Yarn (19 page)

We crossed the empty middle of the city, heading straight for the tops of the buildings on the other side. And just as I thought we were going to crash, the ship turned and darted between the Velour and Foulé. As we rushed past the two intricate spires, I swore I saw the distorted silhouettes of writhing consumers inside. And then, with a whoosh of turbulence, we sailed past the city's edge. Turning, I saw the glowing architecture of the city receding behind us, as I struggled to swallow my fear.

"We should get inside!" said Vada. "We're going to be landing soon."

I didn't want to let go of the rail, but she grasped my arm and led me to the portal. A dim glow illuminated the interior. I lowered myself down, trying to land on the chair I had used to climb up, but my left foot missed, and I fell in a heap onto the purple carpet. I was shaken, cold, and furious.

"What are we doing?" I asked as Vada landed beside me. "Where the rot are we going? I don't want to leave the city!"

"Close the hatch now!" called Red Hat.

Vada looked at me. "Another boost."

I didn't move.

"We'll be going back to the city tomorrow."

I knotted my fingers together and she stepped up. Again I was inside the red atmosphere of her dress, her stocking-covered legs framing my face. Above I heard a clank of metal and I glanced up. Of course all I saw was the crotch of her stockings and that small pair of silver shears.

Vada jumped back down, smoothed her dress, and smiled at me.

"Why do you have scissors down there?"

She frowned playfully and whapped my shoulder. "I can't believe you looked!"

She smiled so invitingly, I knew I hadn't imagined her interest. I stepped toward her, and placed a hand on her waist as I had done on the roof. She raised an eyebrow, amused. I started to move closer.

"Slow down!" She pushed me back and glanced at Red Hat hunched over the lit screen. "Not here!"

As if on cue, he said, "Landing in two minutes."

The touchdown was closer to a crash. The ship hit and then pitched so far forward I tumbled into the wall, and half the chairs came crashing down on me.

"Muddy shit," muttered our pilot as a curse or an excuse.

When the main door opened, Vada and I stepped out into squishing mire. Dawn was beginning to temper the eastern sky. The smell of corn, dirt, and a hint of solid recycle felt like a time capsule of memories.

I shivered. "I don't want to be here."

"No one does." Vada glanced around, taking the measure of her surroundings.

Intricate cloth wings were slowly folding into the sides of the ship. "So that's how it flies."

"Wings are as illegal as all untethered transportation. But we specialize in illegal." She barked in laughter and waved a gloved hand. "Come."

"Why are we here?"

She faced me. "You want to understand a little more about what we're fighting against? I know you were born in the slubs, but that doesn't mean you really know what they're about. We're going to see one of the things your father hated." She pulled up her dress a foot and started walking. Her boots sank into the sucking mud. I followed, not sure I wanted to. Eventually, the mud gave way to firmer ground, and soon we were in rows of corn three feet high.

A quarter of a mile later, we came up over a hill, and upon a large complex of low buildings, the largest of which was three stories tall and dotted with red and white blinking lights. At a wire fence, which surrounded the place, Vada reached under her dress and used those scissors to cut through the metal like it was cold fat.

"Stay close to me."

"What is this?"

"M-Bunny headquarters."

I glanced at the structures. This is where men went to have sons and this is where everyone went to be recycled. I backed up a step. "I'm not going."

"I'm coming with you. We'll be safe; we have a sympathizer here."

"I know what's here."

"You haven't been inside, have you?"

No slubbers I knew worked at headquarters. Some men drove buses to and fro, but they weren't allowed inside. That's just how it had been. We didn't question it. Frankly, unless one was chosen to have a son, most slubbers didn't want anything to do with the place.

I stared at the facility. I had imagined it consisted of recycled building. All the houses I had lived in were two-hundred-yearold structures stripped of their appliances, plumbing, wiring, and most of their interior. So too, all the factories were housed in former schools, fast-food places, and shopping centers. This building was made of corrugated metal walls and had electric lights. From the top a few slanted puffs of steam or smoke drifted into the morning air. "Is this new?"

Vada's face crinkled in confusion. "No. It's been here for about fifteen… almost twenty years."

I didn't want to say it. The muscles in my throat fought me, but I got it out. "They took him here."

