by Steve Perry
On the other hand, there was an elation bubbling from him that the fear could not dampen altogether. He had made a choice. Rather than just plodding through his miserable existence, he had taken a step. It might cost him more grief than anything he'd ever done, but he was willing to risk it. There was a time to stand and wait, and a time to move, and he could no longer bear inaction.
As he walked, the dust powdering up behind him in small cloudy showers, he spun fantasies about what might happen to him. He could stow away on a freighter, get to one of the densely populated planets, and find some kind of work. He was strong, not too stupid, and fairly good with mechanical things. He might get a job in a flitter repair shop. Maybe even become a mechanic and buy his own shop someday. Be a man of substance, find a woman, have a real family, with kids he didn't beat. Not play out his days a dirt raker on God's Rectum.
At that thought, Mwili glanced skyward, again almost expecting a heavenly blast. When Kimo Mchanga had first called Cibule God's Rectum, Mwili had smothered a laugh. None of the other boys listening to Kimo's bragging about how he was going to school offworld had dared to laugh either.
God must be otherwise occupied, for there was no rumble of lordly anger nor blazing line of high-energy flame arcing down to consume him for daring to think such blasphemy.
He began to feel better. If God had meant to stop him, surely he would have cut him down when first the thought had come to him? God, according to his father, seldom allowed a man too much rope, even if he intended to hang himself with it.
Mwili was not sure about God, in a lot of ways.
Halfway to the flitter, Mwili took a break. He sat on a patch of skillweed a few meters from the road, and broke out his lunch. His mother had packed vegetable soup in a self-heater, brown bread, and soycheese, as well as the chilled flask of deepwell water. The food tasted particularly good, and he ate it slowly, savoring the blend of flavors. The skillweed crackled as he shifted his position. Not much of a seat, but it kept the ground chill from his backside.
He thought about his mother as he ate. She would miss him, he felt. His going would leave only the two of them. There had been an older sister, Jana, but Mwili had never known her. She had died at fifteen, before he was born. Something always brought a great sadness to his mother's eyes when she spoke of his sister. There was a hint of some kind of disgrace attached to Jana, but he had never found out what.
Once more, he wondered why his mother stayed. It must be out of a sense of duty, he thought. There was no way anybody could love his father. No way.
He finished the meal, repacked the water flask, and started his walking again. He had enough to worry about without calling up memories.
He made better time today than the day before. He reached the flitter in just over three and a half hours.
It sat where he had left it, no sign that anybody else had passed by since the breakdown. Just to be sure, he checked the hidden supplies. They also were undisturbed.
For a moment, he was tempted to take some of them. The replacement circuit boards for the watering computer were fairly expensive—he could get maybe a hundred stads for them if he sold them. And there was food, too.
No. He wanted to leave clean. Whatever else his father might do, he wouldn't be able to have him hauled back for stealing. Even Baba could not begrudge him his clothes, and if he took nothing else, he was only a runaway, not a thief. He only planned to borrow the flitter for a little while.
He put the rewound coil into place. The harmonics had to be retuned, and that took nearly an hour.
When he was done, he locked the tools back into the chest and fired up the flitter. It ran. No better than before, but it would do to get him to Toilet Town. After that, well, it was his father's problem.
He climbed into the flitter, engaged the lift, and left Three Rocks behind, choking in the ubiquitous dust.
Choo Mji was fairly quiet when Mwili arrived in the late afternoon. He cruised past the spaceport, noting that there were six or eight freighters and the regular passenger liner to Kalk berthed. Good.
He parked the flitter near the police station, and tried to look casual as he strolled away from the small craft. When Baba reported it, it would be easy enough to find. Despite his pose, he walked faster than normal, certain that if anybody looked closely at him, they would see his guilt. Fear rode high in him, making him sweat nervously. If they caught him now, it wouldn't be too bad—he was just sightseeing, stealing a few hours from work. Later, it wouldn't be so easy to wiggle out of, did they snag him.
