Raft xs-1

by Stephen Baxter

  Boon scratched uncertainly at his armpit. “But you have to. The Committee… it’s an order—”

  “All right, lad, you’ve delivered your message,” Pallis snapped. “Now get out of my tree.”

  “Can I tell them you’ll come?”

  For reply Pallis ran a fingertip along the blade of his knife. Boon ducked back through the foliage.

  Pallis buried the tip of the knife in trunk wood, wiped his hands on a dry leaf and pulled himself to the rim of the tree. He lay facedown among the fragrance of the leaves, allowing the tree’s stately rotation to sweep his gaze across the Raft.

  Under its canopy of forest the deck had become a darker place: threads of smoke still rose from the ruins of buildings, and Pallis noticed dark stretches in the great cable-walled avenues. That was new; so they were smashing up the globe lamps now. How would it feel to smash the very last one? he wondered. To extinguish the last scrap of ancient light — how would it feel to grow old, knowing that it was your hands that had done such a thing?

  At the revolution’s violent eruption Pallis had simply retreated to his trees. With a supply of water and food he had hoped to rest here among his beloved branches, distanced from the pain and anger washing across the Raft. He had even considered casting off, simply flying away alone. The Bones knew he owed no loyalty to either side in this absurd battle.

  But, he mused, he was still a human. As were the running figures on the Raft — even the self-appointed Committee — and those lost souls in the Belt. And, when all this was over, someone would have to carry food and iron for them once more.

  So he had waited above the revolt, hoping it would leave him be…

  But now his interlude was over.

  He sighed. So, Pallis, you can hide from their damn revolution, but it looks as if it isn’t going to hide from you.

  He had to go, of course. If not they’d come for him with their bottles of burning oil…

  He took a deep draught of water, tucked his knife in his belt and slid smoothly through the foliage.

  He made his way to an avenue and set off toward the Rim.

  The avenue was deserted.

  Shivering, he found himself listening for echoes of the crowds who had thronged along here not many shifts ago. But the silence of the wide thoroughfare was deep, eerie. The predominant smell was of burnt wood, overlaid with a meat-like stickiness; he turned up his face to the calm canopy of forest, nostrils seeking the soft wood-scented breeze from the branches.

  As he had suspected a good fraction of the globe lamps hung in imploded fragments from their cables, dooming the avenue to half-light. The Raft had become a place of moody darkness, the blanket of shadows lifting here and there to reveal glimpses of this fine new world. He saw a small child licking at the remains of a long-empty food pallet. He made out a shape hanging from rope tied to the tree cables; a pool of something brown and thick had dried on the deck beneath it—

  Pallis felt the food chum in his stomach. He hurried on.

  A group of young men came marching from the direction of the Platform, braids ostentatiously torn from their shoulders. Their eyes were wide with joy; Pallis, despite his muscles, stood aside as they passed.

  At length he reached the edge of the cable thicket and — with some relief — emerged to open sky. He made his way up the apparent slope to the Rim and at last climbed the broad, shallow stairs to the Platform. Incongruous memories tugged at him. He hadn’t been here since his Thousandth Shift dance. He remembered the glittering costumes, the laughter, the drink, his own big-boned awkwardness…

  Well, he wouldn’t find a party here today.

  At the head of the stairs two men blocked the way. They were about Pallis’s size but somewhat younger; dim hostility creased their features.

  “I’m Pallis,” he said. “Woodsman. I’m here to see the Committee”

  They studied him suspiciously.

  Pallis sighed. “And if you two boneheads will get out of the way I can do what I came for.”

  The shorter of the two — a square, bald man — took a step up to him. Pallis saw he was carrying a club of wood. “Listen—”

  Pallis smiled, letting his muscles bunch under his shirt.

  The taller doorman said, “Leave it, Seel. He’s expected.”

  Seel scowled; then he hissed: “Later, funny man.”

  Pallis let his smile broaden. “My pleasure.”

  He pushed past the doormen and down to the body of the Platform, wondering at his own actions. Now, what had been the point of antagonizing those two? Was violence, the pounding of fist into bone, so attractive a release?

