On Whetsday

by Mark Sumner

  He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the sharp edges of the memory. “Does someone else have a maton?” he asked. “Would the skynx...”

  “Nah,” Loma said sharply. “Don't say anything to the skynx about a maton. Or about a memory.” She looked around again, as if worried that a skynx might have come into the room while she wasn't looking. “And be sure you don't let the cithians find out. Don't say anything to anyone. If they found out a human has been handling a memory...” Loma gave a snort, but this time it sounded less like laughing. “We'd both be consigned by the end of the day.”

  “Everyone is getting consigned soon anyway.”

  Loma took a step toward him and looked hard into his face. “What?”

  “Omi, I mean, one of the cithians, he said that all the rest of the humans were going to be consigned soon.” Denny shrugged. “Maybe I should just wait till then before we try to find a maton.”

  The idea that they were going to be consigned had seemed half-frightening and half-hopeful to Denny. After all, they were bound to be taken somewhere with more people than the pitiful few left in Jukal. There would probably be reunions. He might not see his father, that was too much to hope for, but someone would find a lost parent, or child, or at least a friend.

  Only Loma seemed to think the idea that the last humans in Jukal were about to be consigned was all bad. Denny could see it just looking at the tight expression on the old woman's face. At the deepening of the nest of lines around her eyes. Loma thought that this was a horrible idea.

  “Don't,” she said. Her hand went again to the fine tufts of her hair. “Don't wait for anything. If you’re–”

  Before she could finish, there was a drumming sound from the door. Loma stepped quickly to loose the cord that held the curtain closed. She had barely moved the curtain itself when a skynx paddled its way into the room.

  Denny had seen many skynx at the spaceport, and of course he'd seen the swimmers in the lake, but for all that he might as well have seen only one. He thought that some were larger than others, but there no markings that he could see. No difference in the color, or in the large slit-pupiled eyes. There was not even any clothing or jewelry that might have helped in telling them apart. Skynx were just skynx.

  But Loma seemed to have no trouble recognizing the skynx that came surging into her room on rapid steps of its paddles. “Good Tollsday, Seephaa,” she said, bobbing her head.

  The skynx raised the front half of its body, elevating its broad arrow-shaped head. “Good Tollsday,” said Seephaa in the same piping sing-song voice of every other skynx. “To you and to your...” it paused a long moment, tilting its head as the big eyes looked at Denny. “Friend.”

  “His name is Denning Carrelson,” Loma said.

  “Denning Carrelson.” The skynx pronounced the name carefully. The big eyes studied Denny again. “I have seen you. You are the one who dances.”

  Denny nodded. “That's me,” he said. He thought about doing a little dance step, but somehow, it felt wrong. Foolish. “You've seen me at the spaceport?”

  “That is where I've see you,” the skynx agreed. A thin, translucent pink tongue slid from the skynx' mouth and moved quickly across its scarlet lips before sliding back. “And now I see you are here.”

  “He is just visiting me,” said Loma.

  The skynx' head bobbed up and down. The eyes turned toward the old woman. “Yes, I see that. However, he has not visited you before.”

  Denny was surprised to see a flicker of what might have been fear slip across Loma's face. He had always thought that maybe she lived here among the skynx because she liked them better than humans, but watching her talk to this skynx, this Seephaa, it seemed that things between them were not like Denny would have expected. They did not seem to be friends.

  Loma's expression hardened. “Denny has come to tell me something.”

  “Has he?”

  “Yah.” She looked into the big eyes of the skynx and nodded. “He's come to tell me all humans are to be consigned soon.”

  The raised head tilted a bit back and forth, the focus of the eyes slipping from Loma to Denny and back again. “And now that he has told you,” said Seephaa, “I'm sure that he would like to return to the human area.”

  Denny started to say that he would like to stay longer. There were things he still wanted to ask Loma, but before he could do more than open his mouth, the skynx dropped to the floor, turned, and moved smoothly back through the curtain.

