The Wanderers

by Kate Ormand

  She was working on an exercise in patching a right angle where floor met wall: the ultimate test, requiring exact strokes of the spatula. The sallow-faced chief technician came into the Work Bay and watched. “That’s good, Elessa. Remarkable. But you may finish now. You have been requested to visit the Self-Examination Cells.”

  “Oh? Why? I don’t know anyone who’s been—”

  “Nevertheless, your presence has been requested.”

  Walking along the route to the reservoir, down the sloping, winding corridors of the lower levels, Essa wondered who it was in a punishment cell that had asked to see her. No one she knew was a wrongdoer.

  The corridor gave way to a tunnel at last, before it opened out into the basin beneath the Pyramid, the immense well that sustained them all. The stone walls had been carved into for decoration or practical use. There were friezes depicting moments in the history of Arcone, and different levels and walkways. You could see well below the lip of the huge reservoir, because the water level was so low. Even so, everywhere there was a silver ripple of light running along the walls … It was a magical place, although the demeanor of the Water Workers might make you think otherwise. They were in Contemplation of the Wonder, as they had to be when they were not active. Dotted around the rim of the reservoir, they stood with heads bowed and expressions of profound boredom. It was one of the Pacifiers who questioned Essa, asking for her name.

  “Elessa, of Bonix and—”

  “Ah yes. Proceed by the narrow path—to the top.”

  It was not a path, but steep steps leading to the highest walkway. Rough cells had been gouged into the rock face up there. Essa kept looking down as she climbed toward them, taking in the limpid stillness of the scene beneath her and feeling an uncomfortable sensation of vertigo. The steps were not wide and there was no handrail. As she got higher, cautious step by cautious step, she could see a metal cage suspended from the craggy ceiling. The cage was empty. Only those under sentence of death would be kept there.

  When she had reached the very top of the steps, she walked slowly and, because of the height, slightly unsteadily down the line of cells. They had no doors; there was nowhere for a prisoner to escape to.

  The enormous cavern was agreeably damp, even up here. Few of the twenty cells were occupied, and in two of them were women. None of the semivoluntary prisoners looked at Essa; they gazed down at the tiny people and the water below as they contemplated their misdeeds. One of the men lay asleep at the back of his cell. He had long hair right down to his shoulders. She wondered how long he had been there.

  Veramus was in the second-to-last cell. He looked miserable and frightened.

  “Veramus …”

  “Hello, Essa. It’s n-nice of you. They said I could see someone.”

  “I don’t understand. What could you do that demands that you examine your conscience?”

  “It’s not me. It’s h-history. It gets h-h-har-har … much more difficult.”

  She knelt down beside him. “Tell me about it. Veramus, I’m so sorry.”

  “You remember Ethics and the d-debates?”

  “Yes. Really boring.”

  “You do much more of that s-sort of thing with history. You h-have no idea how easy it is to make a m-mistake.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I was seeking enl-lightenment on the b-beginnings. The creation. I just asked when w-we’d learn the tales of how the Fathers built Arcone.”

  Other than Council members, only historians were allowed that information. No wonder they looked self-important. Maybe it was the weight of their knowledge that made them so stooped.

  “So? What happened then?” Essa asked.

  “They said an a-acolyte d-doesn’t ask that qu-question. He w-waits to be t-told at the p-proper time. And then I was s-sent here.”

  “What?” Essa couldn’t believe it.

  “A-apparently there’s always s-someone who asks th-that. Th-they’re waiting for it. It w-would be me, though. S-seat on the Council? I can forget that now!”

  Essa tried to comfort him, but he wanted her there only so that he could have someone to complain to about the unfairness of it. He was still inconsolable when she left him. He would be in the cells only a matter of days, but the stigma would be with him for the rest of his life.

  It made you wonder—wonder about how you were taught to be so grateful for the protection of the Pyramid that you shouldn’t question anything. It would be something to find out how it all started, wouldn’t it? Well … wouldn’t it?

