to her?”

Oelefse replied gently—more gently than Cody had ever heard him speak. “Ask her if she can see you, my friend.” The old man nodded encouragingly. “Ask.”

The archaeologist did not have to. Her eyes welling up with tears, Kelli had reached up and was running her fingers over her husband’s features; touching, caressing, loving. The answer to Oelefse’s query was evident in the way her face moved, the way her smile widened.

“I can see you, Cody. I can see again. Everything.”

The fury went right out of him. Whatever hideous marvel he had just witnessed, it had restored her sight. Except for some initial, momentary shock, she seemed none the worse for the experience.

“Most people,” he muttered falteringly, “can get by with swallowing a lousy pill to cure what ails them.” Then he was bending toward her, his face inclining toward her own, his mouth and lips reaching for the warmth that was so familiar, staring into . . .

With a cry he fell back, stumbling away from her startled face, his trauma greater than hers. It was still there. The bunyip was still there—in her newly restored eyes. He had seen it—and it had seen him, staring murderously but impotently back from within the depths of his lover’s self and soul.

It wanted out.

Yet, as he gathered himself and struggled to deal with the shock of what he had just seen, it struck him that she seemed to be suffering no ill effects. What had happened, was happening? Did the bunyip now possess her—or she it?

Her expression was one of frightened bewilderment. “Cody, honey—what is it? What’s wrong?” She was oblivious to that which was now dwelling within her.

Slowly he walked back to her, putting a hand on each shoulder. “How do you feel? Anything unusual or irregular? What about your eyes?”

“They feel fine. I can see again. They ache a little, and I’m kind of nauseous, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” In her voice, confusion was paramount. “What’s the matter? You look so strange, Cody. Almost as if you’re frightened of me.”

Still holding her, his expression grim, he turned to confront the other members of the little party. They were observing in silence. “Well? What just happened here? Should I be frightened of her? Should we all?”

The two elders exchanged a glance. Oelefse left it to their guide to explain. “It was the only way, mate. The part of her mind that sees right was all cocked sideways, you see. Had to be knocked back into place. Need a big shock to do that, too right!” He gestured at his colleague. “Without me and Ole here, the bunyip maybe come out of its egg and eat you for sure.” He ventured an encouraging smile. “Instead, we make a little music, a little magic, and she eat it. Suck it straight down, your sheila did! Knock her eyeball stuff right back into line.”

Cody and Kelli struggled to make sense of the unfathomable. Kuwarra’s words were clear enough, but the antediluvian meaning behind them was not.

“Then it hasn’t gone away, this bunyip thing? It’s still inside her?” Summoning a great effort of will, the archaeologist made himself gaze once more into his wife’s eyes. What he saw there would have made a strong man blanch or a weaker love turn away. “I can see it.”

Oelefse nodded. “All surgeries have side effects, my young friend.”

“Side effects! What are we supposed to do now? Go home and go back to work? Resume a normal life while Kelli walks around with some irate eldritch horror fuming inside her? The idea behind all of this was to keep Those Who Abide away from us. Not make them part of the family.”

“The bunyip is not an Interloper.” Oelefse explained patiently. “It is something else.”

“I’ll say it is!” Cody’s angry voice reverberated off the burnished, buckled sandstone walls of the amphitheater. “It makes the worst Interloper I’ve seen look like a stuffed toy handout from a fast-food chain.”

“Of course we will exorcise it from her.” The elderly German’s tone was soothing. “But if you are willing, not here. There is a better place.”

“Better place?” Frowning, Cody looked from one composed, impassive elder to the other. Kelli’s expression reflected similar uncertainty. “What do you mean, a better place?”

Kuwarra took up the explanation. “Something is on the verge of happening, mate. Something real very bad for the very real world. It got to be stopped, don’t you know.” He spread his hands wide. “To prevent something real bad you got to use something real bad. Nothing around that’s badder than a bunyip.” Straining to see, he tried to peer speculatively into Kelli Westcott’s eyes. “Especially an angry one.”

“So you need this bunyip to—” Breaking off, Cody stared open-mouthed at the two old men. Despite the heat, an all-encompassing coldness ran down his spine, penetrating him to the core. Gracious, concerned, kindly, the two elders gazed back, waiting for him to speak—a pair of evenly matched, compassionate cobras.

“How long?” he finally found the wherewithal to whisper. Realization had stunned him beyond anger. Deeply confused, Kelli started to say something, only to be hushed by her husband. The gesture alone was enough to quiet her. Cody never tried to silence her. Few people did. Of those few, rarely did anyone succeed. The look on her life-mate’s face was enough to kill any words aborning.

Oelefse sighed heavily. “From before the beginning, my friend.”

“Don’t call me that!” Cody was beyond irate.

