When the River Ran Dry

by Robert Davies

Ricky nodded and said, “Got five we can have?”

  “Sure,” Joshua replied. “Ten if you need ‘em.”

  As if moved by an invisible signal, Joshua motioned for the others to withdraw from the road, stopping twenty meters distant. Maela spun in her seat.

  “I didn’t get half of what he was saying.”

  “Agros this far out keep to themselves,” Ricky replied. “They take a little getting used to, that’s all.”

  “I guess no one taught them how to speak plain English.”

  “These people aren’t stupid, Maela, they just live differently than we do.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Let’s play along and see what they have, okay?”

  “We’re not here to run some half-assed prairie hustle, Richard!”

  “If it starts to go bad, we can always leave.”

  “Unless they try to kill us!”

  “I don’t think that’s what they have in mind.”

  “How do you know what they want?”

  “I know a deal when I see one.”

  Ricky leaned out through the open window, motioning for Joshua. When he stopped, a simple thumb’s up signaled their willingness to barter. Maela shook her head slowly and moved the van off the road, following the group’s horses as they ambled over a gentle ridgeline and through a sparse grove of birches to an opening that looked quite similar to Landsdon, but smaller and with few cultivated fields brimming with crops. As she eased to a halt in the middle of a rectangular compound of rough-hewn, log dwellings, the horsemen seemed to disperse, leaving only Joshua and one other. Beyond, a group of men and women were gathered in a brief circle, brightly dressed and seemingly uncaring for the arrival of city people. Ricky looked and sat back suddenly.

  “Shit,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” Maela asked quickly.

  “It’s a hand ceremony.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “A ritual; Broadlanders keep them for important transactions.”

  Maela looked again and said, “It looks like a wedding to me.”

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “Agros don’t get married.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain it later, but we need to keep our distance; this is none of our business.”

  Joshua motioned for them.

  “This way,” he called out, pointing toward a permanent lodge built from neatly squared blocks of basalt.

  As they stepped from the van, Maela thumbed the auto-lock, intent on keeping the villagers from rummaging through their things. No one seemed to notice and Ricky waited as Joshua showed them inside.

  It was dark and smelled of freshly cured mud where it had been applied between the stones like grout or chinking—a great hall of tables and long benches they saw as evidence of another communal arrangement. Joshua pointed them to some furniture they guessed was a special place and not often used for casual repose.

  “We got some colders, if you want to wet a while?”

  “Wouldn’t turn ‘em down,” Ricky replied with a smile, hoping silently Maela wouldn’t apply the wrong connotation to Joshua’s words.

  Joshua nodded to the other man to fetch some cups when suddenly, a slight woman Maela guessed was only a teenager peeked from a doorway.

  “They’re callin’ up for final,” she said, nearly whispering the message.

  Joshua tried to hide his impatience with the girl, standing at once before catching himself.

  “I’ll be right along,” he said.

  “Maybe we should sit another time?” Ricky offered.

  “No big stake; you don’t have to ride yet.”

  “Fair word. We’ll stay off until they bell agreement.”

  Joshua paused and smiled, eased by Ricky’s understanding. After he was gone, Maela’s expression was one of only confusion.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  Ricky led her to a window, nodding out at the small gathering in a wide space between buildings. They were dressed differently than the men who met the van on the road—colorful frocks and one-piece suits that represented a Broadlander’s idea of formal wear. At the center of the group, a girl waited with an elderly man and two others who seemed to be locked in a mild dispute. Ricky pointed and said, “She’s the main player in the ceremony.”

  Maela leaned closer to the thick, distorted glass and said, “What is this ceremony, exactly?”

  Ricky moved her from the window to avoid being noticed.

  “Judging by her age, it’s a standard negotiation for a breeding agreement. The two younger men in front of her are likely from neighboring villages. The girl has been chosen for her genetic qualities, or maybe superior intelligence and now they’re haggling to see which of the two wins.”

  “Who wins?”

  Ricky moved quickly to explain.

  “I know what this looks like, but it’s not that simple. The negotiation brings an offer from each man—usually livestock—but the one she selects will also become her eventual birthing partner.”

  “She can’t be more than twelve years old!”

  “Broadlanders aren’t like us, Maela; they live according to different rules.”

  “Perverted rules!” she hissed.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “No?”

  “It could just as easily be two grown women haggling for a boy.”

  “What’s the difference?” Maela snapped. “Either way, some kid is being traded off like an air car or a nice apartment! What if she doesn’t want to go?”

  “It’s not like that,” Ricky replied at once; “she can refuse them both and the deal ends then and there, but if it’s reached the stage they’re at now, these guys have made the cut and she’s obviously agreed to select between them.”

  “And what then? The winner drags a little girl back to his hut and fucks her until she pumps out a few kids?”

  “It’s not a forced arrangement, Maela; they’re not making her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  “She is a child, Richard! How can they expect her to decide something like this?”

  “They grow up early out here—it’s the way they live, and…”

  “You approve of this shit?”

  “I didn’t say I approve of it, I’m just telling you how it works! Their ancestors were out here long before Novum or Veosa were built up and they’re not changing now.”

