The Wanderers

by Kate Ormand

  He grabbed for the edge of the buckled panel. It was too thick for his hands to grasp. He had only a fingerhold. The rain washed his grip away, and he fell.

  Fell twenty-five yards.

  Into the top of a tree.

  ELEVEN

  People did not shout much in Arcone. At this moment, it seemed that everyone was shouting. With a full maintenance belt strapped to her waist, Essa ran along the corridor behind Bonix and his men. The doors to the Garden were open already, and the work had begun.

  Here on the top level of the Pyramid, plant life flourished in this mammoth greenhouse. There were whole acres of creepers and trees and food-bearing vegetation. Tomato plants, olive trees, grape vines, luscious fruits, all too precious to be used as anything except diet additives, although rumor said the Council had a bowl of fruit in the center of their meeting table.

  Pacifiers had hauled the mobile maintenance gantry to the split in the roof. There was something sticking through, and men were frantically trying to drag it the rest of the way inside so that they could replace the big panel it had damaged. Another crew was climbing up the side of the Garden along the supports, going for a smaller area of damage. Bonix ordered Essa to work with this secondary crew.

  She climbed up the ladder on the wall, alongside a big tree, to where she could shout at them. “What can I do? Do you need anything?”

  There was enough artificial light in here for them to see that it was only an apprentice calling, and one shouted back, “Nothing! Just hope the rain keeps coming, and the winds don’t return! Now get out of the way!”

  Nice to be wanted. Essa started to climb back down the struts. Branches brushed against her, and she paused to run her hands over the fan-shaped leaves of the giant gingko tree, wonderingly, in admiration of nature’s work.

  The shouting went on. It was the kind of occasion that demanded a lot of shouting. She reached the bottom, by the roots of the tree. Rain was falling through its leaves. A little distance away was a small clearing where she could watch the first crew on the gantry high above. They sprang back as the obstacle finally came crashing through the roof and jerked to a stop, swinging from side to side, held by strong leather lines. It looked like a big square bucket. There was some immense dark shapeless thing outside on the roofing on the other end of the lines, and it was this that was preventing the bucket from falling. Essa saw that a man was dangling a little way above the bucket, spinning slowly, dressed in outlandish clothes. Rain poured into the garden from the gap in the roof. Soaking wet, the workers had to cut the lines before the man and bucket plummeted to the lush green carpet beneath, ricocheting off branches. The bucket took a big hit and crashed down through the foliage near Essa. Men were rushing to the body. It was an old Wanderer, Essa gathered. Something stirred behind her. She was startled. The sound suggested an animal.

  It was—wasn’t it? No—it was human, but dressed in leather … a young Wanderer lying right by the tree trunk and camouflaged by chance by the brown of the earth at its base. He was extraordinarily pale. There was blood on his head, and now his eyes were opening.

  Human eyes. Dazed, lost, and despairing.

  This is it. Within the space of two heartbeats, she had decided. If he was found, he would die. If she wanted to rebel against Arcone, there would never again be such an opportunity.

  She knelt beside him. “Don’t make any noise.”

  The Wanderer tried to say something and couldn’t. Essa was actually laughing. It must be hysteria. If she didn’t pull herself together, they were lost. Past the gingko tree and the clearing was an area of dense ferns. She said rapidly, “Trust me. You don’t have a choice, anyway. You’re not hidden here—they’ll find you.”

  She helped him stand and looked around, fear stabbing at her stomach. No one was looking; too much was going on. There was a lot of excitement about how the old Wanderer’s head was nearly severed from his body.

  “This way. Quickly,” she whispered. They staggered across the clearing, and she helped him crawl underneath the ferns.

  “It’s going to be all right. I’ll help you get out.”

  Then he spoke, with only his pale hair and face visible to her. A strong face, with steady gray eyes. He said, “How?”

  A pale face … pale hands, too, she had noticed. Something wrong with one of them … one finger too many. Even as she noticed it, the plan was arriving in her mind in nearly every detail.

