They drove past a grove of upside-down trees. These balanced themselves on delicate branches, their roots hanging in the air like the hair of an old woman. They grew among rocky outcrops that drifted above grass, which in turn grew half an inch above the soil. A flock of raucous birds erupted from the ground beneath one tree, assembled briefly on its roots, then dove beak-first back into the earth.
“Too weird,” Wendy muttered.
The engine chose that moment to sputter and miss. The motor home shuddered. Then the electronic ignition refired and they lurched forward.
Frank found he was sweating. If the engine died here they might never get it going again. In a place like this, where natural law seemed to be on a permanent vacation, a familiar internal combustion device might decide to start putting out ice cubes instead of heat. The word for this reality line was subversive.
“I’ve never been anyplace like this,” Mouse was saying.
“I’ve never imagined anyplace like it.” He kept resolutely to the pavement.
A tapping at his window brought his head around sharply. Three large angelfish drifted just beyond the glass, keeping pace without visible effort. He checked the speedometer, which read sixty. The fish in front was black with yellow stripes, while its companions were orange and white. The leader was tapping on the glass with a fin. Frank hesitated, then cracked the window a few inches. The fish drifted up to the gap.
“Pardon me,” it said in perfect English, “but I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Its fins rippled smoothly as it swam alongside.
“We’re just passing through.” After all they’d experienced, it seemed almost normal to be conversing with a fish. If this variety fell in the water, he wondered, would it drown? “We’re on the right road, ain’t we?”
“You’re on the only road,” the fish assured him. Silver-dollar-sized eyes pressed curiously against the glass.
“Peculiar creatures,” opined one of the orange swimmers. “Strange habitat. Could we come inside? Just for a quick visit. We won’t stay long.”
“I don’t know.” Frank glanced back at Burnfingers.
“Some of my best friends are fish,” came the reply. “Fishy, anyway.”
Why the hell not? Frank wondered. He rolled the window down all the way.
Given their speed, the entering fish should have been accompanied by a stiff breeze, but there was no wind at all. They came in wiggling their fins. They poked curiously at everything and everyone, but they couldn’t do any harm because they had no hands.
“A nice shape,” one of the orange visitors decided. “Next week it might be different, but right now it’s a nice shape.”
“We’re very big on streamlining, you know,” its companion declared. “It’s hard to be both elegant and streamlined.”
“A machine,” the other announced with satisfaction. It was poking at the stove like a bottom feeder hunting for worms. “We haven’t seen machines in—actually I can’t remember the last time I saw a machine. Or if I ever did.”
“It’s nice to have visitors,” said the first. “We don’t get many. This isn’t a very busy road.”
“I can see why,” said Frank fervently. “You might arrive looking like one thing and leave looking like something else. Or nothing else.”
“It’s possible but not likely,” said the black and yellow. “Just looking at you I can tell you’re all too tightly bonded for that. Your request self will never assert itself. At least not right away.”
Frank was tempted to press a little harder on the accelerator but didn’t dare. The one thing they could not afford to do was lose control of the motor home. This was no place for reckless driving.
Flucca was keeping a wary eye on the floating fish as he spoke to Mouse. “Are you sure this isn’t Chaos?”
“Chaos?” The orange fish laughed, a bubbly, watery sound. “Goodness, no.”
“Well, you don’t seem very organized here.”
“Existence is wasteful without flexibility,” the black fish told him. It made an effort to smile. “This isn’t Chaos. There are the Free Lands. Freedom is not Chaos, though there are similarities.”
One of the orange floaters nodded. “Freedom is just Chaos with better lighting.”
“It’s all in how you perceive reality.” The black spun in a tight circle. “Best not to examine too closely the underlying truths. They can be upsetting. Speaking of which, you all are so nervous and uptight. Any stomach pains?”
“No,” Alicia responded. “Actually I feel fine. It’s just that we’re in a hurry to get somewhere and these detours are kind of trying.”
“No detours here, unless you want to take them.” The orange fish were swimming toward the open window. The black hurried to join them. The unlikely trio exited together.
“Machines,” one of them muttered disapprovingly.
“Wait, wait a second!” Frank waved anxiously. “How much farther does this road go?” There was no answer. The three angelfish were already falling behind as they swam in stately formation toward the floating mountains that dominated the distant horizon.
“Well,” Alicia observed after some time had passed, “at least the natives are friendly.”
“And maybe good to eat,” said Burnfingers undiplomatically.
“I wonder what they look like when they’re not being fish?” Wendy mused.
“I don’t know.” Frank kept his eyes resolutely on the road ahead. “But let’s not ask for any demonstrations. Uh-oh.” He braked, disconnecting the cruise control. The motor home began to slow. Mouse moved up for a better look.
“What’s the matter?”
“Maybe it isn’t Chaos, but there’s a little too much freedom ahead.”
They were coming to a split in the road. Not a fork or another off ramp. A hundred yards in front of the motor home, the pale pavement degenerated into a tangle of possible pathways. Some curved skyward at impossible angles. Others plunged into solid ground. A few curled round and round like endless corkscrews. If he drove onto one of those, Frank wondered, would he fall off when the road turned upside-down, or would they just keep on going?
In any case, he had no intention of plunging headlong into that mass of multidirectional spaghetti. There was no one in front of him, no one behind. He slowed, pulled off onto what he hoped was a paved shoulder, and stared.
