by Gene Wolfe
So where was Colette now? Well, of course. Somewhere in New Delphi.
About then I caught sight of the bus terminal. I walked faster, you know I did, and the first thing I did when I got there was check on the next bus for New Delphi. There was a screen three times the size of a bedsheet with the schedule; and there was a ’bot waiting beside it to answer questions. I told it I did not necessarily want the next bus that would take me to New Delphi; what I wanted was the one that would get me there fastest.
“They are the same, sir, number one-oh-nine leaving at five. That will be in two hours and thirty-four minutes precisely, sir. I shall be delighted to vend you a ticket, if you wish.”
I said how much and could I reserve a good seat, and all that stuff. The answers were a lot, no, it was first come gets the seat, five a.m. sharp and no waiting for anybody for any reason ever, and a bunch more including the suggestion that I go into the men’s room and freshen up before time got tight. Which I did as soon as I had my ticket, or anyway as much as I could. My face was beat up and I had a cut under my left eye. Also my clothes were a mess; in the men’s room I did the best I could, which was not a whole heck of a lot.
So I waited. There were screens spotted around the station with shows on them, most of them pretty raunchy. I watched one for a while, but that stuff is only interesting the first time you see it. Here are things a guy can do if he can get her to hold still for it. Here is what three women can do with one guy. (Try and find them.) Two girls with three guys, only I had guessed most of that one before it happened. After a while I wondered if the people were reclones and started watching for that. Finally I decided the women were and the guys weren’t. I don’t really know, it was just my guess, something about the way the women acted and something else about the way the men did; and after that I quit paying attention.
I do not think I really fell asleep, or anyway not completely; but pretty soon my watch struck five and a lady driver was walking around shaking shoulders and telling people that trip 109 was boarding. I got up and yawned, and then hustled over to the bus to claim a good seat because a bunch of other people were already getting on.
You will think that I am stretching it, but this is the stone truth. I got the best seat there was anyway. It was for one person, right behind the driver; and that one person business is why I got it. The ten or fifteen people who had gotten on before me were all couples or families, plus three guys who were traveling together. That seemed to be some kind of a sales crew, but I never did find out what they were selling.
For a minute or two I sat there looking back and forth between my watch and the bright red numbers changing on the dash. Both told me that five o’clock had come and gone, but the driver was still outside telling people. Twelve past five, and she got on and woke up her bus.
Fifteen after five, and it rose about half a meter and began to glide forward. As soon as it moved it said, “Trip one-oh-nine now departing for Rapid Rivers, Hapigarden, New Delphi, and Quinoafield. All abound! All abound! Don’t be left!” I heard it because the doors were still open and there were speakers on the roof.
After that there were ten or twelve people yelling and trying to climb on. We were barely crawling there in the terminal, so most of them made it. Then when our bus was halfway out into the street, it had to wait for a break in traffic; and when it did the last ones got on, even the old couple that I had figured did not have a prayer. All right, I went over and grabbed the old lady’s hands; her husband pushed her from in back, and the two of us were enough. So sue me.
Before I go any further, let me say that as soon as I had seen the other passengers I stopped feeling bad about my messed-up clothes. Some were clean and some were dirty, but even the clean ones were wearing cheap stuff, and a lot of it had been mended and patched and probably ought to have been thrown away. There was even one who looked like Payne and Fish had worked him over; if he had won his fight, the loser must have been a real mess. The world having a lot fewer people is supposed to mean that nobody’s poor. Right. The politicians who peddle that stuff never rode 109.
Except for making a couple of friends I am not going to say a whole lot about the bus trip, what I saw and what I thought about it, because those things do not really have much of anything to do with the emeralds or cutting Colette loose from the guy that had taken her. Or anyway, not much of it does. We sailed on out of the city, gliding down an endless hill of air. Those ground cars and trucks we had to wait for before we could get out onto the street were the early birds, plus a few that had been up all night. There are always people working the night shift here and there. Nobody likes it, but there are certain things that have got to be done twenty-four seven. So somebody stays awake to watch the screens in the firehouse, or else they have a ’bot do it. Cops walk beats and ride around in ground cars and fly overhead in hovercraft. Burglars are night workers, too; and nurses go from bed to bed all night giving pills or shots to people who have trouble getting to sleep. We passed an all-night deli on our way out, and a bunch of businesses that were opening up or else getting ready to open.
Then we were out on the high road, with the turbine purring and the wind whistling and the bus on autodrive. The close-packed buildings got smaller and smaller, and farther and farther apart. Most of them became houses, and there were evergreens and rosebushes. I will say this for our airbus, it went a lot faster and a lot smoother than the truck had on ten rubbery wheels.
In back of me, people were talking without making a whole lot of noise, and one man who must have been pretty close was singing softly, just singing to himself. “Where has she gone, and why should I care? A woman’s a snake, a woman’s a snare; today it’s a kiss, and come into my bed; tomorrow’s a hiss, and you’re better off dead. Where has she gone?” It wasn’t loud enough to bother anybody much, and I kind of liked it.
