The Long Cosmos Read Free Page B

find in the small cupboard over the sink. ‘Here you go. No milk, no sugar.’
    â€˜Never.’ Bill cleared a corner of his desk and sat.
    â€˜Cheers.’ They touched their mugs.
    â€˜You know, Bill, there was a time when you’d have asked for – how did you use to put it? – a drop of something a bit fortifying in there. Even at this hour of the morning.’
    â€˜I did have a mature man’s tastes—’
    â€˜Started when you were fourteen years old, as I recall, Billy Chambers, whenever you could swing it, and don’t deny it.’
    â€˜Ah, well, I’ve changed since those days. Those decades . And I’ve got Morningtide to thank for that.’
    â€˜You’re lucky to have her, and your kids.’
    â€˜My liver generally agrees with that sentiment. Just as you were lucky to have Helen.’
    â€˜So I was.’
    There was an awkward silence.
    â€˜Absent friends,’ Bill said at last, and they touched their mugs again. Bill gingerly moved a broad-brimmed hat from the seat behind his desk. ‘All these piles of shite, man. Is it all strictly necessary?’
    â€˜You bet.’
    â€˜And all laid out in order.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Cold weather gear, I see, so you’re planning to be out for a few months. Universal maps . . .’ These were maps of features that generally persisted as you travelled across the Long Earth: nothing human like towns and roads, but the underlying mountains, rivers, coastlines, landmarks. ‘Silver-foil emergency blankets – check. Where’s your roll-up mattress?’
    â€˜You’re out of touch. Look at this.’ In his left hand Joshua hefted a pack the size of a baseball. ‘Aerogel – a whole mattress that you can hold in your fist.’
    â€˜Or in your case your Terminator cyber-claw.’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah.’
    â€˜Boots. Camp sandals. Socks! You can never have enough socks. Water tablets. Food, jerky and stuff – emergency rations, I take it?’
    â€˜I’ll be living off the land. Hunting and trapping.’
    â€˜You always were a bit rubbish at that, but you could afford to lose a little weight.’
    â€˜Thanks.’
    â€˜A med pack, check: anti-diarrhoea pills, antihistamines, painkillers, laxatives, antifungal treatments, disinfectant, bug killers, vitamin tablets . . . What else? Arrowheads. Line for making bows. Snares. Nets. Lightweight bronze axe. More knives than a butcher’s back drawer. The usual electronic gadgets: a radio transceiver, a tablet, a location finder.’ This would exploit GPS on worlds developed enough to host such systems, but would otherwise deliver a best-guess location based on the position of the sun and moon, the constellations, the length of the day, any fortuitous events like solar or lunar eclipses. All this was technology that encoded the hard-won wisdom of decades of travelling in the Long Earth. ‘A flint firestarter. And matches, good move. A solar oven.’ A little inverted open-out umbrella, its inner surface reflective, that could be set up on a stand to catch the sunlight and focus it to boil water. ‘Colostomy bags. Denture glue.’
    â€˜Yeah, yeah.’
    â€˜I’m only barely jokin’, Methuselah. Coffee. Spices. Pepper! Trade goods, of course. Ah, and weapons. A couple of bronze revolvers – electromagnetic impulse?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Joshua hefted one of the small handguns. ‘The latest thing. Charges up on solar power, or you can just pump it up by squeezing the grip.’ He pointed it downward, fired the thing, and drilled a fine hole through the corner of Bill’s desk.
    â€˜Hey, show some respect! This desk’s an antique.’
    â€˜No, it’s not. We built it.’
    â€˜Well, it never will be an antique now. And all this will fit into a single backpack, I take it? Ye’ve got some lovely widgets, Josh,