While it seemed warmer, the sky had grown overcast. It smelled to Mwili like snow coming. He hadn't checked the weathercast, but they were due for a good storm. He walked toward the port ticket office, unsure of exactly what he was going to do.
The first thing he needed was to find out what ships were leaving soon. It didn't much matter where they were going, just so they left before Baba started missing him. He figured he had until dark, at least. Add another hour to that for his father to take the tractor and get to where the flitter was supposed to be, then an hour from there to town. Probably Baba would nose around on his own, looking for him and the flitter, so add another hour or even two before he got angry enough to ask the cools for help. That would put it at about 2100.
Inside the port, Mwili passed the Confed Travel Officer's cube. The Confed didn't think enough of Cibule to have more than a token contingent of administrators onworld, plus a few quads of soldiers.
Everybody got a chance to be a trooper, but they took their orders ultimately from civilians, the toplevel aristocracy that considered everybody beneath them less than dog dung. The Travel Officer was a rich man, his wealth mostly accumulated bribes from people who wanted off world and who couldn't wait six months or more for official permission. He could have pretty much anything he wanted, the TO could, and the rumor was that if you were an attractive woman and didn't have the money to bribe him, something could be worked out.
At the schedule window, Mwili punched his request into the computer. The holoproj lit up with the departures from the port. He smiled. The passenger ship Drake left at 1850; there were three freighters scheduled to depart today, too. The first, the Achilles, would take off in an hour or so; the others both left after 2100: the Ragnar at 2250, the Willamette at 2400.
Mwili stepped away from the window, considering his options. According to the computer, the Achilles was bound for Krishna, in the Tau System, with a stop at Kalk. He didn't know much about Krishna, except it was a moon orbiting the gas giant planet of Shiva.
The Drake also went to Kalk, so he could connect with another ship there from either the Achilles or the Drake.
The other ships had to be kept in reserve for emergencies only, since it was likely that Baba and the police would be looking for him by then. They might think to check the ships, and he would be caught.
So, which was it to be?
Mwili walked to the chain-link fence surrounding the port, to look at the ships. The passenger ship was a C-class star leaper, would hold two hundred people and their baggage, as well as cargo. Plenty of room to hide there.
The Achilles, on the other hand, was a run-down-looking bricklike cargo hauler, and probably had the hold full of wembe or potato liquor, Cibule's two main exports. No telling what cargo the ship had dropped off. It was smaller than the passenger ship, probably harder to find a place to hide in, and it was also leaving in about an hour.
The Drake, he decided. By the time Baba started searching in earnest, Mwili would be on his way to Kalk. He could hang out there for as long as he needed; Kalk was a lot more settled than Cibule, even if it wasn't all that much larger. The industry on Kalk was mostly underground mining of heavy metals, but there were some fairly large cities. Easy enough for one offworlder to blend into the background, Mwili figured. So, the Drake it was.
Getting on board would be the trick. He had been thinking about it in a theoretical way for six months.
Several times, whi
le in town on an errand for his father, he had come to watch the cargo being onloaded.
There was a special section for animals, just aft and below the passenger compartment. Caged livestock was conveyored in through a hatch to a robot stacker that worked inside. The livestock cartons came in three sizes, small, medium and large, corresponding roughly to cat, large dog and cattle-sized beasts.
Mwili doubted that the stacker robot checked the animals inside closely, if at all. So, all he had to do was find a dog or nguruwe cage large enough and use that. There were several already stacked for loading that might do. He could put the animal into a carton with another one, or maybe tie it somewhere out of sight, and take over the empty carton for himself.
It might be tricky, but he was sure he could pull it off. Getting over the fence would be easy enough.
There was a spot behind the repair hangar where nobody would see him scale the wire, and once inside, he'd move fast and carefully. He was sure he could do it.
But not yet. There might be a human worker checking the animals. They did that sometimes, an hour or so before loading. After that, he'd be safe enough.
