Pallahaxi

by Michael Coney

  “Good hunting, Stance!” Dad shouted back, and gave a blast on the whistle. Then we were off, trundling southward, with the village brats running behind, yelling. I can’t imagine why they do that, but they always do. It’s what Mister McNeil describes as mass hysteria. I find myself urging Dad to open the throttle wide and outrun them.

  Speaking of Mister McNeil, he was the first stop on our journey.

  “Sorry to hear about your meeting at Devon Station,” he said, as we stood outside his residence. “I did warn you. The policy of non-interference is quite strict.”

  “I should have thought the very presence of your mining operations invalidated that policy,” said Dad cleverly.

  “You could be right. Anyway, all that may be academic.”

  “Huh?”

  Mister McNeil started to stroll along one of the network of pathways. Some of his flowers were already in bloom. Dad and I trailed after his tall figure like Uncle Stance’s hunting team. He seemed to be searching for words.

  “You probably know the mine’s not been a particularly economic proposition recently,” he said at last. He stooped and hauled out a weed that was trying to strangle a yellow trumpet-shaped flower.

  “I hear they blame the lorin.”

  “Yes.” From his crouched position, he looked up at Dad. “We don’t seem to be able to get a handle on the lorin. What do you know about them?”

  It was an odd question but a human one. “What do you mean? The lorin are the lorin. What else can I say?”

  “Have you no curiosity about them?”

  “No. They just are. Like Rax and Phu and so on.”

  “But you were curious about us when we arrived.”

  “Of course. You were new. You weren’t in our memories.”

  Mister McNeil pointed. “There. See that?” A pair of lorin squatted among the flowers, removing weeds. “They were watching me from the trees. They always do. They saw me weeding, so now they’re doing it themselves. Are they trying to help me? Or learn from me? Or simply mimic me mindlessly? Or what? They’re a little unnerving, you know.”

  The lorin didn’t look at all unnerving to me. “They often imitate us, too,” I said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  But Dad had been pondering on a previous remark. He often does that, then suddenly comes out with it when everyone else has moved on to a fresh topic. It’s a sign of advancing years.

  “You said the mine may be academic.”

  Mister McNeil hesitated. “If things don’t improve we may have to close it down.”

  “And move out?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. No decision’s been taken. You see, we have to come to terms with this lorin problem. Don’t get me wrong — we don’t see them as hostile. They’re a nuisance, though. Something about their presence seems to affect productivity. Almost as though they telepathically command us to slow down. Which is nonsense, of course. But… . Some people are saying: this world is not big enough for both us and the lorin… .”

  I had an odd feeling of loss. The lorin would always be here, I knew that. Which meant that the humans might go. I liked the humans, particularly Mister McNeil. They were clever, they’d been around as far back as I’d stardreamed so far, and they were somehow comforting, like protectors. When the freeze came and Rax turned his baleful glare on us, it was nice to know the humans were equal to his evil presence.

  At least, that’s the way I was thinking then.

  “So in any case,” Mister McNeil was saying, “we can hardly give you people the benefits of our technology when we might not be around to teach you how to use it. You’d have a short-term improvement in your lifestyle and your population would rise accordingly. Then the machines would break down and you wouldn’t know how to repair them or build new ones. Then you wouldn’t be able to support your larger population. It would be a long-term disaster.”

  “It wouldn’t have been, if you’d set out to help us right from when you arrived,” said Dad.

  “They don’t want to take the responsibility.” It was the Nowhere Man, slow-spoken and stooping, joining us. “They’re not sure we have the intelligence to handle technology.”

  “It’s not that at all,” said Mister McNeil, annoyed. “The reason’s quite simple. When we arrived we found a rural population and relatively happy people. Aside of policy considerations, we have no right to change things. It’s your world, your culture. Have the sense to value it.”

  “People aren’t happy when they’re starving,” said Dad. “Even rural half-wits.”

  “It’s a cycle. Your system isn’t particularly stable, not with a giant body like Rax affecting the pull of your sun. But believe me, good years will come back. Maybe even next year.”

