Truckers (10 page)

Masklin told him. Funnily, it seemed a lot better now that he looked back on it. More summers than winters, more nuts than rat. No bananas or electric or carpets, but plenty of fresh air. And in memory there didn't seem to be as much drizzle and frost. The Stationeri listened politely.

“It was a lot better when we had more people,” Masklin finished. He glanced at his feet. “You could come and stay. When the Store is demo-thinged.”

The Abbot laughed. “I'm not sure I'd fit in,” he said. “I'm not sure I want to believe in your
Outside
. It sounds cold and dangerous. Anyway, I shall be going on a rather more mysterious journey. And now, please excuse me, I must rest.” He thumped on the floor with his stick. Gurder appeared as if by magic.

“Take Masklin away and educate him a little,” said the Abbot, “and then the both of you come back here. But leave that black box, please. I wish to learn more about it. Put it on the floor.”

Masklin did so. The Abbot poked it with his stick.

“Black box,” he said, “what are you, and what is your purpose?”

“
I am the Flight Recorder and Navigation Computer of the starship Swan. I have many functions. My current major function is to guide and advise those nomes shipwrecked when their scout ship crashed here fifteen thousand years ago.
”

“It talks like this all the time,” said Masklin apologetically.

“Who are these nomes of which you speak?” said the Abbot.

“All nomes.”

“Is that your only purpose?”

“I have also been given the task of keeping nomes safe and taking them Home.”

“Very commendable,” said the Abbot. He looked up at the other two.

“Run along, then,” he commanded. “Show him a little of the world, Gurder. And then I shall have a task for both of you.”

Educate him a little, the Abbot had said.

That meant starting with
The Book of Nome
, which consisted of pieces of paper sewn together with marks on them.

“Humans use it for cigarettes,” said Gurder, and read the first dozen verses. They listened in silence, and then Granny Morkie said, “So this Arnold Bros—”

“—(est. 1905)—” said Gurder primly.

“Whatever,” said Granny. “He built the Store just for nomes?”

“Er. Ye-ess,” said Gurder, uncertainly.

“What was here before, then?” said Granny.

“The Site.” Gurder looked uncomfortable. “You see, the Abbot says there is nothing outside the Store. Um.”

“But we've
come—
”

“He says that tales of Outside are just dreams.”

“So when I said all that about where we lived, he was just laughing at me?” said Masklin.

“It is often very hard to know what the Abbot really believes,” said Gurder. “I think most of all he believes in Abbots.”

“
You
believe us, don't you?” said Grimma. Gurder nodded, half hesitantly.

“I've often wondered where the trucks go, and where the humans come from,” he said. “The Abbot gets very angry when you mention it, though. The other thing is there's been a new season. That means something. Some of us have been watching humans, and when there's a new season, something unusual is happening.”

“How can you have seasons when you don't know about weather?” said Masklin.

“Weather has got nothing to do with seasons. Look, someone can take the old people down to the Food Hall, and I'll show you two. It's all very odd. But”—and now Gurder's face was a picture of misery—“Arnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldn't destroy the Store, would he?”

III. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Let there be Signs, so that All within shall know the Proper Running of the Store
.

IV. On the Moving Stairs, let the Sign Be: Dogs and Strollers Must be Carried;

V. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for many carried neither dog nor stroller;

VI. On the Lifts, let the Sign Be: This Elevator to Carry Ten Persons;

VII. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for oftimes the Lifts carried only two or three;

VIII. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Truly Humans are Stupid, who do not understand plain language
.

From
The Book of Nome, Regulations v. III–VIII

I
T WAS A
long walk through the busy underfloor world.

They found that Stationeri could go where they liked. The other departments didn't fear them, because the Stationeri weren't a true department. There were no women and children, for one thing.

“So people have to
join
?” said Masklin.

“We are selected,” Gurder corrected. “Several intelligent boys from each department every year. But when you're a Stationeri, you have to forget about your department and serve the whole Store.”

“Why can't women be Stationeri, then?” asked Grimma.

“It's a well-known fact that women can't read,” said Gurder. “It's not their fault, of course. Apparently their brains get too hot. With the strain, you know. It's just one of those things.”

“Fancy,” said Grimma. Masklin glanced sideways at her. He'd heard her use that sweet, innocent tone of voice before. It meant that pretty soon there was going to be trouble.

Trouble or not, it was amazing the effect that Gurder had on people. They would stand aside and bow slightly as he went past, and one or two of them held small children up and pointed him out. Even the guards at the border crossings touched their helmets respectfully.

All around them was the bustle of the Store moving through time. Thousands of nomes, Masklin thought. I didn't even think there were any
numbers
that big. A world made up of people.

He remembered hunting alone, running along the deep furrows in the big field behind the highway. There was nothing around but earth and flints, stretching into the distance. The whole sky was an upturned bowl with him at the center.

Here, he felt that if he turned around suddenly, he would knock someone over. He wondered what it would be like, living here and never knowing anywhere else. Never being cold, never being wet, never being afraid.