So. He had a few hours to kill before he made his move.
Mwili turned away from the fence. He didn't want anybody to notice him, maybe remember his face when his father came looking. He was hungry, and there were food vending machines lining the back wall of the freight terminal entrance across the street, under the overhang. He'd spend a couple of his standards to buy some supplies. The jump to Kalk took about thirty hours, being all inner system time on pusher rockets. Eat something now, he thought, and save some for later.
He stowed the rest of the food in his pack, after downing a bulb of fruit juice and a fried soy cutlet. He was waiting for traffic before crossing the street, heading back toward the fence, when he glanced toward the crossroad by the flitter charge station—
And saw his father, driving the ancient tractor, towing the flitter!
Fear froze Mwili. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think—
Fortunately, Mafuta Kalamu was looking the other way, distracted by the yelling of a hovertrucker behind him, angry at the tractor's slow speed.
Mwili managed to stumble backward until his shoulders were against the rough stucco wall between two of the vending machines. His father! How could it be? Mwili hadn't been gone five hours yet—his father wouldn't have stopped work so soon! He couldn't be here!
The tractor went past, some loose attachment clattering on the systone road underneath the old machine.
The trucker behind continued yelling, but Mafuta Kalamu pointedly did not look back. Neither did he look to the sides, and so passed his son unknowingly.
Inside Mwili's brain, the voice of catastrophe babbled, a high, keening whine: There he is, there he is!
You're dead, you're dead—!
"No!" Mwili yelled. The sound of his own voice startled him into motion. Both his father and the hovertrucker were past, and a short line of flitters and delivery vans followed, blocked by the slow lead vehicle.
As soon as there was a break in the traffic, Mwili darted across the road, toward the port's fence.
He knows! came the voice inside his mind. He knows you've run away, he's coming to catch you!
"He can't know!" Mwili said aloud, answering his internal voice.
God must have told him. Baba is tight with God, and you know it's true that God watches you, every day, every second, and he's put your father onto you—
Mwili shook his head as he reached the fence. No, it couldn't be. He wouldn't believe it.
But—how else, Mwili? You know he's come for you. You saw his face. He is angry. Angry at you, boy. The strap will do a mighty dance tonight, Mwili. You'll be so sore you won't be able to bend over for a month! The strap. The strap. The strap…
The boy ran, until he reached the spot behind the hangar where he was invisible from both the road and interior of the port. The links of the fence sagged here, from the boots of others who had noticed the protected spot to climb. The fence was bent at the top, four meters up, the supporting bar bowed into a gentle curve.
He started the ascent. As the rough links bit into his fingers, he wondered: what was he going to do now?
The passenger ship didn't leave for more than two hours. By then, Baba would have searched the town well enough to know that Mwili must either be gone or still looking for a ride. He would have the police check all transports, local or extee! The cools would only be too happy to help find a runaway for such a fine, upstanding man as Mafuta Kalamu. They'd drag Mwili out of the dog's cage and turn him over to his grim-faced father. And his father would use the strap right then and there, bringing smiles from the cools.
Spare the strap, spoil the boy, they all knew it was gospel, the Lord God's Own Truth. And once he got him home, Baba would use the strap again, until his arm was too tired to flail away anymore. And Mwili's life would be hell from now on. His father would never let him forget it. Never.
He cleared the top of the fence, swinging both legs over. He was in such a panic, he almost lost his grip, but managed to hold on until his right boot snagged a bent link. That wouldn't help, to fall and maybe break an arm or leg, and have to lie there waiting for the cools to catch him.
Halfway down the fence, he pushed away and dropped the last meter and a half, landing hard on the packed earth. He stayed in a crouch for a few seconds, looking for some signs of discovery. He saw nobody. He stood.
Why are you running, Mwili? There's no place to go. They'll find you long before the ship leaves…
Wait, wait—wait! The freighter, the Achilles!