“Your call for help was not the only one considered, you know.” Picking his briefcase off the sand, the old man opened it and withdrew a small towel from its depths. As he spoke, he wiped paint and stain from his face and body. “But because of your backgrounds it was decided that you two would be the least vulnerable to the revelations that were bound to follow.”

“You used us.” A still disbelieving Cody was shaking his head slowly from side to side. “You helped us because you needed a vessel. Just like an Interloper needs a human vector. You needed someone to serve as a bottle for a bunyip.”

Oelefse’s voice was still firm, but he was beginning to look more than a little uncomfortable. “It could have been anyone, but your wife’s condition was serious. Saving her was our first priority.”

“Was it? Was it really? Tell me something.” Letting go of Kelli, he took a belligerent step forward. “Could you have cured her, brought her out of her comatose state, without adversely impacting her vision? Without leaving her unable to see her world? The real world?” He did not let the ensuing silence linger before raising his voice. “Could you?”

With obvious reluctance, Oelefse nodded. “I could lie to you, my friend, but that is not the way of the Society—usually. Ja, it could have been done that way—but then she would not have been able to serve as a suitable alembic for the bunyip. And we need such an alembic, Cody Westcott. We need it very badly. Time was—time is, short.” He nodded toward the solemn-visaged Tjapu Kuwarra. “As you have just heard, something very bad is on the verge of transpiring. Something that must be prevented at any cost.”

“‘Any cost’.” Cody’s tone was mocking. “You mean our cost. Kelli’s cost. Not yours.”

“We are all at risk,” Oelefse said adamantly. “You remember the ilecc?”

“As I recall, I was busy with other things while you were picking leaves.”

“A tea brewed from the stems of the ilecc would have been enough to restore your wife’s sight to normal. In contrast, the tea of the blue leaves left her vision altered and her self open. Open and able to receive and store almost anything. Such is the power of the ilecc shrub. Now she has her sight back, and additionally from now on will be able to perceive Those Who Abide as well as you or I. Only one small thing has been added.”

“Small thing?” Kelli had started the conversation far, far behind everyone else, but was catching up quickly. “If that same ghastly specter that I saw is what’s inside me now, it was as big as an airport terminal!” She swallowed. “No wonder I’m feeling nauseous.”

“It is only temporary,” Oelefse assured her. “Tjapu and I can coax it out at any time.”

“Then bring it out now. Right now!” a furious Cody demanded.

“This not the best place, mate.” Kuwarra’s response was as resolute as his smile. “Not the time, either.” His gaze drifted northward. “Soon. Where we can maybe stop this thing that’s otherwise going to happen. No, not maybe. Got to stop it. It falls to us four here. It been put in our hands.”

“Well, Kelli and I don’t want any part of it! You hear me?” The distraught archaeologist’s hands fluttered in his wife’s direction. “Get it out of her! Make it go away. Now!”

“Maybe first you have a listen.” Kuwarra’s smile shrank but did not disappear entirely. “What we done here today we don’t do lightly, mate. It really really is important. Nobody toys with a bunyip for fun.”

“That’s real reassuring,” Cody replied bitterly. “I suppose there’s no risk to Kelli involved in waiting, either?” He did not include himself in the equation because he did not care about himself.

“Nobody say that.” The aborigine elder continued. “No lies now, mate. There’s risk to us all. Anytime you got to deal with something this big and bad, there’s always risk.”

Turning away from the patriarch, Cody murmured solicitously to his wife. “How are you feeling, love? You still okay? How about the nausea?”

“It’s still there, but it’s not getting any worse.” She hesitated. “At least, not so far.”

Biting back the sarcasm that rushed to his lips, but that he knew would have been wasted on the stolid pair of elders, the archaeologist had to content himself with glaring at them. They waited with maddening repose for his response. “Okay—we’ll listen. But if we decline to get involved in your ‘real bad thing,’ whatever it is, then you have to promise, to swear to me, to drive this monstrosity out of my wife. Is that understood?”

“Unequivocally.” Pivoting so that he faced westward, Oelefse raised a hand and pointed. “Do you know what lies over there, that way?”

Kelli replied before her husband. “I remember you talking about it. The town of Hall’s Creek.”

“Beyond that.” The elderly German waved, trying to stretch his fingers to encompass more space. At this point, Cody would not have been surprised if those manicured digits had actually grown a foot or two. But they remained their normal, natural length as Oelefse spoke.

“The town of Broome. The Pacific Ocean.” Kelli responded absently, her restored vision constantly distracting her with a view of an interesting rock or intriguing insect.

“Farther still.” The tired old man turned back to them. “I will tell you. India lies there. And next to India, Pakistan.”