  If, that is, you could.

  They were traveling during the first and last hours of daylight as well as at night. Cara strayed from the trailer to search for plants and roots with which to replenish her healing bag. Often Kean went with her, putting his sharp eyes to use. At night he was a moisture gatherer, in charge of the laborious process of setting water traps with sheets of plastic. In the right conditions, a half-buried sheet of plastic collected water by way of condensation. Each morning when the sun had warmed the ground sufficiently, he inspected his traps and siphoned their pitiful contents into a water bag. Then he would lope after the team and add his weight to the human engine that propelled the trailer.

  The wells and waterholes were few and far between, and dried up. Except for Kean, who never burned, they were all suffering terribly as skin flaked and peeled from their darkened, desiccated faces. Wailing Joe was so ill it was hard to tell if he still lived.

  After two weeks, Hawkerman forced them to begin traveling from midafternoon onward. With the Season approaching, the temperature had become bearable.

  A few days in, they came across the Cruisers.

  It happened at a moment when their hearts had been lifted by a sight to gladden any Wanderer’s eye. In the last of the day’s light, Kean spotted a low dark smear on the horizon that was undoubtedly a large stand of acacia trees. As they came nearer, the size of the fertile area raised their spirits further. There would be water there. Soon the detail of the low-standing trees would be revealed to them: the greedy stretching of the twisting branches, the little tattered double leaves.

  As the sun set behind the trees, it seemed they could see the sparkle of water somewhere among them, although it was difficult even for Kean to make out much against the reddening sky.

  When he was sure, he said, “It’s occupied.”

  “Or is it water?” Hawkerman said, squinting.

  “It’s metal. Above ground level.”

  The team leader accepted Kean’s judgment without question. His own sight was good for a Wanderer, but not that good. “Tents? It’s reflectors, right?”

  “Vehicles. Two or three. Big.”

  Hawkerman ran a dry tongue over dry lips and swore, something he hardly ever did. “Cruisers,” he breathed grimly.

  Ax said, “It wouldn’t be Cruisers. Not so far south.”

  “It shouldn’t be, but it is.”

  “What we going to do?”

  “The light’s coming our way. They’ve seen us for sure.”

  “Can we go around them?” Ax asked.

  “Not if they don’t want us to. And we need the water, any case.”

  Even Barb was apprehensive. “Maybe they’ve taken all the water already—for the vehicles. We should backtrack right now. It’ll be dark in no time.”

  “If we show we’re avoiding them, it’s going to give the wrong signal, and they’ll come after us. No one to stop them and no one to see—what do you think’s going to happen?”

  “Go on in, then?” Kean asked with a grimace.

  “Yup. Just like everything’s fine and we got nothing to worry about.”

  Those who had not expressed doubt were those who followed Hawkerman with the greatest love and loyalty: Cara and the split-featured twins. Even they looked somber as the team hauled the trailer toward the trees.

  A fire was being built in the largest clearing among the low-sprawling trees. It increased the sense of threat they all felt.
/>   The sun had dropped from sight, and blue night had come by the time they were close enough to make out the figures of men in the clearing, where flames had begun to roar up through the dried leaves on the trees. No one acknowledged their approach, but they knew they were being watched.

  “Shouldn’t we have put someone in with Joe, undercover?” Ax whispered. He and Hawkerman were at the front of the trailer, pulling it.

  “Need to show all the strength we can.”

  Kean thought, What strength? There must be thirty men there, and every one a Cruiser. Their jerkins and leggings gleamed with the flashy metal ornaments they affected, which were worn only partly for show; they also comprised a rough kind of armor. Pieces of beaten steel, machine parts—any oddments of metal that could be stitched to leather, the more bizarre the better. They wore caps of beaten metal on their heads, and their elbows and boots were steel-capped, too. You never had any doubts as to when you were with a Cruiser, and when you were, you knew that you were in the company of a man whose chief characteristic was brutality.