After a while I found out my armrest opened up. There were a pair of listening plugs in there, and the credits rolled for me as soon as I took them out. So I watched various shows for an hour or so, mostly a romantic comedy. One was a writer and one was an editor, only neither of them ever seemed to do any work. Pretty soon I caught on to the ending. The editor would confess he was really a woman in disguise and the writer would confess she was really a man in disguise. Did Shakespeare write one like that? If he did not, he should have—the girls in his plays are always pretending to be boys.
When it was over, I just looked out at the scenery. Silent woods and peaceful fields now. Old ruined towns, and starved-looking children in rags who just stood beside the road and stared. Once in a while you might see a ’bot doing some work, only not often. Pretty soon I went to sleep.
A little before noon we stopped at Rapid Rivers. Our driver got out to use the women’s room and her bus told us we could get out, too, if we wanted to buy something to eat or view, or just to stretch our legs. I had missed dinner the night before. (When you check out a reclone, you’re supposed to feed it if you keep it overnight. Right, please tell that to Payne and Fish.) Nothing in the morning while I waited for the bus either. I suppose I was too sleepy then to be hungry, or too tired, or hurting too much. Heck, the burns still hurt.
But I was about half starved. I had not had to use any of the money I had taken from Colette’s shaping bag, but the other was nearly gone. Only I was hungry like I said, and I figured she would want me to use her money to bust her lose. Besides, she had checked me out and fed me while I was with her, so no harm. I got a bunnyburger and a big bag of air-fried peppers, two things I had heard a lot about but never eaten myself.
When you are as hungry as I was, everything tastes good, and after a while I decided bunnyburgers really were about half as good as people said they were, which was plenty. Various people had told me various things about air-fried peppers, some good, some bad. I had just decided I liked them when I happened to notice the woman sitting behind me. Her mouth was moving, then she licked her lips. Actually, I had not turned to look back at her. What I really
saw was her reflection in a panel of notint that separated me from the driver.
Anyway, I turned halfway around in my seat and held out my bag of peppers. She smiled thanks and took a little handful, and the man with her said, “Thank you. May I have some, too?”
I said sure, so he took some. He was middle-sized and middle-aged, and looked kind of big without looking fat.
“You must excuse Mahala. She would thank you if she could. Unfortunately, she is mute.”
“But grateful, as I saw.” I really had not known what to say, but that came out. Things like that happen to me sometimes; I want to talk like everybody, but it comes out stiff and oh so formal. I try to pretend it is from being in the library all the time. Anyway, I was trying to look at the two of them without looking like I was doing it—you know what I mean.
“She understands everything we say, however. She is not unintelligent.”
I asked, “Can she write notes?”
“Yes.” He smiled, and his smile made me feel about as sorry for him as I ever have for anybody. “She can indeed, but we haven’t got a pen now, or paper. She used to have a tablet.…” He let that one trail away.
It seemed to me there had to be something we could do, but by then the bus was pulling out. I said, “I’m not sure what they carry in these stations, but I’ll try to get something for her.”
“And a few more peppers?” Smiling, he offered her the ones I had just given him; she took one and pushed the rest back.
“As I understand it, we’ve got another stop before New Delphi.” I was thinking, and thinking hard.
He nodded. “Hapigarden. Mahala and I have never been there.”
“I haven’t either,” I said. “Is that where you’re going?”
He shook his head. “My name’s Fevre, by the way. Georges Fevre.” He spelled it. “The s really shouldn’t be pronounced. Just call me George.”
“Ern A. Smithe, and you can call me anything you want to. I’d shake hands, but mine’s greasy.”
“Mine, too.” Georges ate a pepper. “For which I thank you from the bottom of my stomach.”
We talked a little more after that, and I got Georges to spell Mahala’s name for me. Only I am not going to give all that.
When it was over, I just turned around, watching the scenery and reminding myself to grab napkins next time if they had any. The reason I turned was that I wanted to ask Georges about a hundred questions, only it would not be polite. On top of that, he would feel like he could ask me a bunch of questions, too. Like where are you going? And why do you want to go there? And what happened to your face, Mr. Smithe?
Besides, I had the feeling that pretty soon he was going to figure out I was a reclone. They do not make us wear striped pants or orange shirts, or tattoo it across our foreheads; nothing like that. Only pretty soon most people seem to know.
So did I, for that matter.
When I first got to the Spice Grove Library I never had any trouble telling the librarians, the patrons, and the reclones apart. I just knew. And I had seen and heard enough of Georges to know that even if he was broke he was not dumb.
So I just looked out the window and kept my mouth shut. I would guess it took us another two hours, maybe a little less, to get to Hapigarden. Same drill as before: we would be there about fifteen minutes and you could get off if you wanted to. So I got off there; and so did Georges and Mahala, I think just to use the toilets. I looked around at the souvenir stuff they had in the station and found a little notepad and a pencil. I bought them, and a lady who worked there showed me where I could sharpen the pencil. It was smaller and a lot faster than the sharpeners I remembered but the same basic idea.
