Pallahaxi

by Michael Coney

  “Now, the time has come for Rax to pull us back.”

  There was a long silence and I was shivering despite the warmth of the room, shivering in imagination of Rax cold in the sky, year after year with Phu a tiny point among the stars. Perpetual darkness, perpetual cold. This was the end of the world. Was this the end of the world?

  “How many years?” I whispered. “How many years before we see Phu again?”

  “Not many, comparatively.” He hesitated. “Forty, they calculate. We have the food, the fuel—even though we lost a whole shipment of distil in the Ysabel. For the first time, civilization will continue…through us.”

  “But what about everybody else?” In fact I was thinking only of Browneyes. My Browneyes, dying the terrible death of cold while all the Parls, including myself, sat warm and snug underground.

  I was conscious that I was talking, that Thrawn was answering, that before long I was raving, trembling, that my voice was hoarse and my face wet with tears. After a while there seemed nothing more to say, no other way to say it. I tried to control myself, thinking: somehow I’ll get out of here—or get Browneyes in here…Thrawn sat there, waiting patiently and sympathetically for me to recover. At last I said, “The war with Asta was all a pretence, then?” My voice was still shaky.

  He said quietly, “No, the war is genuine; it happened, and while it was in progress certain astronomical facts came to light, certain calculations were made quite coincidentally. It then seemed more convenient to allow the war to continue, that’s all.”

  “By Phu, I’m sure it did!” I was beginning to lose control again. “It allows you to take security measures like fortifying this place against your own people, while Astans and Ertons wipe each other out. And my father…He knew this, all the time…don’t you have any thought for the men who died in your fake war, who still are dying?”

  “They will die in any case. They’ll be happier, dying for a cause…Listen, Drove, I understand how you feel,” he said reasonably. I’m telling you all this because I feel you may be the one person capable of making Strongarm listen to reason. I want him to call off his men. Even you must admit they gain nothing by attacking us.”

  “Get frozen, Thrawn,” I said harshly. “The more Parls they take with them, the happier I’ll be. And so will they; like you said, it’s better to die for a cause.”

  “That’s a negative attitude, Drove. Causes don’t make sense any longer.”

  “And what about little Squint, and Silverjack? I suppose you killed them too?”

  He sighed. “I want you to understand that You’re one of us, one of the winners, whether you like it or not. In different ways Squint and Silverjack endangered our plans by discovering the nature of our operations, so they had to be eliminated. I wasn’t here at the time, but if I’d been Horlox-Mestler, I’d have been forced to take the same steps. The whole operation could have been defeated if the public had discovered our purpose too soon—and that applies to the shelter complex on the Astan coast, too.”

  “That follows,” I said bitterly. “The Astans have their own twin setup. I suppose you’ve been exchanging vital supplies during the curfew. Just as a matter of interest, is it the Astan public who occupy their shelter, or their government?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Alika-Drove,” he said tiredly. “If you don’t propose to help, then just get out of my sight, will you?”

  Some days later the townsfolk attacked again, this time in greater force and with more weapons. I was not allowed out of doors during the heaviest of the exchanges, but I saw enough to realize that the Astan army—what was left of it after the bitter fighting across Erto—had joined forces with Strongarm and his men. This, of course, was what Zeldon-Thrawn had been afraid of. The battle lasted several days until gunfire became sporadic and eventually ceased with the Parls’ defences unbreached. I tried to feel satisfied that we had lost a large number of troops, but found that I wasn’t made that way—besides, the Members and the Regent still sat in their holes below, unscathed.