You might start thinking it was never possible to be anything else. . . .

He was vaguely aware that they'd gone up a slope and out through another gap into the big emptiness of the Store itself. It was night—Closing Time—but there were bright lights in the sky, except that he'd have to start learning to call it the ceiling.

“This is the Haberdashery Department,” said Gurder. “Now, do you see the sign hanging up there?”

Masklin peered into the misty distance and nodded. He could see it. It had huge red letter shapes on a white banner.

“It should say
Christmas Fayre
,” said the Stationeri. “That's the right season, it comes after
Summer Bonanza
and before
Spring Into Spring Fashions
. But instead it says”—Gurder narrowed his eyes, and his lips moved soundlessly for a moment—“
Final Reductions
. We've been wondering what that means.”

“This is just a thought,” said Grimma, sarcastically, “it's only a small idea, you understand. I expect big ideas would make my head explode. But doesn't it mean, well, everything is finally being reduced?”

“Oh, it can't mean anything as simple as that. You have to interpret these signs,” said Gurder. “Once they had one saying
Fire Sale
, and we didn't see them sell any fire.”

“What do all the other things say?” said Masklin. Everything being Finally Reduced was too horrible to think about.

“Well, that one over there says
Everything Must Go
,” said Gurder. “But that turns up every year. It's Arnold Bros (est. 1905)'s way of telling us that we must lead good lives because we all die eventually. And those two over there, they're always there too.” He looked solemn. “No one really believes them anymore. There were wars over them, years ago. Silly superstition, really. I mean, I don't think there is a monster called Prices Slashed who walks around the Store at night, seeking out bad people. It's just something to frighten naughty children with.”

Gurder bit his lip. “There's another odd thing,” he said. “See those things against the wall? They're called shelves. Sometimes humans take things off them, sometimes they put things on them. But just lately . . . well, they just take things away.”

Some of the shelves were empty.

Masklin wasn't too familiar with the subtleties of human behavior. Humans were humans, in the same way that cows were just cows. Obviously there was some way that other cows or humans told them apart, but he'd never been able to spot it. If there was any sense in anything they did, he'd never been able to work it out.

“Everything Must Go,”
he said.

“Yes, but not go,” said Gurder. “Not actually
go
. You don't really think it means actually go, do you? I'm sure Arnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldn't allow it. Would he?”

“Couldn't rightly say,” said Masklin. “Never heard of him till we came here.”

“Oh, yes,” said Gurder in a meek voice. “From Outside, you said. It sounded . . . very interesting. And nice.”

Grimma took Masklin's hand and squeezed it gently.

“It's nice here, too,” she said. He looked surprised.

“Well, it is,” she said defiantly. “You know the others think so, too. It's warm and there's amazing food, even if they have funny ideas about women's brains.” She turned back to Gurder. “Why can't you ask Arnold Bros (est. 1905) what is going on?”

“Oh, I don't think we should do that!” said Gurder hurriedly.

“Why not? Makes sense, if he's in charge,” said Masklin. “Have you ever even
seen
Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?”

“The Abbot did, once. When he was young he climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts. He doesn't talk about it, though.”

Masklin thought hard about this as they walked back. There had never been any religion or politics back home. The world was just too
big
to worry about things like that. But he had serious doubts about Arnold Bros (est. 1905). After all, if he had built the Store for nomes, why hadn't he made it nome sized? But, he thought, it was probably not the time to ask questions like that.

If you thought hard enough, he'd always considered, you could work out everything. The wind, for example. It had always puzzled him until the day he'd realized that it was caused by all the trees waving about.

They found the rest of the group near the Abbot's quarters. Food had been brought up for them. Granny Morkie was explaining to a couple of baffled Stationeri that the pineapples were nothing like as good as the ones she used to catch at home.

Torrit looked up from a hunk of bread.

“Everyone's been looking for you two,” he said. “The Abbot fellow wants you. This bread's
soft
. You don't have to spit on it like the bread we had at ho—”

“Never you mind going on about that!” snapped Granny, suddenly full of loyalty for the old hole.

“Well, it's true,” muttered Torrit. “We never had stuff like this. I mean, all these sausages and meat in big lumps, not stuff you have to kill, no ferreting around in dirty bins . . .”

He saw the others glaring at him and lapsed into shamefaced muttering.

“Shut up, you daft old fool,” said Granny.

“Well, we dint have no foxes, I expect?” said Torrit. “Like Mrs. Coom and my old mate Mert, they never—”

Her furious glare finally worked. His face went white.

“It just wasn't all sunshine,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Not all sunshine, that's all I'm saying.”

“What does he mean?” asked Gurder brightly.

“He don't mean nothing,” snapped Granny.

“Oh.” Gurder turned to Masklin. “I know what a fox is,” he said. “I can read Human books, you know. Quite well. I read a book called”—he hesitated—“
Our Furry Friends
, I think it was. A handsome and agile hunter, the red fox scavenges carrion, fruit, and small rodents. It— I'm sorry, is something wrong?”