  Maela shook her head and peeked again.

  “So once this deal is made, she’s mated with some guy she doesn’t know and that’s it? She lives out her life with an asshole she might not even like?”

  “Most breeding deals are made with a pre-arranged agreement to produce a specific number of children, usually two for somebody her age. After the obligation has been met, she can either stay with her new village or return to this one.”

  “But not with her kid, right?”

  “Well, no. That’s the entire point of a breeding agreement; the child belongs to the other village.”

  “These people are worse than I ever imagined,” Maela said with clear disgust.

  “Look, you have to understand, okay?”

  “I understand enough!”

  “It’s not what you think! Broadland settlements are utterly communal; they don’t marry or join with another the way we do because they can’t afford to. Each person is part of a village, but these communities are very small and distant from others. They don’t do this because they’re looking for an excuse to sleep with children; it’s done to ensure genetic diversity and nothing more. It could be three or four years before she actually does anything like that, Maela; each village handles it differently.”

  “How very convenient.”

  “If they stuck with traditional marriages and family units, it wouldn’t take long for them to end up with in-breeding problems! Instead, they make sure each generation comes from a completely separate line and the farther from home, the better. That
girl might be on the other end of it in a few years, haggling over a boy in a different settlement for her second agreement. This is the only way for them and they worked it out over a century ago.”

  Suddenly, she frowned and tilted her head to one side.

  “I don’t give a shit what these idiots do, but how is it you know so much about their rituals? You sound like an authority on the subject!”

  Ricky looked at the ceremony where it concluded on the grass beyond the window.

  “I’ve been outside the wire a few times.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Not this village, but Mister Anthony took Vinnie and me with him when he went to a Broadland settlement way down to the south when we were first learning the hustle.”

  Maela smiled when the meaning of Ricky’s words became suddenly clear.

  “How old were you?”

  “About her age, I guess,” he replied.

  “They only lifted trade and travel restrictions five years ago, Richard.”

  “I know that.”

  “Which means you and your friends went over the wire and did it against border laws. If they caught you back then, all of you would still be rotting in a punishment cylinder!”

  “Well, they didn’t catch us, did they?”

  “You and your friends were fools to try it, Richard; that was a stupid damn thing to do.”

  “I don’t need you to remind me, Maela.”

  “Then why risk it? What did you gain?”

  “I learned how Broadland Agros live and it made things easier when trading with them out at the wire. I learned how to speak their language, too.”

  “You could’ve asked this Anthony guy, couldn’t you?”

  “Unless you see it for yourself, you wouldn’t understand. When I meet them on trade days, they know I’ve been outside and it gives me credibility other hustlers don’t have. It made a difference.”

  Ricky looked again and the ceremony’s participants were moving away. A lone figure remained, holding up a large bell to strike three times as a signal the ceremony was concluded properly. Joshua, whose role had been that of a witness and ratifying agent over the proceedings, returned at last.

  “Sorry,” he said with a smile. “They want to get to it.”

  “No big speed,” Ricky replied.

  Joshua settled again in a newly constructed wicker chair, still bright and untarnished by hands and the passage of time. He leaned close and whispered to Ricky.

  “Talkin’ true now?”

  “I’ll abide,” Ricky replied as softly.

  “Gabriel, a second cousin over in Landsdon, he tells us ol’ Bart says you ridin’ main for Veosa.”

  “Yeah, he has the full tale.”

  Joshua nodded knowingly, appreciative of the sudden familiarity and Ricky’s willingness to speak in confidence.

  “So Veosa,” he continued; “been out there before times?”

  “Not that far; you?”

  Joshua shook his head and sipped cool water from a hammered, metal cup.

  “Don’t have much for us, and most of ‘em don’t want what we can trade.”

  “Not like Novum?” Ricky offered.

  “Never spied the cathedrals, so I couldn’t counsel. Been to Veosa once, though.”

  “We’ll ride and see true, I guess.”

  “Probably best,” Joshua said, “but right now, we talkin’ options on the table?”

  “You wonder about something particular?” Ricky asked.

  “Cousin tells a tale, sayin’ Bart mentioned lube juice and maybe some good handies?”

  “Possible, but way up the scale. What comes back to us for equity?”

  Joshua looked away, at least to present a thoughtful posture before he leaned his elbows on the chair’s wide arms.

  “If you truly hold?”

  “That’s the idea,” Ricky replied. “Full fair and square from here on in.”

  “Okay, then, full square. Hows about ten packs of rock meat, froze individual?”

  “Good and safe for permanent?”

  “Six months, at least.”

  “That’d spark us,” Ricky answered, “but we wondered how your sender came by the skinny? We seen Landsdon on the horizon only a few days ago, so…”

  Joshua understood Ricky’s words, even if Maela could not.

  “Came by it from a weekly talk—the sender at Landsdon didn’t flare out for any particular reason, I can tell you straight. If you worry, we can tell him to reach over again…maybe ask Felicitas to nod?”

  “We don’t worry it, Joshua; I trust your take,” Ricky answered.