  “Now you understand why we had to fortify this place,” said Thrawn afterwards. “The Astans and Pallahaxi concluded a pact which would logically mean peace. But no, they had to find someone to attack—and what better target than us? And what did it profit them? What would they have gained if they’d killed us? Work that one out, but don’t bother to tell me the answer. I know already. I also know it’s just possible you might have saved a lot of lives…”

  CHAPTER 19

  As the days went by we saw little of the people of Pallahaxi; the mists thickened and the drench intensified to a steady, chill downpour. Visibility was reduced to about fifty paces. This would have been the ideal time for the men of Pallahaxi to rush the fence, and those in charge of defences sensed this; for many days guards were positioned close together around the perimeter, but no attack came. In a way this was not surprising. In this inclement weather the very thought of injury was terrifying—to lie there bleeding on the wet ground while the cold ate into a man’s body, bringing the long madness before the merciful intervention of death…The guards wore thick furs, and each man carried hot bricks which were renewed at frequent intervals.

  I spent most of my time in the troops’ and guards’ quarters, only visiting my room for the purpose of sleeping. I found it difficult to speak to my father now that I was aware of the lies he had been telling me ever since we came to Pallahaxi, and even before. I realized why he had flown into such quick rages whenever I had doubted him. He must have been alarmed when I questioned the veracity of the news bulletins, or the war itself. I wondered how much mother had known.

  The shelter complex was much larger than I had at first realized, and although there were many forbidden areas I soon gained a rough knowledge of the general layout. The cannery plant was now abandoned, its purpose fulfilled, its produce stowed away.

  There were four levels underground. Nearest the surface were the quarters of the guards and troops; virtually an all-male level apart from a few nurses and cooks. In the next level down were the general body of the Parls—the administrative staff and their families including my mother and father. There were many Astans among these people and I remembered bitterly my feelings of patriotism when Wolff, Ribbon, Squint and I had thought we were chasing a spy…

  Below this—and here the restricted areas began—lived the Members and their families, some two hundred people. I rarely saw them, and they never ventured above ground—which was hardly surprising in view of the rapidly-worsening weather. Probably ZeldonThrawn was the only Member I ever spoke to, and after a while even he was seldom seen in the Administrative level, having apparently handed over most of the responsibility for defence to my father. I understood that there was yet another level below all these which housed the Regent and his entourage—but further details were not available.

  The doors giving access to these levels were colour coded, and all levels had independent access to the open air. Yellow doors were for use by everybody, blue for administrative officials and above, green for Members and above, and red—I only knew of two such doors—for the Regent and his courtiers only.

  Sometimes the shelter complex, when viewed in the abstract, seemed to be a microcosm of the outside world as I had once known it…

  A few more questions were answered; the guards and troops were my main sources of information. Squint had crossed the river, as we thought, and had been pointlessly shot by a guard who mistook him for an animal as he was darting for cover; nobody knew whether or not he had discovered the true nature of the cannery, despite what Thrawn had said.

  But Silverjack had. Silverjack had identified Astan items in the Ysabel‘s cargo…

  Eventually the outside world entered our awareness again. One day there was a shout from a guard which brought the troops out at a run. I followed the exodus but was at first unable to discover the cause of the excitement due to the milling crowd, but suddenly I caught sight of figures beyond the wire. I ran acros
s with my thoughts shouting Browneyes! but she was not there. About fifteen figures stood in the swirling mist, apparitions from a world some of us had almost forgotten, staring at us wordlessly. My father stood among the troops. I waited resignedly for him to give the order to shoot, but he too seemed to have been affected by a general atmosphere of inexplicable delight. After the first shock of surprise the troops were calling out to the newcomers, asking for news of acquaintances, laughing and shouting meaninglessly and slapping one another on the back while the strangers stared enigmatically through the wire.

  Then the silent group began to pull rolls of canvas, ropes and poles from their back packs and soon had set up crude tents. Two more men arrived, dragging a handcart piled high with logs. Later there was a large fire burning and the men huddled around it, their faces crimson in the flickering glow as the warmth drove the naked fear from their eyes and they were able to think and speak to each other and, finally, to us. I wondered what kind of men they were, to leave the comparative comfort of Pallahaxi’s stone houses for the risk of insanity and death in their present miserable surroundings. The troops threw items of food over the wire to them; I saw my father watching, tight-lipped.