  Faced with his superior astronomical knowledge there was little we could say. We climbed aboard the motorcart and headed for Noss.

  The Nowhere Man came with us, saying he was sick of Mister McNeil’s cant. What he intended to do in Noss I couldn’t even guess. He wouldn’t be particularly welcome there — or anywhere else, for that matter. I was uneasy in his presence, thinking guiltily of the alarmingly pretty — if web-footed — Charm.

  The meeting was a disaster; but then, we’d known it would be. Lonessa behaved reasonably because of her lecherous inclinations toward attractive old Dad. Our problem lay with the youngest Noss representative.

  We sat in a circle on wicker seats built like fish traps; Noss people are creatures of habit when it comes to design. It soon became clear that the abominable Cuff, with whom I’d tangled the previous year, wielded a lot of authority in Noss. Because of Walleye’s infirmity — crippled as well as being half blind — he was well on the way to usurping his father’s position as manchief.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said after Dad had perpetrated his initial grovel. “You borrowed a large quantity of dried fish from us last year on the undertaking you would repay it with grain this year. Now you’re saying your grain crop has failed.”

  “Not failed yet; that’s putting it too strongly. It looks a little scanty,” said Dad mildly. “There’ll be barely enough for Yam.”

  “And furthermore,” said the jumped-up young brat, ignoring him, “you’re begging for more food this year. What’s gone wrong at Yam? Can’t you manage your own affairs? Must you come cap in hand to Noss?”

  “It’s unfortunate,” said Walleye mildly, “but these things happen.”

  “Be quiet, Dad. Our objective must be to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Yam needs to be taught a short sharp lesson.”

  “Really, Cuff, I don’t see the need… .”

  “I can handle this, Lonessa. I know these people,” continued the arrogant young freezer, “and I know how they think. They spend half their lives lying in the sun in idleness, watching the crops grow. Over the generations, this has resulted in a peculiar mentality. They—”

  Dad spoke suddenly. “Surely food stocks are Lonessa’s responsibility, Cuff? You have first-hand knowledge of current inventories? It seems to me—”

  “— seem to think other people owe them a living. This —”

  “That’s freezing unfair. The point is—”

  “Don’t interrupt me, Bruno. I’m trying to make you understand that—”

  But exactly what Cuff was trying to make us understand, we never found out. His words degenerated to a gurgle as Dad, showing unaccustomed lack of control, lunged forward and seized him by the throat. He shook him around a few times while Cuff kicked helplessly like a roped snorter. Then he threw him away. I’m sure he’d intended to return Cuff to his seat, but violent old Dad didn’t always know his own strength. Cuff soared across the room and smashed into the ancient stone wall. Then he slid to the floor, unconscious.

  It was the only satisfying moment in the entire negotiating process.

  Lonessa disapproved. “By Phu!” she shouted. “That was unnecessary, Bruno!”

  Walleye had limped over to his son
and knelt beside him, lifting his head. “You could have killed him.”

  “Rax,” muttered Dad, contrite, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking of. I wasn’t really thinking at all.” Foolishly he tried to elaborate. “Everything went blank. All I can say is I’m deeply sorry for any harm I may have caused the young freez— uh, fellow. Can I help you carry him somewhere, Walleye? No, I’ll get some water.” He looked around helplessly.

  “You won’t touch him,” snapped Walleye. “And Yam can go to Rax with its problems, so far as I’m concerned.”

  “No, wait, Walleye,” said Lonessa quickly. “Let’s not be hasty. You’d be the first to admit Cuff can be irritating.”

  “I would not!”

  “Here’s my suggestion. We’ll never get anywhere the way we are now. We need time to cool off. Time to reflect. It’s Noss and Yam we’re talking about, not just the five of us here. Personal animosities must be put aside. We should take a break until sundown, and then meet again.”

  “He’s coming round,” said Walleye.

  Cuff raised his head, groaned, and fixed Dad with an unpleasant look. “That does it,” he muttered venomously. His gaze shifted to me. Despite his obvious pain, a poisonous smile touched his lips. He was visualizing smashing my face in; a long-held ambition.

