Skid

by Keith Fenwick

  Did they fail to recognize the fact that the synthofood production levels had fallen to less than 15 percent of the required level needed to sustain all of Skid’s inhabitants and once that news got out the fragile bonds that kept the general population obedient to the laws of the land that bound them would be broken and then all bets would be off? Or were they merely waiting for some miracle to deliver them from their fate?

  How many tyrants and their minions had deluded themselves in such a fashion as the walls of their bunkers were breached? Who among them could see their salvation in the shaggy, dirty beasts the offworlder had penned up in the wilderness? Or in the material that sprang from the ground? Interesting novelties perhaps. But food sources for a starving society? Never! That was the problem; none of them had the imagination or vision to see how the offworlder’s plans could be put into action and save them all.

  The offworlder spoke of turning vast stretches of the wilderness upside down. He even had documents drawn up to explain his proposals. With co-operation, he maintained, he could feed many of Skid’s inhabitants within several years, if not sooner. But even if this were possible, several years away was far too long. Skid would have starved to death by then. Nobody thought to ask how soon at least a part of the population could be fed and saved using the organic systems, or how he would undertake this task.

  Inel wondered whether his people were really worth saving; the ones accompanying him today certainly were not.

  Like Inel, Bruce brooded on the day’s events as it began to get dark, and the more he brooded, the darker his mood became. Despite his initial hopes when Cyprus had confirmed the visit, it was apparent to him that the Skidians still didn’t appreciate his efforts on their behalf and had no intention of implementing any of the plans he had developed.

  Bruce felt Cyprus was probably doing his best to convince his fellows of the value and practicalities of organic farming, even if he glorified his own part in the process. But it was painfully obvious his efforts had been to no avail.

  Inel gave Bruce some encouragement with nods and secretive smiles but pointedly would not speak to him at all. The rest of the gathering asked nothing of Bruce, studiously ignoring him and conversing amongst themselves.

  Bruce looked forward with eager anticipation to the time when the Skidians would come on bended knee, begging for his help. He perked up at this idea, for then he would be in a position to dictate terms. Maybe a trip home was not out of the question. Nevertheless, the taste of disappointment and frustration was bitter in his mouth.

  With great gusto Cyprus and Inel began to stack their plates with the organic food presented by the offworlders. Toytoo, Yarad and Sideshow, less familiar with the organic food, followed their lead with a little less enthusiasm. The remaining Skidians took small helpings of meat and vegetables, giggling nervously at their daring as they did.

  Bruce watched them all with a jaundiced eye, amused a little at the comic contrast between Skidians who were used to solid food and those who were not. One of the uninitiated burst into a paroxysm of coughing and spluttering as he learned that it was impossible to swallow, breathe, chew and talk at the same instant.

  While his companions stood about laughing uneasily as they watched the unfortunate’s face go beet red, Sue dealt with the problem by applying several sharp thumps to his back. The Skidian turned to remonstrate with the impertinent offworlder who had dealt him such undignified blows. Then, realizing that the choking sensation he had just been experiencing had disappeared and he could breathe again, delivered a sickly smile instead.

  Bruce checked the meat again. Looking good, he decided, taking up a knife and cutting himself a bite-sized piece and washing it down with another large swig of beer. All his intentions of restraint had long since flowed away on a tide of alcohol and growing self-pity.

  After giving the meat a few more desultory prods, Bruce piled the lot onto another plate, restocked the grill, gave the fire a few prods with the fork and made his way unsteadily to the table. “Must be more pissed than I thought!” he told himself louder than he had intended to, as he wove towards the table and eyed the food. Just like home, he thought wistfully, his scalp prickling and a lump rising in his throat.

  Bugger it! The resentful bloody-mindedness that Bruce had kept under control now began to bubble up like a spring. He had striven hard to make a good impression on the Skidians all day but now realized the effort had been useless.

  “Look at them, Sue,” he snarled, not quite slurring his words as he swayed beside her. “Useless sods, all of them. You know what they’re going to do, eh?”