  As time went by their numbers increased and the camp assumed the proportions of a small village. Orders were issued forbidding troops to throw food or fuel to the Campers, as they were called.

  In due course most of the familiar faces from Pallahaxi joined the Campers and one wonderful sad day Browneyes arrived and we managed to kiss, awkwardly and painfully, through the wire. She said her parents would be arriving soon; Strongarm was already there, and Ribbon and Una and most of the others. Later the same day Wolff and his parents arrived; they did not join the main body of the Campers but stood near the gate, shouting and rattling the wire.

  “What do you want?” I heard my father ask.

  “Well, we want in, of course. You know me, Alika-Burt. I work for the Government. I demand you let me in.” Wolff’s father’s voice rose nervously at the sight of my father’s unchanging expression.

  “You’re too late,” father said. “Nobody is permitted to enter. All available accommodation is taken.” He spoke woodenly.

  Wolff’s mother began to speak rapidly. “Look, Burt, we have a right to come in. That’s the only reason Klegg works for the Government, so that he’ll be looked after in times like this.

  “It’s not easy being a Parl’s wife, I can tell you, with all the nastiness I have to face from the general public in the stores…”

  I noticed Ribbon had wandered over to them; suddenly she spoke. “Don’t you let them in, Alika-Burt, they’re a bunch of snobby freezers.” I hadn’t really noticed Ribbon before; I’d been so occupied with Browneyes’ arrival. Now, looking at her, I had a shock. She was thinner, the planes of her face angular and almost old-looking, and she looked dirty.

  “It’s a shame,” said Browneyes later as Wolff ‘s family departed screaming threats into the mist and Ribbon sloped back to her father’s tent. “She seems to have gone, you know, common.” She regarded me anxiously as knowingly she used one of my mother’s favourite words. “Honestly I don’t like to put it like that, Drove—but that’s the way she is. She seems to have gone all hard and nasty, and I can’t get along with her anymore.”

  Browneyes’ father, Girth, came striding up to the wire the following morning. This was the first time he’d seen the camp; he was a late-comer. He seized Browneyes by the arm, none too gently. “You come away from that freezer, my girl!”

  “B-but it’s Drove!”

  “He’s a freezing Parl and I won’t have you associating with him!”

  I stared at him. We’d always got along well together in the past and I couldn’t understand what had come over him. His face was grim and haggard.

  “Father, he can’t help being on the other side!” cried Browneyes. “They won’t let him out!”

  “Yes, and I don’t suppose he tries too hard. He has warmth and food for forty years or more inside there, so why should he want to leave?” This was the first time I’d heard that the public was aware of the true situation and I wondered how they’d found out. Not that it mattered. It was hardly the sort of intelligence that could be kept secret for long.

  Now he was tugging at her arm while she clung on to the wire, crying, “Let me go, father! You’ve never been like this before. Please fetch mother, she’ll tell you. She won’t let you…”

  Momentarily he relaxed his grip, face bitter. “Your mother’s dead,” he said coldly. “She died last night. She…she took her own life.”

  “Oh…” Browneyes’ fingers sought mine through the wire; her eyes were streaming and I desperately wanted to hold her, to comfort her.

  “So come with me. I hold the Parls responsible for your mother’s death and I’ll not allow you to hang around here like this. You’re a traitor to your own people! What they must think of you I don’t know!”

  Browneyes had closed her eyes and for a long time she hung on to the wire with both hands. I saw tears trickle out from under her lashes, then suddenly she tensed and swung around, facing her father, releasing the fence and snatching her arm from his grasp.