  “We’ll talk again at sundown,” said Lonessa firmly.

  Dad and I crept out of the place, disgraced. To be accurate, Dad was disgraced; but some of it seemed to have rubbed off on me. “I’m going for a walk around the cliffs,” he said. “I’m sorry, Hardy. I made a fool of myself in there. I need to be alone for a while. I’ll take the circular route to the inlet upstream and meet you back here at sundown, huh?”

  And he sloped off in the direction of the historic place where Granddad’s friend Hodge had sired the Nowhere Man. I hoped there was no fateful significance here, because my thoughts had turned to Charm. And suddenly I was very nervous. I wanted to see her so much that I couldn’t bring myself to take the necessary steps. I wasn’t even sure what those steps were. I couldn’t ask a Noss person: have you seen Charm around, by any chance? Because they’d instantly start thinking this young fellow seems smitten; is miscegenation in the wind?

  I mulled it over for a while, sitting on the bank of the estuary, then the problem solved itself. I’ve often found problems do that, if you give them time.

  “Hello, Hardy. I… . I thought you might be somewhere around.”

  It was Charm in a white dress, round-eyed and angelic, smiling uncertainly at me, dimples coming and going. I felt a huge thump in my chest.

  “Uh,” I muttered, terrified.

  “I saw your skimmer on the motorcart. So I came to find you.” She sat down beside me, smoothing her dress over her knees. It was a very rare item, that dress, obviously made from human fabric. Most Noss women wear skins. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?” she asked.

  “Uh.”

  “Rax!” she exclaimed, as a sound of puffing carried along the road above us. “It’s that freezer Cuff in our motorcart, I’ll bet!”

  And she threw an arm around my shoulders and pulled me flat to the ground. We peered through the undergrowth, propped on our elbows. The Noss motorcart clattered by at speed, heading north, the unspeakable Cuff sawing at the regulator, apparently recovered from his injury and venting his temper on the machine.

  I relished the moment, flat on my stomach with Charm’s arm around me, her hips pressing into mine, her cheek actually touching mine, her hair mingling with mine. Palpater plants massaged us gently, looking for food. I could happily have died there. Charm showed no sign of moving. We watched the road while the waters of the estuary sighed and tinkled behind us. The Nowhere Man strolled past without seeing us, following in the dust raised by Cuff’s passage.

  As last Charm rolled away from me and sat up, staring at the water with her arms hugging her knees, expression grave.

  “Listen, you haven’t said if you’re pleased to see me.”

  “Uh.” I had to force the words out. “Yes. I am.”

  “Why?” She swiveled round to face me.

  “I… . like you.”

  “A girl wouldn’t think so. But I believe you. I hope you do like me because I’m taking a big chance, seeing you. Mom is all worried because I mentioned you a few times this last freeze. Just mentioned you, that’s all. I couldn’t see the harm in it but she got suspicious. Apparently I’m not allowed to like you because you’re a grubber with thick calluses on your knees from crawling around planting things. I told her: I don’t care. I’ll like who I like.”

  I weighed this up, my heart beginning to recover its normal pace. I seemed to be able to breathe again. “Your mother likes my Dad and he has calluses,” I pointed out. What was I saying? “No, he doesn’t. None of us do. What’s all this about calluses?”

  “That’s how you can tell grubbers, so they say.”

  I hauled up my pants leg. “Show me calluses.”

  “Oh.” She stared. “There aren’t any.”

  “My Dad’s worried too,” I said. “I didn’t have to say a thing, but he’s worried.”

  “What didn’t you have to say a thing about?”

  “You.”

  She smiled a satisfied, dimpled smile. “I knew you liked me. A woman can tell.” Then she looked puzzled. “But why would he worry?”

  I wasn’t going to say it, because calluses, if there are calluses, come from hard work, whereas webbed feet are genetic; a shameful deformity that get passed on to a person’s descendants.

  “Why would he worry?” she asked again. “Aren’t I good enough to be your friend?”