  A fine response to these unstable times, Pallis.

  He walked slowly toward the center of the Platform. The place was barely recognizable from former times. Food cartons lay strewn about the deck, no more than half emptied; at the sight of the spoiling stuff Pallis remembered with a flash of anger the starving child not a quarter of a mile from here.

  Trestle tables studded the Platform. They bore trophies of various kinds — photographs, uniforms, lengths of gold braid, a device called an orrery Pallis remembered seeing in Hollerbach’s office — but also books, charts, listings and heaps of paper. It was clear that such government as still existed on the Raft was based here.

  Pallis grinned sourly. It had been a great symbolic gesture, no doubt, to remove control from the corrupt center of the Raft and take it out to this spectacular vantage spot… But what if it rained on all this paperwork?

  However, no one seemed too concerned about such practicalities at the moment, or indeed about the machineries of government in general. Save for a group of subdued, grubby Scientists huddled together at the center of the deck, the Platform’s population was clustered in a tight knot at the Nebula-facing wall. Pallis approached slowly. The Raft’s new rulers, mostly young men, laughed and passed bottles of liquor from hand to hand, gaping at some attraction close to the wall.

  “Hello, tree-pilot.” The voice was insolent and unpleasantly familiar. Pallis turned. Gover stood facing him, hands on hips, a grin on his thin face.

  “Gover. Well, surprise, surprise. I should have expected you here. You know what they say, eh?”

  Gover’s smile faded.

  “Stir a barrel of shit: what rises to the top?”

  Gover’s lower lip trembled. “You should watch it, Pallis. Things have changed on this Raft.”

  Pallis inquired pleasantly: “Are you threatening me, Gover?”

  For long seconds the younger man held his gaze; then he dropped his eyes — just a flicker, but enough for Pallis to know he had won.

  He let his muscles relax, and the glow of his tiny triumph faded quickly. Two threatened fist-fights in as many minutes? Terrific.

  Gover said, “You took long enough to get here.”

  Pallis allowed his gaze to roam. He murmured, “I’ll not speak to the puppet if I know whose hand is working him. Tell Decker I’m here.”

  Gover flushed with frustration. “Decker’s not in charge. We don’t work like that—”

  “Of course not,” Pallis said tiredly. “Just fetch him. All right?” And he turned his full attention on the excited group near the edge.

  Gover stalked away.

  His height allowed Pallis a view over the milling crowd. They were clustered around a crude breach in the Platform’s glass wall. A chill breeze swept over the lip of the deck; Pallis — despite his flying experience — found his stomach tightening at the thought of approaching that endless drop. A metal beam a few yards long had been thrust through the breach and out over the drop. A young man stood on the beam, his uniform torn and begrimed but still bearing Officer’s braids. He held his head erect, so bloodied that Pallis failed to recognize him. The crowd taunted the Officer, laughing; fists and clubs poked at his back, forcing him to take one step after another along the beam.

  “You wanted to see me, tree-pilot?”

  Pallis turned. “Decker. Long time no see.”

&
nbsp; Decker nodded. His girder-like frame was barely contained by coveralls that were elaborately embroidered with black thread, and his face was a broad, strong mask contoured by old scars.

  Pallis pointed to the young Officer on the beam. “Why don’t you stop this bloodiness?”

  Decker smiled. “I have no power here.”

  “Balls.”

  Decker threw his head back and laughed.

  Decker was the same age as Pallis; they had grown up boyhood rivals, although Pailis had always considered the other his superior in ability. But their paths as adults had soon parted. Decker had never been able to accept the discipline of any Class, and so had descended, frustrated, into Infrastructure. With time Pallis’s face had grown a mask of tree scars, while Decker’s had become a map drawn by dozens of fists, boots and knives…

  But he had always given more than he had taken. And slowly he had grown into a position of unofficial power: if you wanted something done fast you went to Decker… So Pallis knew who would emerge smiling from this revolt, even if Decker himself hadn’t instigated it.

  “All right, Pallis,” Decker said. “Why did you ask to see me?”