  Loma looked at the still swaying curtain. “Whatever you're going to do,” she said, “do it soon.”

  12

  The skynx sent Denny home in a road ferry. It looked just like one of the ones the cithians used on the outside, but inside it was divided into many little couches, Overhead, a little nozzle sprayed a fine mist, making the whole inside of the ferry damp, and the windows were heavily shaded, keeping everything dim. Denny had never been inside one of the ferries that the cithians used, but he didn't think they would find this one very comfortable.

  For the first few minutes of the ride, Denny had been busy looking at the way water trickled through the inside of the ferry, and at the way other ferries moved around it on the road. He had ridden on the ground transports many times, and they moved faster than the ferries, but a ground transport had a tunnel or a rail all to itself, and just the way the ferry had to move around made the ride seem more exciting. Many times it seemed that they were going to collide with another ferry, and more than once it seemed to Denny they were about to run down a molting cithian trying to cross the street on clumsy, soft legs, but the ferry moved on around each obstacle.

  There was only one skynx in the ferry with Denny, and as far as Denny could tell, the skynx was doing nothing to steer the vehicle's movements. The long body lay sprawled along the length of one of the couches, paddles tucked neatly out of sight. The skynx' eyes were closed. Every now and then, the pink tongue came out to lick at a passing rivulet of water, but otherwise the skynx seemed to be asleep.

  After a while, Denny got tired of watching the movements of the ferries and the passing buildings. He got as close to the small window as he could, and opened up his book.

  Loma had given him the book as he was leaving. Like with the Count book, Denny had a hard time with it at first. He knew a lot of the words, but he wasn't used to seeing so many words together in the same place. Of course, there were words he didn't know. Words like “forest” and “winter.” Words he'd heard in some of the old songs, but never thought to ask about.

  The thing that surprised Denny most about the book as he puzzled it out by the blue-white light through the window, was that even though it did have humans in it, the book was about another kind of people, one he'd never heard of. If the book was as old as Loma said, then it must have come from Earth. Denny had never realized there were other people on Earth besides humans. The people in the book, the people called “dogs,” seemed like a good sort of people. Brave people.

  Denny wondered if any of these dogs had been rescued from poor used-up Earth when the cithians came to save the humans from their awful mistakes. Some of the humans in the story were cruel to the dogs, but not all were. Some of the people and dogs seemed to get along well enough. It would be sad to think they were all gone. Maybe Omi would know.

  13

  Pairday

  On Pairday, Denny became a criminal. In one way, that really didn't seem like much of a change, since the cithians often acted like humans had done something wrong, no matter what they had done. Even though they had been told it was okay to walk around town, cithians were always drumming at Denny, or stopping him, or acting like he was somewhere he shouldn't be. Other humans got treated the same way. Or worse. Even Cousin Kettle, despite his uniform and his job, was always getting thrown off the transport or treated like he'd done something bad. Once the authority had held him for two days, in a tiny room with no lights or windows, and they never even said why.

  The difference was that thi
s time Denny really had done something wrong. Or at least, something that he knew cithians would think was wrong.

  Early on Pairday, with both suns up and spiraling slowly toward the center of the sky, Denny left his own place and went down the hall to the lift. Cousin Sirah and Cousin Yulia were there, talking quietly. As Denny came closer, Sirah smiled. Yulia had her usual worried look. Then Sirah saw what Denny was carrying, and her smile turned to a frown.

  “You're not,” she said.

  Denny shifted the box in his arms and shrugged. “I guess I am,” he said.

  Sirah peered over the rim of the box. “But that was one of my favorites.”

  The lift arrived and Denny stepped on. “They're all my favorites,” he said.

  Sirah and Yulia rode with him to the ground, and then Denny headed out on the street, back to the block of buildings that had been turned into Poppa Jam's Porium. This time, Jam already had the door open when Denny arrived. Cousin Haw was carrying a big chair toward the back of the store, while Poppa Jam leaned on the counter, waving warm air toward his face with a plastic fan.

