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LOST CONTINENT Greg Egan 1 Ali's uncle took hold of his right arm and offered it to the stranger, who gripped it firmly by the wrist. "From this moment on, you must obey this man," his uncle instructed him. "Obey him as you would obey your father. Your life depends on it." "Yes, Uncle." Ali kept his eyes respectfully lowered. "Come with me, boy," said the stranger, heading for the door. "Yes, haji," Ali mumbled, following meekly. He could hear his mother still sobbing quietly in the next room, and he had to fight to hold back his own tears. He had said good-bye to his mother and his uncle, but he'd had no chance for any parting words with his cousins. It was halfway between midnight and dawn, and if anyone else in the household was awake, they were huddled beneath their blankets, straining to hear what was going on but not daring to show their faces. The stranger strode out into the cold night, hand still around Ali's wrist like an iron shackle. He led Ali to the Land Cruiser that sat in the icy mud outside his uncle's house, its frosted surfaces glinting in the starlight, an apparition from a nightmare. Just the smell of it made Ali rigid with fear; it was the smell that had presaged his father's death, his brother's disappearance. Experience had taught him that such a machine could only bring tragedy, but his uncle had entrusted him to its driver. He forced himself to approach without resisting. The stranger finally released his grip on Ali and opened a door at the rear of the vehicle. "Get in and cover yourself with the blanket. Don't move, and don't make a |
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