  “Don’t worry about how. Worry about keeping out of sight. I’m coming back. I promise. I’ll do my best for you.”

  The girl left Kean’s line of vision.

  He lay on the soft earth. It smelled so good here. He was going to die. Still going to die, only by different means. Never mind. All he could see was the blur of the fern fronds covering him, nodding into his face. Green heaven. Would it be a slow death? Better not snore, if he fell asleep. He had been awake for days and nights on end, looking back on it. He’d better not snore. Better not sleep at all …

  He slept.

  Today Essa was invisible, one hurrying figure among many. Only one Pacifier stopped her. “Where are you going?”

  “They need more filler in the Garden.”

  She would have to get some. It would be her alibi. But she must be so quick—her plan must be carried out before things returned to normal.

  Running full-out, she went first to her apartment. It was empty, as she had expected: Marran would have gone to the infirmary, where she was a voluntary nurse when there was an alert. Essa went to her own room. She couldn’t risk her brand-new tunic in case Marran noticed its disappearance, but the blue discolored one would do fine—she never wore it, anyway.

  She folded it small and stuffed it down the front of the tunic she was wearing, ran out of the apartment—and almost collided with Veramus, of all people.

  “What are you doing in the l-living area?”

  “I, um—I needed my scalpel—there’s a big panic in the Garden.”

  “I know. I’m g-going there myself.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m making notes for the r-records. This is going to b-be recorded—it’s going to be in the b-books! We’ll go together, shall we?”

  “No. No—I need to get some more filler, too, from the workshop.”

  “Oh. Couldn’t you have picked up a scalpel there?”

  “I wanted my own. It’s what I’m used to.”

  His eyes took in the maintenance belt on her waist. She said with a smile, “Look—I’ve got to hurry.”

  “Yes—me too.”

  They ran along to the end of the corridor and went their separate ways, with Veramus calling, “See you there!”

  She got a whole pail of filler from the workshop and was halfway out the door by the time she remembered she should account for its absence. She wrote it down on the day sheet while precious time went by, and dashed out again. A Pacifier lifted a hand to stop her as she raced up one of the ramps with the filler. She called, “They need this in the Garden! It’s urgent!” and went right on by.

  There was a whole squad of Pacifiers on guard at the door to the Garden now. Word of the dead intruder had spread, and security was being stepped up as a small crowd had gathered. Using the pail of filler as her passport, she passed through the gawking bystanders.

  Inside the Garden, most of the activity still centered on the big hole, where a new panel had been hoisted. At the side where the smaller hole had occurred, one of the workers was on his way down the ladder by the gingko tree. “What’s that?” he asked. “More filler? Good girl. We’re doing a patch job for now. That’s excellent.”

  He took the pail. “Should be clear, not white. Never mind. You’ve done well.”

  He was back up the ladder immediately to join his fellows. Essa was thankful everyone was so occupied. She went across the clearing to the area of ferns. She had hidden him too well and could not find him for a moment or two.

  He was asleep. Of all the nerve. If it had been her, she would hav
e been waiting with fervent gratitude for her savior.

  Kean was woken by a hand pressed over his mouth. The girl’s face was inches from his own. She had remarkably fierce eyes, dark and deep and passionate. She sounded pretty fierce, too.

  “Follow me. Quietly.”

  He emerged from the ferns and swayed. She grabbed hold of him. “Can you walk? Did you break anything?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Where do we go?”

  Essa had taken note of a cluster of bushes nearby. They had interesting berries on them, but at the moment, their appeal was that they were densely clustered. Good cover.

  When they got to the bushes, she reached into her tunic and brought out the spare. “Get in there and change.”

  He hesitated. “Are those girl’s clothes?”

  “We all wear the same thing here. Bury your own stuff. And be quick.”