  “I want to know why you and your band of bloodthirsty apprentices dragged me from my tree.”

  Decker rubbed his graying beard. “Well, I can only act as a spokesman for the Interim Committee, of course—”

  “Of course.”

  “We have some shipments to be taken to the Belt. We need you to lead the flight.”

  “Shipments? Of what?”

  Decker nodded toward the huddle of Scientists. “That lot for a start. Labor for the mine. Most of them anyway; we’ll keep the young, healthy ones.”

  “Very noble.”

  “And you’re to take a supply machine.”

  Pallis frowned. “You’re giving the Belt one of our machines?”

  “If you read your history you’ll find they have a right, you know.”

  “Don’t talk to roe about history, Decker. What’s the angle?”

  Decker pursed his lips. “The upswelling of popular affection on this Raft for our brothers on the Belt is, shall we say, not to be opposed at present by the prudent man.”

  “So you’re pleasing the crowd. But if the Raft loses its economic advantage over the Belt you’ll lose out too.”

  Decker smiled. “I’ll make that leap when I come to it. It’s a long flight to the Belt, Pallis; you know that as well as anybody. And a lot can happen between here and there.”

  “You’d deliberately lose one of our machines? By the Bones, Decker—”

  “I didn’t say that, old friend. All I meant was that the transportation of a machine by a tree — or a fleet of trees — is an enormous technical challenge for your woodsmen.”

  Pallis nodded. Decker was right, of course; you’d have to use a flight of six or seven trees with the machine suspended between them. He’d need his best pilots to hold the formation all the way to the Belt… names and faces passed through his thoughts…

  And Decker was grinning at him. Pallis frowned, irritated. All a man like Decker had to do was throw him an interesting problem and everything else went out of his head.

  Decker turned to watch the activities of his co-revolutionaries.

  The young Officer had been pushed a good yard beyond the glass wall. Tears mingled with the blood caked over his cheeks and, as Pallis watched, the lad’s bladder released; a stain gushed around his crotch, causing the crowd to roar.

  “Decker—”

  “I can’t save him,” Decker said firmly. “He won’t discard his braids.”

  “Good for him.”

  “He’s a suicidal idiot.”

  Now a figure broke out of the ranks of cowering Scientists. It was a young, dark man. He cried: “No!” and, scarred fists flailing, he launched himself at the backs of the crowd. The Scientist soon disappeared under a hail of fists and boots; at last he too was thrust, bloodied and torn, onto the beam. And through the fresh bruises, dirt and growth of beard, Pallis realized with a start that he recognized the impetuous young man.

  “Rees,” he breathed.

  Rees faced the baying, upturned faces, head ringing from the blows he had taken. Over the heads of the crowd he could see the little flock of Scientists and Officers; they clung together, unable even to watch his death.

  The Officer leaned close and shouted through the noise. “I ought to thank you, mine rat.”

  “Don’t bother, Doav. It seems I’m not ready yet to watch a man die alone. Not even you.”

  Now fists and clubs came prodding toward them. Rees took a cautious step backwards. Had he traveled so far, learned so much… only for it to end like this?

  … He recalled the time of revolution, the moment he had faced Gover outside the Bridge. As he had sat among the Scientists, signifying where his loyalties lay, Gover spat on the deck and turned his back.

  Hollerbach had hissed: “You bloody young idiot. What do you think you are doing? The important thing is to survive… If we don’t resume our work, a revolution every other shift won’t make a damn bit of difference.”

  Rees shook his head. There was logic in Hollerbach’s words — but surely there were some things more important than mere survival. Perhaps when he was Holleibach’s age he would see things differently…

  As the shifts had worn away he had been deprived of food, water, shelter and sleep, and had been forced to work on basic deck maintenance tasks with the most primitive of tools. He had suffered the successive indignities in silence, waiting for this darkness to clear from the Raft.

  But the revolution had not failed. At last his group had been brought here; he suspected that some or all of them were now to be selected for some new trial. He had been prepared to accept his destiny—

  — until the sight of the young Officer dying alone had cut through his carefully maintained patience,

  Doav seemed calm now, accepting; he returned Rees’s gaze with a nod. Rees extended his hand. The Officer gripped it firmly.

