Then craggy old Pulaski was gone, dirt and trees and rock shuddered completely aside. Revealed as still rising beneath a now dust-shrouded moon was a dense cluster of immense horizontal towers and spires. As the earth continued to slough away from its sides it became apparent that the multiple edifices were not distinct and isolated, but were in fact interconnected segments of a unified whole. What gleamed and sparkled and rumbled out of the earth was in fact one contiguous, single, gigantic machine.
Its profundo thrumming was clearly audible above the crash of pulverized granite and splash of disturbed water, the kind of noise a blue whale might emit in the midst of a disturbed cetacean dream.
“Now, what do you make of that?” Rose Hawthorne settled herself back in the swing. The roof of the porch was collapsing around them, but the swing’s taut, floral cover was still intact.
Reaching for his cocoa, Esau took a sip, made a face when he saw how much of it had been sloshed out. “Spilled m’ cocoa.”
“Yes, yes. Never mind your stupid cocoa, you crazy old man,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t you see what’s happening?” Within the building awed exclamations were beginning to mix with the wails of confusion and fear.
Whipped to foam, the lake began to vanish before their very eyes as with a hellish gurgling it drained away into some commodious unseen abyss.
Mr. Hawthorne leaned slightly forward. “From the looks of it, I’d say a giant alien spaceship has come up beneath the lake and Mt. Pulaski.”
“Don’t be an old fool, Esau,” his wife said as, enveloped in an aura of estimable majesty, the titanic construct rose into the sky, dripping rocks and earth and trees from its reflective flanks while blotting out the moon and the stars. “There’s no such thing as alien spaceships, giant or otherwise.”
“Well, now.” Esau wished he had a full cup of hot cocoa. It was the best thing for a man to have close at hand when sitting outside on a cool night, even during an earthquake. Except for Rose, of course. “That’s a giant alien spaceship if ever I’ve seen one.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Esau. Anyone can see that it’s a …” She waved a dainty hand in the direction of the ponderously ascending titan. “That it’s obviously a …” She never did complete the observation.
“Y’know, old woman,” he said with a sigh as he turned up the thermostat on his pajamas a notch, “you’d think that after sixty years o’ marriage you’d have learned to listen to me once in a while.”
“Oh very well!” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest. “Stubborn old coot. Have it your way. If you say it’s a giant alien spaceship, then it’s a giant alien spaceship.” She delivered the concession with a derisive snort.
Oblivious to such external evaluations, the immense Drex vessel continued to ascend. Beneath it Mt. Pulaski was no more, and Lake Woneapenigong but a forlorn gouge in the earth, its waters having completely drained away into underground cracks and chambers.
What was even more impressive was that the Hawthornes and those of their fellow Villagers who were now awake and had not run screaming for cover were only beginning to get a look at its entire mass.
“Everything is very much changed.” The Autothor hovered close to the five elderly hikers. It did not count the serving robot.
Now that they were aboveground there was plenty to see, such as the extensive damp hole in the surface where Lake Woneapenigong used to be. The cavity the disappearing waters left behind suggested the extraction of a giant’s tooth, but it was nothing compared to the newly created east-west canyon which marked the former burial location of the Drex ship.
Beyond lay the glittering lights of Lake Woneapenigong Village, no structure rising higher than three stories. Most of the lights within seemed to be on. As they continued to ascend, the lights of other communities became visible. Iranaputra thought he recognized Tolver’s Crossing, Josephson Town, North and South Brookgreen, and the irregular sheet of moonlit water which had to be Saddlebag Lake.
“I wonder if we are making a lot of noise,” Shimoda murmured.
“As little as possible. No need to waste energy.” The glowing ellipse hovered near his shoulder, giving a blue cast to his pale skin. So accustomed had they become to its presence that Shimoda didn’t even flinch at its proximity. It gave off only a little heat.
“You should excuse my asking, but how high do you intend to take this ship or whatever it is?” Gelmann asked the question without turning, fascinated by the increasingly panoramic nocturnal view.
“How high do you want to go?” the Autothor responded.
She glanced at her companions. “I hadn’t given it any thought. I suppose this is high enough.”
The situation in which they found themselves immediately and obediently stopped rising.
“I’d estimate we’re about three hundred meters.” Immune to vertigo, Follingston-Heath stood right up against the perfect transparency. “Not much air traffic in these parts even in the daytime, and at this altitude we should be well below regular flight patterns.”
“There aren’t any normal patterns hereabouts anymore. Not with this thing smack in the middle of ’em.” Hawkins glanced at the twinkling Blueness. “How big is this ship of yours, anyway?”
“It’s not mine. It’s Drex. In the current local terminology … let me think. I find my fluency woefully deficient.”
“You’re doing fine.” Gelmann reached out to give the ellipse an instinctive, reassuring pat, thought better of it, and drew her fingers back.
“Some minor transposing … in length the Ship is approximately one hundred or so of your kilometers. Width varies considerably from point to point, but …”
“Are you saying to us,” Iranaputra asked, interrupting, “that this craft is a hundred kilometers long?”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s right. In width …”
“Never mind, we get the picture.” Hawkins was rubbing his lips with a forefinger, a bad habit of some forty years standing. “That’s a pretty damn big ship. In fact, that’s bigger than any ship ever imagined, much less built. The federation and the Keiretsu together wouldn’t even attempt it.”
“You’re sure this is a ship?” In spite of the evidence Shimoda was still reluctant to believe.
“Naw,” said Hawkins. “It’s a hundred-kilometer-long gopher trap designed to clear out every lawn in the Adiron-dacks.”
“Of course this is a ship.” The Autothor was not in the least put off by their skepticism. “It is the Ship.”
“Well, then,” asked Gelmann, “where’s the crew?”
“Good question, Mina.” Follingston-Heath stared at the bobbing ellipse. “Where is the crew, old thing?”
“Isn’t that interesting?” the Autothor confessed. “I don’t know.”
“You’re not the crew, are you?” Gelmann wondered.
“Certainly not. What do you take me for?”
“A ball of sky-blue fairy dust,” Hawkins muttered, “but that’s not gonna get us anywhere.”