It was a struggle for Cody to remain focused on Kelli’s tribulation and not to show interest in Oelefse’s words. “So what? They’re big, all right, and I guess sometimes they’re bad, but what’s that got to do with us? Or with your Society, for that matter?”

Having removed the last vestiges of paint from his face, Oelefse moved on with the cleansing rag to his chest and arms. “They do not like one another, these two countries. They are favorite habitats for Those Who Abide. So much misery concentrated in one area provides them with an ideal feeding ground. Any large city in either country contains more healthy, rapacious Interlopers than any state in America, or Germany. They are among the most heavily infested places in the world.”

“That makes senses,” the archaeologist conceded grudgingly.

“It is not enough for them, my young friend. Those Who Abide are never satisfied. They are always hungry for more. More suffering, more despair, more wretchedness. They grow and multiply, and as they do so, they demand more nourishment; the provender of woe. To create opportunities for feeding, they will do whatever is within their power to increase it. Pitiful incidents may be sparked by several Interlopers working together.”

Thinking back, Cody remembered the bicyclists at the university who had nearly entrapped him: collision and collusion. “I know. I’ve seen them at work.”

“The greater the number of Interlopers toiling together, the more extensive the grief they can induce. In the subcontinent they have had great success. Even as we stand here, in this isolated place, they are planning another tragedy. Have been planning it for some time. Have you forgotten that I once spoke to you about such momentous malignant events? When first I came to your house to offer my help in curing your wife?”

Cody thought back, remembering. With a shock he recalled that the scholarly German had even mentioned India at the time. “So this is what you were talking about? Something that’s going to happen in India or Pakistan?”

“It will take place in neither country, and in both. You have heard of Kashmir?”

“The northern province that both countries claim? Sure; we follow the news,” Kelli said, finding herself distracted from her inspection of a school of small gray-white fish that were swimming just beneath the surface of the shaded desert pool. Joining in the conversation also helped to take her mind off the nightmarish phantasm that was now abiding somewhere within her unsettled self. “They’ve been arguing over dominion of the place for decades.”

“Not just arguing.” Nearly free of paint, Oelefse dropped the busy towel to his legs. “They have fought several wars over the territory. People die there all the time. One man’s terrorist is another man’s freedom fighter.” His voice fell slightly. “In the past years, something has changed. Something that raises the specter of violence and destruction on a scale that reduces everything that has gone before it to a tantrum between overgrown children. Both sides, both countries, are now in possession of nuclear weapons and the means to deliver them.”

“We know that.” Cody found himself becoming engaged despite his protests. “Kelli just told you—we follow the news.” All of a sudden he did not like the tack the older man’s conversation was taking. Given his wife’s present unhappy condition, there were very, very few phrases powerful enough to divert him from her situation. In the liturgy of distractions, the wholly unexpected mention of “nuclear weapons” was one of the few that would qualify.

“Their existence must please the Interlopers,” Kelli presumed.

“It does not just please them.” Wiping the last of the paint from his calves, Oelefse neatly folded the now deeply stained towel and slipped it back into his seemingly bottomless briefcase. “It excites them. It tempts them, it draws them together, it sets them to the most malicious scheming and planning. They have been conspiring for some time now.”

“To what end?” Cody couldn’t help himself. He had been drawn into Oelefse’s recital as neatly as dirt down a drain.

The older man took a deep breath. “If nothing is done, some time within the next couple of weeks, a large mechanized Indian invasion force that has been assembling in secret north of Rajput will make a dash for the Kalkuma Pass. The only road suitable for tanks, armored personnel carriers, and heavy mobile artillery is presently clear of snow and obstructions. They will attempt to take possession of and secure all of Kashmir. Once through the pass, they will split up to eliminate any local or Pakistani resistance. Designated elements will drive all the way to the border with Pakistan and dig in, ready to repel any counterattack. All this will come about because extremist elements of the Bharatiya Janata, the Hindu nationalist party, have seen their strength slowly slipping away due to the failure of their economic policies. They hope that by thrusting a jingoistic diversion before the masses, they will be able to shore up their flagging popularity.

“Much the weaker country, but with a highly trained and well-equipped military, the Pakistanis will respond immediately. They will be driven off by the entrenched Indians. Extremist Muslim elements within the government and the army will then demand that the ‘honor’ of the nation be upheld.” His gaze unwavering, Oelefse was staring hard at the archaeologist. “You can guess what will happen next. The Pakistanis will employ tactical nuclear weapons in the field against their Indian adversaries. The Indians will be driven back from the border into Kashmir, but they will not be driven out.

“They will then respond with their own—devices. The conflict will escalate until one side or the other attempts to trump its opponent through the use of nuclear blackmail. When this bluff is called, as it inevitably will be, a small bomb will be fired at a large city.” He let his words linger in the dry, desiccated air. “After that, the limited nuclear arsenals of both sides will be brought into full play. Millions will die. Many millions more will be horribly scarred and mutilated. Cancer and radiation poisoning will doom additional millions, as well as untold numbers of children yet unborn.”

