Ruins (Pathfinder 2)

And then Umbo realized: They were sick.

Why would they send sick mice as their agents?

Because the sickness was the purpose of their stowing away.

The mice had created a disease of which they were themselves the vector. They would go to Earth and pass the disease to humans.

A crowd of Larfolders assembled. Umbo signaled a stop and Param slowed the movements of the people around them to a speed approaching normal.

One of the Visitors, a woman, was talking, and after a very short time, Umbo understood the language. She would speak a sentence, and then a Larfolder would translate for her. How does the interpreter know the Visitors’ language, he wondered. Then Umbo remembered that the Larfolders had held on to the ancient language with some stubbornness. And because they could ordinarily speak only on shore, they spoke more rarely, and so their language would evolve less. Maybe it was still very similar to whatever the Earth people spoke.

“I know what the mice are doing,” whispered Umbo.

“Sneaking on board the ship?

“With a disease,” said Umbo.

“I wonder which disease.”

“I don’t want to find out by catching it,” said Umbo.

“Poisoning them,” said Param. “The mice are going to murder the entire population of Earth.”

“Have you got her language?” asked Umbo.

“Yes,” said Param.

“You go to them invisible, then appear and warn them,” said Umbo. “I’ll take you back in time with me the moment you show me a fist.”

“What message?” asked Param.

Umbo thought for a moment. “A warning. Something about how the mice are smart and very dangerous and they can’t let a single one reach Earth.”

Param nodded and disappeared.

Umbo kept his eyes on the Visitors; he could not afford to be looking away at the moment Param appeared. They’d only have a few second before the mice would react. Perhaps by killing her again.

Param appeared. The Visitor who had been speaking stopped and inclined her head to look at Param, then said something to her.

Param held up her hand in a gesture of silence. Wait. And then she was blurting out something and suddenly her fist was extended. It was the signal. Umbo took hold of her and dragged both of them backward in time.

Param dropped in a heap to the ground. The flyer was gone, so her position on the ramp had become a point in midair.

But she was unhurt, and in this particular timeframe there wasn’t a soul here. Not even the mice.

“I think I may have brought us back a little earlier than I wanted,” said Umbo.

“Or later,” said Param. “I don’t know if it will matter.”

They walked back toward the camp in realtime.

Whatever doubts he might have had, Umbo found as they approached that it was the very night when they had left. There was Loaf, and there was Olivenko, exactly as they had been; and there were Umbo and Param, asleep.

“No,” whispered Umbo when Param seemed about to speak. “Say nothing if you can help it, not till our earlier selves are gone. We don’t want to let them see us. It complicates things sometimes.”

“I was going to say,” said Param softly, “that you got us here within half an hour of the time we left.”

“In the wrong direction,” said Umbo.