Mwili shoved the sleeve of his gi back and looked at the cheap black plastic chronograph his mother had given him for his last birthday. What time was it—?
It was 1520. He had eight minutes before the freighter was scheduled to leave. Maybe he could still make it. Maybe it was running late, they did that sometimes, ran late. Where was it parked? To the west of the Drake, he remembered. If he could get onboard the freighter, he'd be gone before the cools came looking for him. Yes. The freighter!
Mwili ran, sprinting for all he was worth, not caring who might see him. He passed dins loading freight onto transport trains; ran past two men on a break smoking flicksticks who only smiled at him; ran even faster for all the fear of what awaited him were he caught by his father.
He slid to a stop near the freighter.
His breath came in short gasps as Mwili stared at the ship. The scorch marks of a thousand atmospheric entries lay darkly over the microscratched bow of the old hull. Dull rainbows gleamed from spots where the metal had been partially annealed and retempered by the heat of gaseous friction on God knew how many worlds. The ship was long past its prime, and Mwili had time to wonder why the Confed allowed such a hulk to continue to work between local planets, much less Bender into interstellar warp space. He had time to wonder about that—as he noticed that the ship was buttoned up, except for the crew portal.
Doomed. He was doomed, because there was no way he could sneak into the freighter. It was his only chance, and now it was no chance at all. Hell awaited him at home.
"Hello, sweet boy," came a soft voice from behind Mwili.
Mwili spun, feeling tighter than a violin string.
A short, bald, fat man of maybe fifty T.S. stood there, smiling. The smile faded to concern. "Hey, easy, there. I'm everybody's friend."
The farm boy felt himself relax a little.
"That's better, sweet boy. So, what say, you have a problem?"
What could he say? Mwili could only nod..
The fat man looked from side to side, as if searching for somebody chasing Mwili. "Got into trouble, hey?
Somebody after you?"
Mwili nodded again. He found his voice. To his disgust, it cracked when he spoke. "Y-yessir."
The fat man's smile reappeared. "I see you are interested in my ship. Well, it's not my ship exactly, but I am First Off
icer, so I have some clout on the Achilles."
Mwili felt his hope soar.
"You look like a sweet boy who could use a lift off of this dusty hole, that right?"
"Yessir," Mwili said.
The fat man moved closer, so that he was only a few centimeters away from Mwili. The boy felt a strong urge to turn and run, but he held his ground. After a beat, the man reached up and stroked the side of Mwili's face with one smooth hand. Mwili felt his stomach churn. The man was kjere! One of God's worst sins, to be kjere, right up there with Murder and Blasphemy. He had heard that such men existed in plenty on other worlds, that it was not considered a sin or even particularly immoral, but he had never seen one, much less met one. Mwili had yet to know his first woman, and here was a man touching his face like a wife. He felt his stomach roil, acid bubbling up into his throat. He swallowed the hot taste.
The fat man's grin spread wider, as he let his hand slide down to cup first Mwili's tight shoulder, then the hard muscle of his chest. "Oh, my," the man said, his face going slack, his eyes widening. "You're a strong one, aren't you?"
Mwili held his voice. He started to shake nervously.
"Come on," the fat man said. "Come with me to the ship. We're going to be great friends, you and I. All the way to Krishna. Two glorious months, with a week on Kalk, too. I can get you past the Confed owls, leave it to me."
For a moment, Mwili almost jerked his arm away from the sweaty grip of the fat man and ran, disgusted with what he knew would happen if he went with him. But only for a moment. He thought of his father, then, and the strap and the long years that lay ahead if he stayed on Cibule.
"What's your name?" the fat man asked.
Mwili glanced back at the fence, fearing he'd see his father standing there, gripping the mesh, calling God's curses down upon his son's evil head. There was no one there, though.
"Your name?"
Mwili turned back to look at the fat man. "Ferret," he said. "Call me Ferret."
He followed the fat man toward the ship, and escape. In this case, he would rather chance the devil he didn't know than the one he did.