“Those Who Abide,” Kuwarra added as he lazily stirred the sand with the end of his didgeridoo, “will get stuck right into this people barbecue. The poor folk won’t even know what is happening to them.”

“But that is not the worst of it.” Oelefse waited patiently for a response.

“There’s worse than that?” Kelli had momentarily forgotten her nausea.

“Once the full might of arms of both countries is involved, they will call upon their erstwhile allies for help. Linked by religious and cultural ties, the entire Middle East Gulf region may throw its economic and military muscle onto the side of the Pakistanis. This will have the ancillary effect of driving world oil and therefore energy prices higher than the steeples at Cologne, consequently sending the world economy spinning into chaos. Seeing a grand opportunity to defeat a hereditary enemy with which it has fought similar border wars in the past, the Chinese will open a second front in northeastern India. Assailed from two sides, the Indians will then swallow their pride and ask for outside help.” Oelefse nodded at the stunned archaeologist.

“That may bring your country, and mine, and the rest of the developed world into the conflict. At that point no one can predict what might happen, except to say that Those Who Abide will grow sleek and contented. It is not the Black Plague, or perhaps even the Second World War—but it could be very, very bad. All of this, of course, from the military buildup in northern India to its projected conclusions, has been aided and abetted by those humans infested with Those Who Abide. Without their incitement, such a confrontation would be unlikely, if not outright impossible.”

“You say ‘may’ and ‘could.’ ” Cody’s earlier anger had fled and he was much subdued.

“The Society’s predictors cannot see much beyond the initial clash between the subcontinent’s dominant countries. Subsequent to that, all is hazy speculation. But as to the course of the initial hostilities, they are confident.”

“How can they be?” Kelli’s expression was anguished. “How can they know all this is going to happen? Can some of your Society people see into the future?”

“No, not exactly.” The old man smiled gently. “Several thousand years of knowing one’s opponent and striving to outthink it leads to specific techniques useful in forecasting certain trends. Also, we have people in all countries, those of the subcontinent included. We have been tracking this secret military buildup on the part of India ever since it was initiated. We know their plans and have recorded their stratagems. From there, extrapolation can be made with a reasonable degree of accuracy.”

“And you,” Cody had already realized, “you and the Society, you plan to try and prevent this from happening.”

Both elders nodded simultaneously. “We must.”

“And for that you need something like a bunyip. What for—to frighten the troops and keep them from advancing?”

“That would not work.” Oelefse explained patiently. “Its appearance would trouble only a few soldiers, and would be explained away as a clever Pakistani deception by the fanatics in their ranks. The assault would proceed with little or no delay. Our predictors note that the Indian advance has been carefully timed. If it cannot be carried out this year, before winter snows in the Karakorams close the Pass, then support for it within the ranks of the Indian military will fade. By spring, the political power of the Bharatiya Janata is forecast to be much reduced. The threat of military action to divert people’s attention from the state of the economy will evaporate, and a new, less extreme coalition government will take power.”

“If you’re not going to use it to try and scare soldiers, then what do you need a bunyip for?” Cody pressed him.

“You already know that, mate.” Using his didgeridoo, a grinning Kuwarra blew a soft honk at a galah winging its way over the chasm. “To frighten away Interlopers.”

Husband and wife exchanged a confused glance. “What Interlopers?” Kelli asked. “The ones in India? Is that where we’re going next?”

“Not at all.” Turning slightly, Oelefse pointed northward. “We need the bunyip to frighten them away from the Hook. There are several that can be utilized. This one, having the strongest association, will be defended. After the guardians are driven off, we can yoke the bunyip and make it pull. It will not take much of a tug to do what must be done.”

Yoke the bunyip. Cody found himself yearning for the comforts of home and the warm, enshrouding predictability of staid academia. “If we’re not going to India, then where? Pakistan? And what the hell kind of a ‘hook’ are you talking about?”

Oelefse smiled cheerfully. “You will see, when we get to Hoskins.”

“Hoskins?” Kelli made a face. “Is that near Perth? Or Darwin?”

“Somewhat farther north,” the German told her. “On the island of New Britain, which is part of northern Papua New Guinea.”

“New Guinea!” Overwhelmed by seemingly unrelated places, persons, and events, Cody was too exhausted to object. “I thought the danger was in Kashmir?”

“So it is, mate.” A relaxed Tjapu Kuwarra casually slung his didg over a shoulder and started back down the narrow rock-walled gash in the Earth that led toward their waiting four-by-four. “But the Hook ain’t.”