  “No,” Sue replied wearily.

  “Well, it’s pretty bloody obvious to me that none of them gives a shit, except maybe for Cyprus,” he said, unaware that his good friend Cyprus was actually recommending they were surplus to requirements.

  “Yes, dear,” she said in an effort to placate him.

  “Just don’t give a shit,” he ranted. “Quite happy for us to do the work for them while they reap the benefits and take the credit for my effort.” He scooped up a handful of coleslaw, shoved it into his mouth and washed it down with another mouthful of beer.

  “Do you know what Cyprus had the effrontery to say to me earlier?” Bruce knew it didn’t matter that he shouldn’t allow Cyprus’s lack of tact to upset him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help himself now.

  Sue tugged Bruce by the arm, trying to move him out of earshot. “Keep your voice down!”

  “Do you think I care? Know what that twat said?”

  “No, but you’re going to tell me anyway.”

  “Cyprus told me he would have no trouble at all running this place or setting up other farms, probably by using drones,” Bruce spat. “We might as well sit back and leave them to it.” His professional pride was wounded, especially as it had occurred to him the Skidians might just about be able to pull it off. “They couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery. Wouldn’t have a bloody chance. Bastards deserve to starve, I reckon.” He thumped his hand on the table.

  The conversation around him ceased abruptly. All eyes swiveled toward him for a moment, then the Skidians returned to talking or eating as the case may be. The Skidians studiously ignored the offworlders, as if they were some lower form of life whose presence had to be tolerated, but who could mostly be ignored. They were expected to act a little irrationally at times.

  Sue tried to pull him away further out of earshot.

  “They think they can do without me, without us. They’re not bright enough to realize they can’t. But they know they do. Get me?” Bruce was under the misapprehension he was making sense. “I reckon they don’t want us around showing them what to do because our presence makes them look stupid.”

  In essence this was true, although the Skidians would have expressed it differently.

  “You’re talking nonsense, Bruce!” snapped Sue in exasperation.

  “You just don’t understand, do you?”

  “No!” she retorted. “I don’t see why they couldn’t look after the farm. It can’t be too difficult.”

  Bruce seemed to think farming was some sort of mystical process only understood by a select few high priests. What was so difficult? Even I know enough to run a farm, she thought. Besides, nobody was indispensable, not even Bruce. She turned to him; in the few seconds she had taken her gaze off him his face had turned almost purple with rage. A malevolent gleam shone from his bloodshot eyes. If looks could kill, Sue realized, suddenly alarmed. Bruce was quite capable of doing it. She began to tremble uncontrollably, afraid of what he might do next. Despite everything they had been through on this godforsaken planet, she had never seen him so clearly very angry.

  “Bloody yanks!” Bruce turned on her. “You think you know everything, arrogant bastards,” he panted.

  Sue hoped he might get a grip on himself, but it was a forlorn hope.

  “Well, let me tell you, my girl.” The onslaught began in earnest this time. “Running a farm is not as
easy as it looks. I guarantee that if I stopped working this place tomorrow, it would be a bloody shambles within a few weeks.”

  Despite being a little scared about his mood, Sue was through with Bruce; she had tolerated his growing negativity long enough. Perhaps he had been negative from the start and now she had reached her limit.

  “Bruce! You are just being childish. Even I could run this place. Why do you make such an issue about it?”

  “You think so, do you? Right. You kill the next ivop, shift them around, do all the other little jobs round here. I’m not going to have anything more to do with this lot.”

  “Oh don’t be silly, Bruce.”

  “Don’t be silly, Bruce,” he mimicked.

  “You’re making an exhibition of yourself. Grow up!” Sue demanded.

  Cyprus waddled over and stared down at Bruce in what he imagined was an imposing fashion. “Is anything wrong?” he asked after several moments.

  “Nah, youse fullas have got everything under control by the looks of things,” Bruce replied with a sarcasm that was wasted on Cyprus. “Everything.” He took another long drink. “You don’t need my help any longer, so I think I’ll just piss off, okay?”