  The two of them faced their tormentors.

  Now a few young men climbed onto the beam, egged on by their companions. Rees fended off their clubs with his forearm, but he was forced to retreat, inch by inch.

  Under his bare feet he felt an edge of metal, the coldness of empty air.

  But someone was moving through the crowd.

  Pallis had followed Decker through the mob, watching the deference the big man was accorded with some amusement. At the wall Decker said. “So now we have two heroes. Eh?”

  Laughter rippled.

  “Don’t you think this is a waste, though?” Decker mused loudly. “You — Rees, is it? — we were going to keep you here. We need good muscles; there’s enough work to be done. Now this stupidity of yours is going to leave us short, I’ll tell you what. You. The Officer.” Decker beckoned. “Come down and join the rest of the cowards over there.” There was a rumble of dissent: Decker let it pass, then said softly: “Of course, this is just my suggestion. Is the will of the Committee opposed?”

  Of course not. Pallis smiled.

  “Come, lad.”

  Doav turned uncertainly to Rees. Rees nodded and pushed him gently toward the Platform. The Officer walked gingerly along the beam and stepped down to the deck; he passed through the crowd toward the Scientists, enduring sly punches and kicks.

  Rees was left alone.

  “As for the mine rat—” An anticipatory roar rose from the crowd. Decker raised his hands for silence. “As for him I can think of a much tougher fate than jumping off that plate. Let’s send him back to the Belt! He’s going to need all his heroism to face the miners he ran out on—”

  His words were drowned by a shout of approval; hands reached out and hauled Rees from the beam.

  Pallis murmured, “Decker, if I thought it would mean anything I’d thank you.”

  Decker ignored his words. “Well, pilot; will you fly your tree as the Committee request?”

  Pallis folded
his arms. “I’m a pilot, Decker; not a gaoler.”

  Decker raised his eyebrows; the scars patterned across his cheeks stretched white. “Of course it’s your choice; you’re a citizen of the Free Raft. But if you don’t take this Science rabble I don’t know how we’ll manage to keep feeding them.” He sighed with mock gravity. “At least on the Belt they might have some chance. Here, though — times are hard, you see. The kindest thing might be to throw them over that edge right now.” He regarded Pallis with empty, black eyes. “What do you say, pilot? Shall I give my young friends some real sport?”

  Pailis found himself trembling. “You’re a bastard, Decker.”

  Decker laughed softly.

  It was time for the Scientists to board the tree. Pallis made one last tour of the rim, checking the supply modules lashed to the shaped wood.

  Two Committee men pulled themselves unceremoniously through the foliage, dragging a rope behind them. One of them, young, tall and prematurely bald, nodded to him. “Good shift, pilot.”

  Pailis watched coldly, not deigning to reply.

  The two braced their feet on the branches, spat on their hands, and began to haul on the rope. At length a bundle of filthy cloth was dragged through the foliage. The two men dumped the bundle to one side, then removed the rope and passed it back through the foliage.

  The bundle uncurled slowly. Pallis walked over to it.

  The bundle was a human, a man bound hand and foot: a Scientist, to judge by the remnants of crimson braid stitched to the ragged robes. He struggled to sit up, rocking his bound arms. Pallis reached down, took the man’s collar and hauled him upright. The Scientist looked up with dim gratitude; through matted dirt Pallis made out the face of Cipse, once Chief Navigator.

  The Committee men were leaning against the trunk of his tree, evidently waiting for their rope to be attached to the next “passenger.” Pallis left Cipse and walked across to them. He took the shoulder of the bald man and, with a vicious pressure, forced the Committee man to face him.

  The bald man eyed him uncertainly. “What’s the problem, pilot?”

  Through clenched teeth Pallis said: “I don’t give a damn what happens down there, but on my trees what I say goes. And what I say is that these men are going to board my tree with dignity.” He dug his fingers into the other’s flesh until cartilage popped.