When I got back on the bus, the guy with the beat-up face was sitting in my seat. My feeling has always been that it is best to start off polite. You can always get mean later if that is what it takes, but it is hard to go the other way. So I said, “Excuse me, but I was sitting there.”
He would not look at me. “I’m sitting here now.”
I said, “I know, and I’m asking you to leave and go back to where you were sitting before. Please.”
I had expected him to smart off, but he did not. He just kept his head turned, looking straight ahead.
That gave me a free one at his right ear, and I took it. If notint were not tougher than glass, his head would have broken the window.
He turned around, I guess because he was going to get up; but my right got his nose and drove his head back into the window again. After that I shoved my thumbs into his eyes, but he never even yelled. It was the first time in either life I have ever knocked anybody cold, but that guy was out like a match. After that I pulled him out of my seat and kicked his head half a dozen times just because I felt like it.
When I got tired of kicking, I dragged him to the back of the bus and asked the people there where he had been sitting. Everybody who answered said they did not know; but there was an empty seat back there and I got him up onto it. When I turned around, the driver was standing up front and looking back at me. After a moment or two she decided the fight was over and there was no point in her getting involved. She sat back down in her seat, and the bus said, “Trip one-oh-nine will depart in five minutes. Trip one-oh-nine departing in five minutes sharp.”
When I got back to my seat, I gave the notepad and pencil to Mahala, and she wrote “THANK YOU!” in big letters on the first sheet.
Then Georges said, “We’re getting off at New Delphi, Ern. We’re going to miss you.”
“Not as soon as you think,” I told him. “I’m getting off there, too.”
“No shit? Why, that’s the best news I’ve had in a week! You live there?”
I just shook my head and turned so I faced forward, wishing the bus would get going. In back of me Mahala was clapping softly.
“We don’t either. It’s bigger than Spice Grove, or so I’m told.”
I wanted to nod, and to turn around and ask him a few questions. It was hard not to, but I didn’t.
Also I wanted to ask the driver at least one question, but there was a sign on the back of her seat warning that anyone who spoke to the driver while the bus was in motion would be put out.
That could have worked in my favor, if I had been quick enough to catch on to it. As it was, I just glimpsed the big Coldbrook house on a hilltop; then, before I caught on that fate had already handed me a way to stop the bus, it was gone.
“Please don’t stand up while we’re in motion.” That was the driver.
I dropped back into my seat, thinking bitterly about the unfairness of a system that let her talk to me when I was not allowed to talk to her. That got me off on a hundred other things, like the ragged kids in those ruined towns, the old couple, and the guy with the beat-up face who had tried to take my seat; and when I looked up again, rain was pattering on the windshield.
“This is bad,” Georges muttered behind me. I think he must have been looking past Mahala through the window at the rain.
I saw Mahala’s reflection nod, and I turned to face them. “For me, too. I don’t suppose you know anything about public transportation here.”
“Nothing, really. Although…”
I waited.
“There’s a—a place for distressed citizens here, or at least I’ve been told there is.”
Mahala gripped his arm, squeezing hard.
“We’re not going there. We have reasons for that.” Georges stopped and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t mind telling you, but I’d rather not get into them in public.” He was keeping his voice down.
I said, “Don’t, in that case.”
“My informant told me that they sometimes send out a van. You have an eephone, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
“I thought everybody had them.”
“In that case,” I said, “you’ve got one yourself. Or you can borrow Mahala’s.”
“She couldn’t speak into it.”
I shrugged. “She could sign
into it, and look things up.”
Georges was quiet for a moment; then he whispered, “How did you know she could sign?”
“I didn’t, but she seems intelligent and she can’t speak.”
“Keep your voice low, please.”
I nodded.
Georges whispered, “Do you have a place to stay in New Delphi, Ern?”
I guess I’m not really strong on planning ahead. Anyway, I had been thinking how hard it might be to get a hotel room; and when he said that I realized how dumb it would be and dropped the whole idea. For a few seconds there, I was thinking as fast as I ever had in my life. Finally I said, “Can you drive, Georges?”
“Yes.” He got out his wallet and handed it to me with a twisted grin. “Have a look, Ern. While you’re doing it, check my license; but if you find any money in there, we’ll divide it equally.”
Of course there was no money at all. His picture and a retina scan were on the license, which would be valid for another twenty weeks. I returned his wallet.
“I’ll look for work when we get there,” he told me. “I can drive, so I might drive a cab. They can’t all be self-programmed.”
I don’t believe I said anything then. I was thinking.
Georges said, “Sometimes people want a driver who can help them with their luggage and so on. Or I could drive a limousine.”
“Wouldn’t you need a commercial license?”
“They might be willing to overlook that, or help me get one.”
“You’re not going to the shelter.”
He shook his head.
“Where will you spend the night, in that case?”
“In the bus station, if they’ll let us.”
I spoke to Mahala. “Can you cook?”