  “Now listen to me,” she said shakily. “And look around at what you call my own people. Over there is Strongarm talking to the Astan general, and not so many days ago they’d have killed each other on sight, because Parliament told them so. See further along there? that’s Ribbon flirting with the Parl soldiers through the wire. Soon they may have to shoot her, because Parliament tells them to. All among these tents and huts are people being friendly because right now nobody’s telling them to hate each other, even though we’re all going to die soon. And in the middle of all this is you, father, telling me to hate my Drove and using poor mother as an excuse. Now get away from us, please.”

  Girth stared at her, shrugged and turned away, moving off among the Campers. I don’t know if he’d heard half of what Browneyes said; and if he had, I don’t suppose he’d understood. He had merely found the opposition too great, too much to fight, on top of everything else. Browneyes looked after him and I heard her whisper, “Sorry, father…”

  In the days that followed Browneyes often asked me about life in the shelter and, being Browneyes, her main concern was that I would find some irresistibly attractive girl down there and she would lose what little of me she had left.

  “There are some girls down there among the administrative families,” I admitted, “but I don’t speak to them much. I don’t want to be, uh, classed with them, I reckon. Before you came here I used to spend most of my time with the soldiers, playing cards.”

  She glanced along the wire to where Ribbon, as usual, was chatting through the fence with the troops. “I don’t understand it,” she said. “What happens when it gets really cold, and we’re…we’re all gone, and the soldiers have nothing to guard. Do they just sit there, all those men, in their shelter for forty years?”

  Strongarm approached at this point, overhearing the last words. “Of course they don’t,” he said quietly. “I don’t know just how big the storehouses are in that complex, but I do know that there are about six hundred Members and Parls and their families—and there must be at least an equal number of troops who will have served their purpose, once we’re dead and out of here…”

  I didn’t want to think about that. “Why are you all out here, Strongarm?” I asked. “Why doesn’t everybody go back to Pallahaxi? It would be much warmer there, in the houses.”

  He smiled. “That’s what I kept asking myself, when people were drifting out here and setting up camp. I’d ask them why they were going, and do you know what they’d say? They’d say: well, there’s not much point in staying here, is there? So after a while I came along myself, and now I know. When you know you’re going to die but you can see life somewhere else, then you want to huddle up against it, in the hope that a little bit might rub off on you.”

  And so the drench we
nt on, and the days grew shorter and the rain turned to snow. Browneyes and I built ourselves a small hutch against the wire and we would sit in it by the hour, gazing at each other and touching fingers through the mesh, warmed by the glow of a government heater. We would reminisce together like old people, although we had so little to reminisce about. There were no secrets between us, no recriminations over the disparity in our present situations. We knew we’d have been together if we’d had the chance, and we knew we’d never get that chance in the future, so we talked about the past, and tortured ourselves with quiet, intimate reminiscences about the only time we’d made love.

  Outside, the tide rose and the estuary filled again and the beached boats, unattended, floated and went drifting out to sea on the current. There were a few cases of compulsive running among the Campers as their fires began to burn low and fear prevented them from scavenging for more fuel in the deepening snow. Often as Browneyes and I sat in our divided hut we would hear the scream as the cold reached into a mind and planted madness there, and the poor body began to run instinctively to fight away the chill. Almost inevitably exhaustion and collapse came before the pumping blood could restore a measure of warmth and sanity—and so there would be one less mouth to feed.

  Perhaps the saddest thing was the disintegration of Ribbon. In the loss of all her material possessions, her pretty clothes—even, tragically, her pretty face—she resorted to her last characteristic, the only tiny bit of Ribbon she had left: her sex.

  In the later days her father rarely mentioned her, and I spoke to her only once. She asked me to come to the other side of the compound, beyond the gate where the fence met the river. My heart sank as we halted at the water and she gave me a coquettish look through the wire.

  “I’ve just got to get inside, Drove,” she said. “You must help me. Your father has the keys to the gate.”

  “Listen,” I mumbled, avoiding her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Ribbon. There are guards at the gate all the time, even if I could get hold of the key, which I couldn’t.”