  “I’m glad you say so.”

  “And anyway, we option to return soon, so a nod could be made then.”

  Joshua looked away with a grin, satisfied Ricky had made both the expected pleasantry, but also a polite, cautionary note that he would follow through with the intent to confirm later on. Ricky pretended to consider Joshua’s offer for a moment.

  “Lube juice is okay, but maybe not more than five gals. We could toss brand new handies of your choice, though…”

  “What count for the handies?”

  “A case,” Ricky answered. “Figure six or seven longs and ten shorties.”

  “Brand new, you say?”

  “And plenty sharp—good stuff they make from the foundries down below ground. You probably heard about ‘em.”

  Joshua nodded slowly.

  “For yours, we send the rock meat, but I can offer from my own house a hundred-place seed box for your hydros if you up the lube juice to an even ten.”

  Ricky was outwardly unmoved, but the offer was unusually generous and well-worth the trade Joshua proposed. Still, a cautious pose had to be kept in order to satisfy the unseen rules of barter.

  “We’ll talk private and answer in five.”

  Joshua smiled. “Let me know if the chord is rightly struck.”

  Maela followed Ricky to the van in silence. Joshua’s strange dialect would have been comical in another place, but the delay seemed needless; nothing they could offer in trade would help her and Ricky accomplish their mission. After she slid the wide door closed with a loud clunk, Maela looked straight into Ricky’s eyes.

  “I’m glad you’re fluent in Agro-speak, but what the hell are you doing, Richard? We don’t need anything from them and you’re just pissing away time we don’t have!”

  “I’ve been trading with people like them for years, Maela. Broadlanders might speak in clipped, bizarre sentences and they use slang like no one else, but all Agros live by what they can obtain in a fair barter. Without it, they would die out over time.”

  “Their problem, not ours!”

  “Listen to me, okay?” Ricky said, kneeling beside Maela’s seat. “Joshua just offered us goods worth ten times the items he’s asking for in return. His village is obviously running desperately low on engine oil and hand tools. We have both, otherwise Landsdon wouldn’t radio ahead. Joshua knows we don’t need anything, so he’s got to make it worth our while.”

  “Again, that’s his problem, Richard!”

  “But it could become our problem later on, don’t you see? At the very least, it would be nice to make some allies in this part of the Broadlands if we ever have to come this way again.”

  “You’ll do that on your own, my friend; I’ve had enough of this shit to last a lifetime.”

  “I understand, but it doesn’t change anything. Trust me; it’s worth the effort to make friends because making enemies this far out is a plain, stupid mistake.”

  “Okay, so we know he’s ready to ante-up big, but why offer all that stuff?” Maela countered. “I don’t understand most of it, but I know enough to know it was valuable and that means he realizes what they’re worth in Novum. I’m no hustler, Richard, but Joshua has to know he’s getting screwed on the deal.”

  “If he comes away with the things he needs most, it will be seen as a successful trade. Also, it would be an insult to him if we s
ettle for anything less because Joshua initiated the negotiations, see?”

  “Not really,” she replied glumly. “What is ‘rock meat,’ by the way, just so I’ll know?”

  “Broadlanders out here are mostly herders—they don’t grow crops more than what they feed livestock or eat themselves. They’re also dairy farmers, but many raise herds for food to trade or sell. They’re a long way from Novum, so the meat has to make it without spoiling. They acquired nitrogen units that freeze a piece of meat as hard as a rock—‘rock meat.’ It lasts a hundred times longer than meat kept in an ordinary chiller.”

  “All right, but what’s next?”

  “We’ll accept the terms and exchange the goods. He’ll expect us to seal it with blood, however.”

  “Blood? Oh, no…no way I’m doing some weird shit like that!” Maela snorted.

  “Relax, it’s just a formality—a ceremonial gesture among herders. They use a tiny needle to pin-prick a finger and I do the same. A few droplets are flicked into an open fire and the trade is complete—that’s all it is.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll let you take that part,” she said with a shake of her head.

  Ricky smiled and nodded.

  “Let’s finish this up and get back on the road.”

  Joshua waited beneath an ancient tree where it stood alone in the glaring sun and likely had since before the Fall. Lubricating oil and hand tools had been given over, exchanged for two metal tubs with temperature control units that vented wisps of nitrogen vapor. Next to them, small crates contained prized vegetable seedlings suspended in a nutrient emulsion and perfect for transplant into a hydroponics cell. Before an open pit fire, Ricky and Joshua completed the transaction with a single drop of blood, satisfying the old Broadlands tradition and then it was time to go.

  “Our thanks, Joshua,” Ricky said.

  “And ours,” Joshua replied. “Maybe we’ll trade again one day?”

  “We might at that.”

  “Before you ride, I have a good word if you want it?”

  “We’d be grateful,” said Ricky, not at all sure what Joshua would say.

  “About seven hours west, you’ll go down in a valley with a small river that rides north and south. When you cross the bridge and climb the far side, you’ll see the high track, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyway, the road wanders some—doesn’t go straight from here to Veosa, but them trains whoosh on big, concrete towers, see?”