  Poppa Jam looked up, saw Denny, looked away, then looked back at him again. The old man's wooly eyebrows shot up. “Well now,” he said. “Look at this.” He put his palms flat on the counter top and straightened himself. “Come on in.”

  Denny hesitated a step, then came over to the counter and sat down his tattered box. “I'm interested in selling this,” he said.

  Poppa Jam pushed Denny's hands away and tugged at the pressed paper side of the box. The box tore open under Poppa Jam's eager attention. Inside was a piece of metalwork not more than two or three hands high. A piece of what Denny's father had called “sculpture.”

  It wasn't possible to say exactly what it was. On the other hand, it was also hard to say exactly what it wasn't. The whole thing had been made from bits and strips of different metals that Denny's father had worked with hammer and heat into a swirl of shapes, colors, and textures. Looked at one way, it seemed like the base of the thing was a dark iron sea, where something sleek was forcing its way up from tumbling waves. Seen another way it looked like a hand pressing down, weighted by links of bronze and green-stained copper. Were these little rust-flecked bits the shapes of small creatures trying to escape the teeth of something larger? Was the jagged edge a line of figures ascending a long stair? No...but also yes.

  Poppa Jam let out a long sigh—the kind of sound someone might make when they ate something really nice. “Now this is worth some picture books,” he said.

  “I don't want picture books,” said Denny.

  “You don't?” Poppa Jam's eyes came up to meet Denny's. “What is it you want?”

  “I need a maton.”

  Denny had never seen the color leave someone's face as fast as it did Jam's. “You...” Jam stopped, looked around the Porium, then continued in a whisper. “You know better. Humans aren't allowed to have those things.”

  “I know we're not allowed. But do you have one?”

  “No.” Sweat appeared on Poppa Jam's forehead. “I don't have one. Never had one. Of course I don't have one. Don't know why anyone would want one.” He looked back into the store. “Now, I have some things here you'd like. I've got...”

  “If you don't have a maton,” said Denny. “Then where can I get one?”

  Poppa Jam ran a hand across his sweaty face and gave a nervous laugh. “You can't. You don't get one. Humans aren't allowed to have them.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Denny dragged the torn box toward him and carefully got his arms under the little metal sculpture. “I guess I'll take this back.”

  Poppa Jam reached a hand across the counter. “Wait,” he said. “I'll make a deal with you.” He wiped at his face again with his free hand. “The klickiks, they really like these things. You let me sell this one to them, and I'll give you...” He paused a moment and Denny saw Jam's eyes go up and to the side as he thought the deal through. “Half,” he said at last. “I'll give you half the credits.”

  “Do they have a maton?”

  “No!” Poppa Jam's voice soared past whisper and right into a shout. “Earth, boy, will you stop asking about that? The klickiks will give you good credits. Red credits. Maybe even blue.”

  Denny tugged the box free and stepped back from the counter. “I don't need any credits.”

  “Everyone needs credits.” Poppa Jam started around the end of the counter. “With credits, you can get whatever you want. Whatever...”

  “Can I get a maton?”

  “No, but you can get...”

  “Whatever they'll let us have,” said Denny.

  Cousin Haw came out of the shelves, gnawing at a block of orange chez. “What's going on?”

  “Nothing,” said Denny. He shifted the broken box and started toward the open front of the Porium. “I was just leaving.”

  Every now and then Auntie Talla managed to lay hold of enough sugar to make backla or just-pie. When Denny was little, he looked forward to those times more than anything else in the worlds. He remembered a day when his father had been slow to start out for Restaurant, and Denny had practically jumped out of his skin worrying that they would be too late to get their small, sweet share. As Denny started out the door, that same feeling seemed to come over Poppa Jam.

  The old man came around the counter actually wringing his hands. “Think now, There's got to be something that you want.”

  “There is,” Denny said, still half turned toward the door.

  Poppa Jam winced. “Don't say...”

  “I need a maton.”

  “What's a maton?” Haw said, rather loudly, from halfway across the store.