  In the end it had to come out. “It’s the feet,” I blurted.

  “The feet?” She still didn’t understand.

  “The webs.”

  “The webs?”

  “Between the toes.”

  She stared at me in amazement, coloring a pretty pink. Then, sighing as if in exasperation, she slipped off one black shoe. She held up a leg as she lay there. The skirt slipped back above her knee. She had a very beautiful knee. She wiggled her toes.

  There were no webs.

  Her foot looked just like mine, only prettier.

  “I’ve been misinformed,” I said, trying to retain some dignity.

  “But webbed feet, for Phu’s sake? Grume riders have webbed feet. Not people. Is it just me, or are all Noss people supposed to have webbed feet?”

  “Uh, all of you, as a matter of fact. And your blood is supposed to run thicker during the grume.”

  “Why would anyone say that?”

  We thought about it for a moment. In the end I ventured, “Maybe it’s to put us off. To stop Yam people getting too close to Noss people. After all, we are different in other ways. We wouldn’t want a whole bunch of Nowhere Men around the place, would we?”

  “Are you going to have children?” she demanded abruptly.

  “Well… . I suppose so. Not just yet. I’m too young.”

  And that’s another difference from you humans. We tend to have children later in life, to give them the benefit of as much of our experience as possible.

  “Rax!” she exclaimed. I don’t believe in that stuff. Anyway,” she said before I could argue, “Let’s go sailing. We’ll go and pick up a bottom for your boat.” She jumped to her feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me up too.

  I was supremely happy as we climbed the bank and set off down the road to the Noss men’s village. It just shows how fate can lure a fellow into a false sense of security.

  But the happiness lasted a little while longer. Phu smiled down and a light breeze sped us down the estuary, over the shallow bar, between the headlands and out to the open sea. Charm was a capable sailor like all Noss people, so my own inexperience was no problem. We set a southeast course on a broad reach, and sat side by side on the starboard gunwale. Charm held the tiller and I the sheet. We chatted of inconsequential things, gettin
g to know each other — as much as Noss and Yam people can. She seemed content to hold the course indefinitely, and after a while I began to get nervous. Waves had begun to break over the bow and sweep aft, cold water swilling around our feet.

  “Hadn’t we better turn back now?” I suggested.

  She glanced at me, grinned briefly and thrust at the tiller. Soon we were speeding back the way we’d come and my spirits rose again. Odd how the sight of land encourages a grubber. I loved sailing, but I didn’t like to stray too far from shore.

  Stealing a glance at Charm, I noticed something.

  “What’s happened to your crystal?”

  Her hand flew to her neck; she looked dismayed. “Oh, Rax! I was wearing it earlier.” She concentrated hard. “I wore it when I was… looking for you. And then… when we went to the men’s village it wasn’t there.” She was visualizing the memory the way we people can, reliving the moments, feeling the crystal swinging between her young breasts — then not feeling it. “It happened when we lay down,” she said dismally. “On our tummies, when Cuff went past. The plants must have untied it from the cord, or maybe eaten it off.”

  We’d been lying in a patch of palpaters; a spreading weed that digs for insects. It has a high level of curiosity for a plant, and will fiddle with anything that interests it. Charm’s crystal, dangling from her neck as she lay propped on her elbows, would have been irresistible.

  “We’ll find it. The cord may have gone, but the palpater can’t eat the crystal.”

  She was not reassured. “It could carry it off some distance to get rid of it. It could carry it up to the road.” The plants pass objects on, one to another, for consumption by the most hungry. An inedible object could travel quite a way. “Someone might pick it up!”

  “They’d know who it belonged to. There’s nothing else like it in Noss, or Yam for that matter. They’d give it back to you.”

  “They might give it to Mom! She’d kill me if she knew I’d lost it!”

  “We’d better get back fast.” I regretted this as soon as I’d said it, because she hauled the sail in tight. The boat heeled, we sat well out on the side to balance it, and the trickling sound of water past the bow changed to a businesslike hiss. It was alarming.