  After giving him some seconds by himself, she entered the bushes. If she was seen standing around doing nothing, it could be dangerous. He was near naked, strapping a knife belt to his pale waist. There was no fat on him; he was as fit as a wild animal.

  “Thanks for this,” he said, unembarrassed, holding the tunic. “How does it go?”

  She pulled it over his head and tugged at it to make it fit better when he had his arms through the sleeves. It was not a ludicrously bad fit, and when it bunched a little as she tied its band on, the knife did not show underneath.

  “Thanks,” he said again and looked at her. His eyes were still steady, and brighter now; his head was clearing. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because someone had to.”

  “Well, if you say so. Is everyone here like you?”

  “No, they aren’t. They’ll kill you. Look, we don’t have time to talk. I’ve got to get you nearer ground level. If we can get to the first level, there’s a lecture room with windows that open. If it’s only raining, we can get you out and you can slide down the side. After that, you’re on your own. At least you look like an Arconian. Go on—bury your clothes.”

  He started to dig with his hands. The soil was soft: dirt from paradise. “What if someone finds them?”

  “I don’t see why they would. Not for weeks. If I get a chance, I’ll take them to the incinerator.”

  “I’m putting you in danger.”

  “No—I am. It’s my choice.” She looked at the gash on his head. “That’s going to be useful. All right. Come on, and don’t say anything unless you have to.”

  She took his six-fingered hand and led him out of the bushes, through the clearing, and past the gingko tree. Her hand was warm. Sneaking a glance at her face, he saw she still looked stern.

  Following one of the inner paths through the varied vegetation, they came to the tall doors. Four Pacifiers were waiting there. And more outside.

  “Pretend you’re feeling bad,” Essa whispered.

  Kean slowed down and let his head roll a little.

  “What’s your business?” a Pacifier asked.

  “Got to get him to the sick bay. He had a fall.”

  “Can’t he go by himself?”

  “He’s confused. He fell a long way. Could you take him there for me?”

  It was a risk, but it worked. “Take him yourself.”

  Outside the door, Essa saw that the crowd of bystanders had grown. She murmured, “Put your hand on your face. Not that one—keep that one closed.”

  Kean did so. Now he was leaving the Garden, he did not feel at all safe. Everything was so clean here. And so bright. It was not a place where secrets could be kept for long. He felt ignorant and scared, and he was glad to hang his head and hide behind his good hand.

  “Excuse me—got a casualty here,” Essa said, and walked through the crowd.

  Someone said, “Is it true we’ve been attacked?”

  “No. Well—if we were, it was only by one man. Sorry—I’ve got to go.”

  Another voice said, “I’ll h-help you.”

  It was Veramus. He had his scratch tablet at the ready. “He’s hurt, is he? What was it? An a-a-accident in service of Arcone? Some n-noble act?”

  “Just a fall.”

  “Can I come and get his s-story?”

  “Oh. Aren’t you supposed to get permission. I mean—are you allowed to?”

  He became anxious at once. “No—I don’t know—I’ll stay h-here, then.”

  Good.

  But he went on, “I’ll j-just come a little of the w-way with you.”

  And he trotted along beside them, looking inquisitively at Kean. “Who is he? Can’t he speak?”

  “He’s very dazed.”

  “He’s in maintenance?”

  “Yes.” She had hesitated just too long before answering.

  “So what’s his n-name?”

  “I didn’t ask. He’s on exteriors—I don’t know everyone yet.”

  “What’s your name?” Veramus asked Kean.

  Kean made a small groaning noise and pretended to sag at the waist. Essa took hold of him to support him.

  So did Veramus, on the other side. They moved on. Kean dragged his feet as realistically as he could. Veramus remarked, “He could get a commendation, if it’s a b-bad injury. Oh l-look—he’s got a tunic like your old one.”

  Essa stopped. “Veramus. I think you’d better get back. They’ll be bringing a body through soon. A dead Wanderer. Very spectacular, from what I saw of him.”

  “Oh … c-can’t m-miss that.”