  Bruce knew he was being unreasonable, even pitiful. However, he had little control over his limbs any longer, even less over his mouth. With a few beers inside him he was also stubborn and not about to back down from the stance he had taken. In the morning he’d see the whole situation in a different light and be sheepishly embarrassed by what memories remained of the night before.

  “Aw, bugger off, Cyprus. You wouldn’t understand.”

  By this time Bruce had the attention of the whole gathering, who had all noticed Cyprus’s skillful attempts to restrain the increasingly obnoxious offworlder.

  “Let me go, Sue!” Bruce brushed aside her feeble attempts to restrain him.

  “These offworlders are so unstable,” someone in the crowd said.

  “We should have expected severe psychological problems with them. Their own planet is so primitive. Skid must have quite overwhelmed him.”

  “Yes,” concurred the first speaker, just loud enough for Bruce to hear. “It’s our own fault, of course. We should have kept them under closer supervision. They have some queer habits.”

  “How do you know?” asked another.

  “That’s it!” Bruce booted the trestle table and cursed when he realized his feet were bare. He hurled himself at the table, sweeping it clear of plates, glasses and bowls and then stood back, glaring at the Skidians, daring them to react.

  Cyprus stepped forward, extending his arm with his palm raised in a conciliatory gesture. Bruce slapped the arm away and stormed off into the night, swearing in the darkness as he tripped over a drone approaching from the kitchen, his angry voice loud in the stunned, incredulous silence he left in his wake.

  “Bugger ya!” Bruce picked up the drone and hurled it onto the barbecue where it struggled like a fly without wings on the grill. Then it began to sizzle, exploding seconds later in a shower of sparks.

  The gathering stood transfixed as Bruce strode away, still swearing and muttering to himself. As everyone began to relax and recover from their shock, becoming capable of coherent thought, beginning to fear for their own safety, Bruce stumbled back into the light.

  “What are you staring at?” he demanded of the nearest Skidian, who shrank away from him.

  Bruce made for the beer dispenser, the rest of the Skidians also melting away from him as he approached. He grabbed a full jug of beer and disappeared into the darkness once more.

  “I told you so,” a Skidian voice ventured, when it was clear he was not returning.

  “We don’t …”

  “… Should be …”

  “Disposed of …”

  “… Unstable.”

  All at once the Skidians tried to make themselves heard over the nervous hubbub that erupted. The collective relief they felt at surviving a particularly nasty encounter quickly turned to outrage.

  “An ill-conceived plan!”

  Bang!

  Something exploded on the barbecue and silenced the mob again as a shower of sparks and glowing shards of metal flew through the air. Those with rapid reflexes immediately sought shelter, while those less endowed were left standing in astonishment, their mouths gaping wide, trying to work out what was happening.

  Only Inel remained aloof from the confusion, stepping back into the shadows, contemplating the scene and Bruce’s inexplicable behavior.

  “Shit!” Bruce tripped over some obstacle in the dark and his sudden expletive made everybody jump.

  Inel tried to comprehend the little drama that had just been enacted. Bruce had performed in a disgusting and offensive manner. But why? While the others were dismissing the offworlder’s behavior as that of some crude lower being, Inel took Sue’s arm and guided her away quietly to find out more.

  Feeling his grip on her arm, she panicked, now concerned for her own safety as well as Bruce’s. The thought that Bruce might disappear and leave her behind terrified her. She was well aware that Bruce was a survivor. He might not, despite all she had done to make herself indispensable to him, give her a second thought. Especially after she had indirectly aligned herself with the enemy in the last few minutes. She struggled to free herself from Inel’s grip, as any woman in the process of being dragged off into the night by a virtual stranger might.

  Inel brought a finger to his lips in an oddly human gesture, demanding silence and, even more strangely, reassuring her a little. “Come!” he said. “I wish to understand what has occurred here.” Then he hesitated, as if about to add something further.

