Kawashita said nothing to the woman beside him on the cart. He was concentrating on steering. When he tried to turn it in one direction . . .
He forgot making the effort. But now something was lingering behind the erased memory. Somewhere a persuasive force was weakening. He tried to turn the cart aside again and felt a tug in his head, directing him to another course. The tug was more obvious as they approached the Waunters' lander. "What's the matter?" Alae asked.
"Something's wrong."
"Can I help?"
"I can only go a certain number of ways."
"What do you mean?"
"Something limits our pathways, stops us from going off given courses."
"But there's nothing here."
He held up his hand and motioned for her to take the wheel. She did so, the cart sped up again, and she maneuvered it back and forth. "Goes anyway I want it to," she said.
Kawashita shook his head, irritated. "But you aren't pulling it where it shouldn't go. Try . . . here."
They both forgot. He shook his head to clear it. Alae stared ahead as if nothing had happened. "What?" she asked.
"We're here," he said, indicating the lander. "I must go farther."
"If it's so important, I can go with you." She was clearly as excited as he was, but it seemed for different reasons. He was in too much of a hurry to argue. He spun the cart around and set it on automatic pilot, then examined his chart. When he snapped out of the lull of forgetfulness again, the paper was on the floor of the cart, almost falling out. He bent to pick it up. Their direction had changed, but he wasn't sure how. He didn't try to change the cart's course again until they were six kilometers from the dome. This time he distinctly remembered giving the order to his arm muscles to turn the wheel. And he remembered the arms refusing. He slammed the cart to a halt. Alae almost fell out, cursing. Something clattered by the edge of the seat cushion, but he didn't look to see what it was.
Alae did. She was frightened by his irrational behavior. When he stepped out of the cart, she did, too. Their environment fields separated with a faint plop. Then she saw the folded cutter on the floor of the cart. She picked it up, adjusted it, and nicked her finger accidentally. She swore, too low for Kawashita to hear.
If the cart wouldn't turn, he reasoned, something was in its way. If he stepped from the desired path, he would encounter whatever the obstacle was.
He held out his hands. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Whatever the persuasive force was, it was weakening. Just as the weather machines had weakened and collapsed, just as the environment in the dome had finally given out, a last device was fading.
Alae watched him with dismay. He was acting like a madman. Or he was trying a ruse on her, to catch her off guard. "Yes," she said to herself, "kill me, get rid of both of us." She turned to look at the dome. She wanted to warn Oomalo, but it was too late.