  He let them go. Essa thought she felt eyes on her back and could not, just simply could not, resist turning to see if she was right.

  She was. Veramus had stayed just where he was, watching them.

  Having turned back to him, she had to say something. She called cheerfully, “Let’s get together soon, okay?”

  He smiled and nodded.

  She had to keep going. Would Veramus say anything to anyone? Surely he wouldn’t. They were old friends—he couldn’t. He might, though … She’d get rid of the Wanderer and run back to Veramus and get him to keep his mouth shut. Talk about being impetuous: she was breaking every law in the book. Did a person learn nothing from previous experience?

  Other residents of Arcone were anxious about the turmoil in the city.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Are we being attacked?”

  “Has an enemy breached the city?”

  All she answered was, “I don’t know. Let me pass.”

  And all the time her companion kept his head down and felt increasingly threatened, increasingly alien. Having realized his ambition to see inside the majestic Pyramid, all he wanted was to get out again in one piece. They were moving so rapidly through the maze of gleaming corridors, it felt like a desperate flight. As an accompaniment, a continuous musical note throbbed and hummed ominously through the whole Pyramid. Essa heard it, too, and was aware of its significance.

  At last Kean heard, “In here—quick!” and Essa pulled him into the darkened lecture room.

  She ran her hand down the sliding switch by the frame of the door, and small lights glowed like fireflies in the ceiling. Kean was astounded at the size of this room, so orderly with its desks and chairs.

  Essa kept the lights low and pulled Kean to one of the windows. “It winds up. You take one handle, I’ll take the other.”

  The panels of the Pyramid overlapped for insulation. Together Kean and Essa pushed the long rectangle up beneath the one above.

  Warm air snaked in from the black night. You could tell it was the Season. Only then were the nights less than freezing. Right now there was neither rain nor wind to contend with.

  “This is perfect,” Essa said. “Just go. You should be all right—let yourself dangle and then slide. After that it’s up to you.”

  Kean got one leg out of the window. “I don’t know what to say. I’ll do the same for you one day.”

  “You won’t have to. You won’t see me again. Just go!”
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  Kean ducked his head in order to roll out of the window.

  The humming sound stopped. All the lights inside Arcone came on at once at full power, and with them all the searchlights that lit the grain fields and the windmills. It was as if white lightning had flashed and frozen at its brightest moment of existence.

  Kean felt himself grabbed by Essa. “Get back! You can’t make it now!”

  He tried to wrench free from her. “I’ll run for it.”

  “No! It’s a full stand-by! The field workers will be looking out for intruders! They’re armed—there’s hundreds of them in the windmills, all watching for anything that moves! You wouldn’t make it fifty yards. Get in!”

  Kean worked his way back into the lecture room. Taking Essa’s example, he wound one of the handles to lower the window back into place. “What should I do, then?”

  “I don’t know. That noise was the generators. They’d only use this much power if there was a real panic. Everyone’s been talking about an attack.”

  “There’s no attack.”

  “There’s you.”

  “I’m not here to hurt anyone!”

  “You’re here, though, and they’ll kill you.”

  They stood there in the shining lecture room, talking when there was no time to talk.

  Kean said, “Just leave me. Get away from me.”

  “You’re wearing my clothes. If they get you, they’ll get me.”

  “Is there anywhere I can hide?”

  “No. Yes. Wait a minute.”

  Her mind was working again. She grasped his arm without knowing she was doing it.

  “There’s one place they’d never look. If we could get there. If the maps are right.”

  TWELVE

  They were going up again. It appeared that the Council was indeed suspicious about being attacked; the Pacifiers and first-rank military reserves were all on their way down to ground level.

  Kean’s strength was returning, and he kept up with Essa with ease. Men passed them, going the other way, some strapping on plastic breastplates as they went, all with the sword every grown man was issued and kept in his living quarters. No one stopped and questioned them; everyone had his own purpose.