  Kean felt nervous to the point where his legs were shaky. You hardly ever saw Cruisers away from the Lakes, and it was almost unheard of for them to be traveling in such numbers—using three vehicles! The machines were long and low and light, from thirty to sixty feet in length, crafted from aluminum panels and running on spindly wheels of great radius. The engines were antiques and copies of antiques, and if you ever dug up a machine part for one, well, the exchange you could make for it was fabulous. Hawkerman’s team had a piston rod stowed somewhere in the trailer. Kean wondered if they would have to trade it for their lives.

  Hawkerman let go of the leather strap attached to the trailer. He said to the twins, “Haul it to the other side of the trees, not too close. Be ready to move; if anyone comes toward you, obey the usual rules.”

  It didn’t matter if you were smiling warmly with outstretched hand; out here if you got within a few yards of someone’s trailer, you had to be invited to step nearer or blood was shed.

  The twins nodded and the team split up, with Hawkerman leading the others into the sprawling mass of acacia trees.

  “Well! It’s old Hawkerman!”

  A man stepped from behind one of the leaning tree trunks. At once others materialized in a similar fashion. Beyond them the fire crackled savagely. Particles of hot ash flew straight upward in the windless night.

  “Snakebite. You’re a long way from home.”

  “Last chance to see anything before the Season.”

  Kean had come across Snakebite before, at the Lakes. He was tall, stringy, and mean, and he liked an audience when he used his knife. There was something snakelike about his pebble eyes, and he was wearing his famous broad belt of rare reptile skins, studded with their own teeth.

  “And have you?” Hawkerman inquired politely, after holding Snakebite’s eye for a length of time he made deliberately uncomfortable.

  “Have I what?” Snakebite kept smiling.

  “Seen anything?”

  “Not a living thing. Till we saw you.” The smile died away. “You come on in.” The traditional invitation.

  “Happy to,” Hawkerman said. “Our thanks.” And he walked past Snakebite toward the fire.

  No turning back, not now. Kean and the others followed him. Kean smiled at Snakebite as he passed, keeping his eyes steady and fearless as he did so.

  He wished his legs were working better.

  They gazed around covertly as they walked to the fire. The Cruisers had not been delicate about feeding the blaze, and whole branches had been ripped from the trees at random. Kean saw Hawkerman’s mouth tighten; no Wanderer would commit such an act of despoliation. Where the environment was friendly, you encouraged it to remain your ally.

  When they reached the bonfire, Snakebite waved away those who had come back to warm themselves by its heat. It was already getting very chilly. Kean saw that the Cruisers did not go far; they took up stations between the nearest trees, preventing any rapid exit from the clearing, keeping their hands close to the weapons in their belts. Metal gleamed on them at every point. Flight was impossible now the “guests” had got this far in among the low, crooked branches.

  “So what’s your situation?” Snakebite asked.

  Hawkerman played it straight. “Got a sick man with us. We’re hurrying for the Lakes. Need some sweet petal concentrate.”

  “Sorry we can’t help you with that. And you need water?”

  “If you’ve left any after feeding them.” Hawkerman nodded toward the vehicles.

  “There’s some. We been rolling by hand these last nights. Needed all the water we could find here.”

  A little hint of sarcasm: “And you’ve been seeing the sights, have you?”

  “No, no.” Snakebite smiled. “No—I had this notion to do some prospecting on my own account. Seems like I been paying for goods all my life when I could just pick them up like you people do.”

  “Found much?”

  “Found it’s hard. Going to leave it alone, here on in.”

  “Well, we won’t bother you. Just fill up our water skins and move on.”

  “What about you? Loaded with gear to trade, I guess?”

  “Some. I’ll do my trading at the Lakes.”

  “I could offer a fair price here and now—save you the trouble.”