Vada frowned. "I know."

The roughness in her voice made me feel worse. "I already hate M-Bunny."

A sad smile flitted across her face. "Good," she whispered.

When I reached toward her, she gently clasped her fingers around mine.

SLUBS: M-BUNNY HEADQUARTERS

A man opened the door. His face and hands were caked with dirt and what I soon realized were blood and bits of flesh. The front of his B-shirt was so encrusted that the slogan had long been obliterated. The material across his belly, under his arms, was cracking like dried mud. The hollow emptiness of his eyes didn't seem to connect to anything human. They were two fleshy cameras processing lights and darks, identifying corn, food, cola, and things to recycle.

"You gotta change," was the first thing he said. I heard the sloppy, guttural accent that I had lost by then. As he showed us to a corner where B-shirts and shorts hung from pegs, Vada and I glanced at each other. She smiled and raised her eyebrows in a casual if fretful
well, here we are
kind of way.

The place smelled mostly like solid recycle, but there were notes of rust and salt. And swirling in the air were what seemed like a dozen different sounds: the harmonic and enharmonic whine of several motors, soft thuds, wet splashes, and occasionally what sounded like distant gun shots.

I took off my jacket, hung it, unbuttoned my shirt, released the cuff locks, and unbarred it from my foundation. Next I released the tension hook on my pants and slid them down my legs. Finally, I stood in my chemise, socks, and briefs, reluctant to continue. Pinching the B-shirt that hung before me between my thumb and index, I held it up, and grimaced at Vada.

"I know." She was pulling on a pair of near-black shorts over her tan stockings.

It hadn't occurred to me that I could leave on my foundation, but I decided to do the same. Sniffing the shirt, its pungent sweat and sewage odor, made me sick. When I was a slubber, my B-shirts had been dirty, but I didn't think they were this bad. I pulled up the shorts up over my briefs and then stood there, afraid to move. Vada and I looked at each and grimaced.

"This way," said our guide.

As we followed, I whispered to Vada. "Who is he?"

"A recruit for the opposition."

We walked past large metal vats darkened by years of splatters and drips. Here and there the uneven floor was covered with puddles. Some smelled like chemicals; others, salty meat.

Following the guide up a set of stairs, we got a view of the whole place. It was easily two hundred yards long and half as wide. From translucent squares in the ceiling, parallel blocks of light dappled the machinery and men in a checkerboard.

"They come in here," began our guide, raising his voice over the din as a large garage door began to open at the far end. Through it, I could see blacktop and a triangle of nearby corn. "They come on the buses." As he spoke, several slubbers began to wander into the door where a couple of workers greeted them.

"We give them a special M-Bunny cola. It stuns them. We call it Blue, because it's sort of bluish." He shrugged. "I mean the syrup is." Frowning, he finished, "Let's go down."

From the platform, he led us through a maze of machines, conveyers, and holding pens. Two dozen men now stood just inside the garage door. Some were looking around, but most stared down at their feet with what seemed like a sad resolve. A worker passed out plastic cups. "Proud day," he told each of the men. "Proud day for M-Bunny."

"It stuns them," whispered our guide. "I've tried it. It's good. Real syrup."

The slubbers were then instructed to take off their clothes. "Final recycle. Final recycle!" was the call.

In the middle of the group, I saw a man with sorrowful eyes and a long nose. I shouted, "Rik!"

He gazed at me for a beat. His brown eyes seemed distant and faded.

"It's me, Tane."

Rik had been my best friend. I hadn't seen him for two years, but he seemed to have aged ten. As he came toward the link fence that separated us, I saw that his right hand was crusted with blood and dripping puss. The smell made me gag.

He studied my face and my hair. "Where have you been?"

I didn't know how to answer. I just shrugged and glanced at his hand. "You injured?"

He nodded slowly. "I cut it digging up asphalt. That black tar isn't good for the crop, and it isn't good for the earth." He looked at his rotting fingers. "I tried the pest gum and the corn salve, nothing worked." His voice was calm and his eyes were filled with acceptance.

"That's not so bad, Rik. That can be healed."

He smiled at me and began to recite one of the M-Bunny's songs.
"Our earth… we cherish you. And today as the day before, we have tried to help you."

