Free Asimov's Science Fiction: April/May 2014 by Penny Publications Page B

mechanism from another planet, with no clear sense of what tools they might need or which, among the ones they already possessed, might prove to be of use. Oblonski came up with the "alien mechanism" analogy; he additionally compared their task to that of a newborn human learning to make sense of language and sight.
    "Problem being," he said, "that we evolved to do those tasks. Have humans evolved to tackle this one? You're going to tell us." Oblonski encouraged his charges, gave them ways to think about themselves and their gifts; however, though himself gifted in ways he alluded to but never discussed, he clearly had no experience treading into this particular and subtle territory.
    In the end, Jimmy was among the subset of four trainees who could at least claim that they had "connected." This dispirited group met for one final talk with Oblonski, who, more remote than usual, still insistent but now solemn, stood behind the black, laboratory-style table at the front of his classroom.
    "And keep this in mind," he had said in conclusion, leaning both elbows on the table, lowering his head till it nearly touched the surface, then extending his neck beyond the edge, as if he wanted to force this vital truth upon them. "The problem with any tunnel is, it
goes... both... ways".
13. What the Thunder Said
    The scent of ionized air drew him outdoors. Jimmy paced the blacktop by the car pool to see the source of the thunder. Cooler air, something in the sixties, blew at him from across the unthinkably blank stretch to the southeast. It would rain soon. Clouds as lightless as the ocean tumbled above Camp Perilous and out to the horizon. Thunder murmured, coughed, crashed. Fat drops struck the tarvia. Reluctantly, drawn to the inclement weather but not wanting to be caught in the open by lightning, Jimmy stepped backward to the door. The fresh air had felt good, and it felt good, too, to be exposed to some change in the weather, some direct indication that the world kept going in its varied ways outside the base, natural processes had not been completely displaced by clocks and video screens, and the world was not divisible into corridors and cells.
    Refreshed, focused, intent, he strode the hallways as though they led directly to his passageway. The putty-colored walls seemed products of his imagination. The approach to his door grew narrow. Peripheral sight fell away. Within his diminished vision, his hand rose from a blank place to grasp the door's lever.
    What happened next, he observed as if watching a film from a comfortable seat. Though mildly surprised by his actions, he felt assured of their rightness. It was not, he later told his questioners, as if he were watching the behavior of a stranger. It was as if, instead, he finally saw his true self.
14. The Elements
    The explosion was followed by a single snap as the hotel window broke, not collapsing, cracked but sustained, and Jimmy propelled himself up and forward so he half-fell off the foot of the bed. Already dressed, he was the first one in the courtyard, but others came foggily and slippered from other doors just after him. He saw light in the air above the downtown and realized he was seeing a fire one street over. The next explosion, only a block away, also along the town's Bavarian-style main strip, all the wakened people saw. The swelling bloom of sound struck the little group and surrounded them. Jimmy felt sweat spread in dots across his back. Then he said aloud, ordering himself, "Move," already moving, while most others, half-dressed, retreated to their rooms.
    As he hurried down the sidewalk, downtown residents appeared in flight, while others stood in the doorways between shops. A dozen people came running, spread out across the street, all the same in their fear and desire, like the thirtyish woman whom Jimmy fixed on, her long hair stretched back as if connected to what she fled, wearing a skirt that seemed too long for such a hot day, her arms wildly swinging