  This time Poppa Jam didn't just wince, he looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. “Shut it, Haw,” he said. He looked at Denny and drew a deep breath. “Look, kid, you want the picture book? It's a deal. You want pops? Take a dozen. But I can't trade you a maton, because I don't have a maton.”

  Denny thought for a moment, “If these dasiks like my dad's stuff so much, how do you know they won't trade you a maton for it?”

  Poppa Jam shook his head, “No. They won't. You have to trust me. Trading with all these guys is what I do, and I can tell you none of them is going to give a human any kind of complex electronics, like a maton. It's against the rules. The big rules.”

  “But...why?” asked Denny.

  “Does it matter?” Poppa Jam said with a shrug.

  Denny opened his mouth to say more, but really, there was no more to say. Instead, he turned slowly and left the Porium. Behind him, he could hear Poppa Jam saying something to Cousin Haw. He sounded angry.

  Without a maton, there was no way to tell what else was on the memory the chug had given Denny. Maybe it didn't matter. After all, the only thing they'd been able to see with Loma's reader was the story about the old disease, and Denny couldn't see how that mattered to anyone. It was just a story from old Earth. A dead story, like the ones in Loma's books. Probably the whole thing was just trash, something the chug was throwing away.

  Denny was almost back to the compartment house when someone came hurrying up beside him. He was surprised to see that it was Cousin Yulia, hunched in her big coat. Fear, yes, but it wasn't just fear.

  “Did you find something at the Porium?” Denny asked.

  “Yes,” said Yulia, then, “No. I mean...nothing I have the credits to buy.” She glanced over at Denny, looked away, then glanced at him again. She bit her lip so hard Denny could see the lip turn white.

  “What's wrong?” he asked. “Do you want to borrow some credits?”

  “It's not that. It's...I know.”

  “Know what?”

  Cousin Yulia moved around to step in front of Denny. “I know where you can find a maton.”

  14

  Yulia looked quickly around the street. Then she surprised Denny by reaching over and grabbing at his hand. “Come this way,” she said.

  Denny opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a wo
rd out he found himself stumbling forward as Yulia tugged him quickly across the cracked street toward the long-abandoned building that stood opposite the Porium. Only when they were in the deep shadows beyond the sagging blue doors did she finally release him.

  “What are you talking about?” Denny asked. “How can you know about matons?”

  Yulia’s pale eyes flicked left and right and Denny could see her throat work as she swallowed hard. “I was in the Porium. I heard what you were saying. I…” She peeked out at the street and quickly took a step back into the shadows. “Come over here.” She stepped away from him, nearly disappearing along the dim hallway.

  Denny hesitated for a moment, and then followed her into the gloom. He had never liked this building. It wasn’t very tall, just a half dozen floors, but the upper levels leaned in on themselves like carelessly stacked plates. Years of being open to the weather – and years of humans carrying off parts of the building for other uses – had left the place with warped walls, leaky ceilings, and floors with cracked and missing tiles. The lift had long ago stopped running, and the pipes and wires had long been hauled away. Down on the bottom floor there were chairs, lots of chairs, but they were far too small for most humans and not even Poppa Jam could be bothered to cross the street to collect them. Denny had sometimes wondered if the building had once been used by some other kind of people. Someone like humans, only smaller.

  On top of everything else, the place smelled bad. Stale and moldy. As Denny tried to keep up with Yulia, he could hear the soft movement of little creatures around him. Scuttles, certainly. Maybe scats. Denny’s father had always told him to stay out of this place. It was one rule that Denny had never really been tempted to break.

  Yulia went down the hall, stepping around a jumbled pile of the undersized chairs and past a long row of tall metal boxes that were lined against one wall. The doors of the boxes hung open, and there was just enough light for Denny to see peeling flakes of green paint separated by wide patches of rust. Inside the boxes there was nothing but darkness. He tried to imagine what had once been kept in this place, but it was just another thing that had long been forgotten.