  “Down by the river!” Sue gasped. “That’s where Bruce has probably gone, and I want to be sure he doesn’t do anything silly.”

  “The moving water?” A note of apprehension crept into Inel’s voice. Neither an encounter with the unpredictable offworlder, nor a visit to the moving water, the habitat of unimaginable creatures, held much attraction for him.

  “Yes.”

  Carefully in the darkness they made their way down the slope, Inel still clinging tightly to Sue’s arm.

  As they walked he evaluated the situation. Against his better judgment and despite the apparent setbacks that had befallen their schemes, the influence of Toytoo and his followers had been growing on Skid since their return with the offworlders. That their proposed enterprise was apparently failing did little to undermine their growing influence, almost to the point of threatening Inel’s own position.

  He sensed a mood for change was flowing through the senate. But was it for the better? Or merely change for its own sake? Moreover, where might it lead? It seemed to Inel that by showing a hitherto unsuspected (and traditionally frowned on) ability to show a little initiative, Toytoo and his followers had awakened a latent desire for change in Skidian society that he feared neither he nor they would be able to control.

  Inel realized better than anybody that if Skid were to survive this present crisis, or any future one, it would have to change its ways. However, could the complacent Skidian, unused to change and challenges, rise to confront the crisis that now beset him? He shook his head as he concentrated on this latest problem. Why were negative reports emanating from the farm? Cyprus was extremely negative in all of his reports regarding the organic plant? Surely it was obvious Bruce could at least feed himself. So why not all Skidians? How true was the offworlder’s assertion that, in time, sufficient organic material could be produced to feed Skid? There was not much point in working to safeguard his own position if he would soon be dead from starvation.

  Inel found himself beset by the sorts of imponderables common to all leaders. Whose advice could he trust? Should he lead Skid down the path of change to stave off an impending disaster? Change that would lead to a new era of uncertainty? Or should he stick with the old, tried ways of dealing with problems, hoping for some sort of miracle to deliver his people from the apocalypse? Grimly he wishe
d he could see into the future.

  Inel knew that was a futile idea. He, along with his predecessors, had always discouraged such initiative on the part of the populace. All thought and action, power and education, had been reserved for the ruling elite; the vast majority of the population had swapped historical slavery for a more sophisticated variety. Skidian society had been decaying for generations, for the simple reason that there was no challenge to its existence, and for the general populace, they simply had nothing to do and therefore did nothing. It had fed on itself until nothing remained of the industry and driving force that had created a great civilization.

  Every Skidian, including Inel himself until now, believed in the infallibility of Skidian culture to see them through any crisis. Had he delayed the decision-making too long? He hoped not. Thrusting these disturbing thoughts aside, he suddenly remembered to feel nervous at being out in the open.

  “This is far enough,” he said gruffly. His prime concern was to retain his power until forced to relinquish it, convinced that the offworlders or their influence were now the key to his plans. He would use them without compunction and then discard them once they had outlived their usefulness. Which he hoped would be sooner rather than later.

  “No, let’s go a bit closer to the river,” Sue said. “I want to make sure Bruce is okay.”

  At that moment an outcry came from the direction of the house as the remaining Skidians belatedly discovered the absence of the female offworlder and Inel. Despite being some distance away, and unable to discern clearly what was being said, Inel distinctly heard the word ‘kidnapped’.

  His mind raced. Was somebody about to take advantage of his absence? With him out of the way the path was open for Toytoo or some another pretender to assume his position. He felt his heart begin to pound. Sweat suddenly blistered his forehead in a fashion first experienced when he was being initiated into the pleasures of the flesh as a young man. He had been apprehensive of the unknown then, too. What had been mere conjecture might become reality more quickly than he could ever have imagined.

  He found himself unable to think. Instead, he became aware of the soft night sounds, noises he had never noticed before, and wondered at this sudden clarity of his senses. Not that he could identify the leaves rustling in the breeze in the trees above his head, the soft plop as a fish leapt from the water and the singing of the wires on the fence around the garden. The strange sounds all served to heighten the tension he felt.