  Hawkerman stared at Snakebite. Cara and Ax looked calm and relaxed; Barb was on edge and fingering her belt near the handle of her knife. Seeing Hawkerman’s stare, Kean discovered his legs had stopped shaking. Something was going to happen and he had to be ready.

  FIVE

  Kean caught Barb’s eye, glanced at her knife, and moved his head in a near-invisible warning that she was showing stress. Her hand dropped down.

  Snakebite was getting irritated. He tried to keep it in. “‘Hawkerman.’ That’s what they call you. You’re a trader—why not show us what you got to trade?”

  Hawkerman was equable. “I told you what I’m going to do. Where’s the water?”

  Snakebite led them through the trees around the back of the motorized wagons. The well had been cared for over the years; now the rocks covering it were lying strewn around haphazardly. Hawkerman climbed over them and looked down as far as he could in the darkness.

  “There’s water—it’s just a long way down now,” Snakebite reassured him.

  “Way, way down,” Hawkerman said and stood back from the well. “You certainly have tried to drain this.”

  “You want some or not?”

  “I don’t like to see the trees cut up too much,” Hawkerman mused. He asked politely, “You know anything about them?”

  “The wood’s good for fires.” Snakebite laughed.

  “That all you know?”

  “Don’t be dumb. I know it’s good hard wood, and a man can make things out of it. What is this—you think I’m stupid?”

  “Did you know that you can get an acid from the nuts of these trees, and it’s good for burns? Sounds strange: it’s true. Did you know you can get remedies for some fevers from these trees?”

  “No, I didn’t. You want to shut up now?”

  Hawkerman went on relating his interesting facts. “Did you know you can eat the seeds? And that you can boil glue out of the gum these trees produce?”

  “No. You finished?”

  “Well, there’s more, but since you’re not interested, let’s move on to the water. It looks like this was a pretty good well before you got to it. Taking so much from it … that’s a bad idea, Snakebite.”

  Now he sounded deadly serious. Kean knew the thing that made Hawkerman the angriest about the Cruisers was that the engines of their vehicles were water powered. It was the ultimate in waste as far as he was concerned.

  “You want water, Hawkerman?” Snakebite demanded bluntly.

  “Can’t live without it.”

  The Cruiser persisted, “And you want some?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, trade,” the c
old-eyed man directed.

  Hawkerman smiled, easy and calm. “We don’t trade for water out here.”

  “See, Hawkerman—we were here first. So it’s like at the Lakes.”

  Ax spoke up, “We don’t do it like that. You’re not at the Lakes—you’re in the outlands, and things work different.”

  “Seems to me it’s just the same, big man. And there aren’t that many of you, when all’s said and done. I don’t want to come out into this hell and go back with nothing. So show us what you got in the trailer, or I’ll just take a look myself, and price it myself, too.”

  Ax’s muscles started to bunch. Hawkerman put a hand on his back, relaxing him. “Well … we’re in a hurry. Maybe sometimes you do have to break with custom.”

  Snakebite smiled in open triumph. “That’s better. So let’s take a look in the trailer.”

  Hawkerman looked tired and beaten. “We could do with a drink right here and now. We can sort through the goods later and set prices. But I need a drink. Don’t worry—we’ll pay.” He spread his arms wide. “You see anything right here that you like?”

  As Hawkerman turned toward Kean, Cara, Ax, and Barb, indicating them and the things they carried, the pump gun strapped to his back was right in Snakebite’s line of vision. It was by far the most valuable thing on view.

  Snakebite said at once, “I’ll take the shooter.”

  “Oh, come on! Not that! Just for a drink of water?”

  “We’ll work it into the whole deal, don’t worry. Now, are you going to trade, or are we going to have a very bad disagreement?”

  Hawkerman unstrapped the gun slowly and sadly, showing no threat in his careful actions. He sounded subdued, depressed. “You know how to work the lever?”

  “’Course I do.”

  “It’s powerfully stiff. You have to be strong.”