"Rik, listen to me!"

"We hope you can feel the souls of our feet, the way we walk with modesty upon you and the way we use only that of you we need. And corn… the eyes… the life… and the ears of our earth, we tend to you. We nurture you… we feed and water you with ourselves… we honor you and we ask that you grow strong and recycle our love."

When we were young we tended the corn together. I had admired how gentle and nurturing he was with the crop. "You don't have to recycle yourself for that. They can cure your hand."

"
They?"
He looked me up and down. "You live in the city?"

"It's good there. It's different, but it's a million times better."

He scowled at me. "Are you a t'up now?"

I didn't know if I really was or not. "Rik… they can fix your hand." I looked at Vada to confirm, but she had turned the other way, as if to give me privacy.

Rik shook his head. "It's time to recycle."

"Remember the rash my dad had? It wasn't anything. Remember I spit the gum juice on him? It wasn't a rot or smut." I could see that Rik didn't understand or believe. "Really, they can fix your hand! It's not worth recycling."

"I missed you." He smiled. "I was sorry they traded you away." Now he frowned. "I tried to be your friend, but maybe you weren't meant for the corn. I remember you fixing shirts like they weren't good enough." With a shrug, he finished: "We're all just kernels of corn. One isn't better than the other."

One of the workers shouted for Rik, "Over here!"

"He's coming with us," I told Vada.

Vada smiled stiffly.

"He was my best friend," I told her. "He really knows the corn." As I spoke, I could see what I imagined was a tinge of confusion and even disdain in her eyes. Like all city people, she could not really understand the beauty of corn, dirt, and wide skies. "But they can fix him, can't they? It's just his hand."

"Not allowed," said our guide.

Ahead of Rik, several nude men had lined up. A worker nearby held a pneumatic gun attached to a machine. The gunner had a long face with drooping eyes. If I had seen him in another context, I might have described his expression as serene. "You won't feel nothing," he said.

"You are all helping the corn and M-Bunny," shouted the other worker, now collecting the cups. "Good work!" he said to one of the naked men, who gulped down the last of his Blue cola.

The gunner raised the blackened device toward the first man's head. For an instant, the man peered up at the end with confusion and maybe awe. With slow, deliberate motions the gunner then pressed it to the man's forehead, and held it there

as if to let him get used to its temperature.

Run, I thought. Turn and run!

Nothing moved for a beat. Sound ebbed away until a staccato but muffled pop came from the pneumatic gun. The man jerked, his legs, spine, and neck going soft. Before he collapsed, the gunner set a hook through the bottom of his jaw attached to a chain that carried the body up and into the workings of the factory.

"The bolt kills them without pain," said our guide. "The conveyer takes them up to the de-boners. Bones are used for one thing… flesh for another." He shrugged. "Different levels of toxins from the pollution. It's all sorted."

"You won't feel nothing," repeated the gunner as the next man stepped up.

Rik started to turn.

"Wait!" I said grabbing the chain link between us. "There's a whole world beyond the corn. It's not like they told us, Rik. It's unlike anything you can imagine."

"The corn had such hopes for you." He eyed Vada for a confused moment-she was surely the first woman he had ever seen. "The crop is good." Rik nodded at me as if he were the one who understood. "Goodbye, Tane."

"Rik! Stop." I turned to our guide. "How much?" I dug out my MasterCut from a pocket on my foundation.

He laughed and shook his head. "I'd like to take your money."

"Rik, stop! Hold on!" To the guide I asked, "How much? I'll pay!"

Rik tugged his B-shirt up and over his chest and head. "I don't want that, Tane. I love the corn." His belly was distended. The skin was smooth, almost as if it had been burnished to a shine. I didn't know was wrong, but figured a simple dose of something from the city would cure it, too.

"Rik, hold on! Listen to me! It's not what you think. It's killing! M-Bunny is just killing you like they killed my dad!"

"They are recycled," refuted the guide. "Everything is reused."

"Rik!" I screamed. "I know the corn. I know what it is. I love it, but it's not everything! There are other things… there are other worlds." Now he wouldn't even turn around and look at me. I smashed my fists into the fence. It rattled and wobbled. "Rik listen to me!"