The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

by Gardner Dozois

  The long line of filthy, bent cart pullers finally reached Bi. A lot of the uglies were real weird, with twisted, deformed limbs and vacant grins. Some of them mumbled or jabbered or laughed to themselves. A big, dark ultra-ugly woman sang a low, steady, complicated song, making it up as she went along. A hunched-over ugly jabbed a twisted palm at Bi, who promptly produced his ration card. The ugly examined the crumpled, torn document, then gestured at Bi’s tins. There was no one to help Bi manage the tins, and you had to be quick, before the carts went away. On the other hand; Bi’s solo portion of ration and water wasn’t very large. He held his two tins under the tubes, while the ugly pushed down the lever. The cart growled briefly in its metal insides and regurgitated a whitish, gummy substance into one tin and a brownish, slightly oily liquid into the other. The ugly stamped Bi’s ration card on the back, and the big carts moved on.

  Lucky that Bi had managed to thieve his ration card from his Ma’s special pouch, while she was asleep. Some folks were foolish enough to drift without taking their card (or some had Ma’s who were lighter sleepers), and then they could never jump back into the line. They had to become cart pullers. Bi’s Ma always slept heavy, with her mouth hanging open and a thin snore. It wasn’t too hard to reach into her pouch and find his ration card, the familiar card which he’d handed to the cart pullers, so many times. Bi briefly wondered how Ma was doing. Did she ever wonder about him, or even remember him? It was such a big family group.

  Family groups. Bi looked up ahead. That Pretty was spooning ration into a big cookpot. Bi wondered if he could steal her at night the way he stole his ration card. Why not? He was feeling gappy lusty lately, with no family girls to relieve himself on, and he had to do something. He figured plenty of her own kinsmen crawled into her roll at night. Who would know the difference? He could watch carefully as they settled down and see where she was sleeping, make sure that no one was actually sharing a roll with her. Then, when it got quite dark, he’d crawl into her roll, just like he belonged there. Wouldn’t say nothing, wouldn’t let on who he was, but really relieve her good, night after night, until he finally let on who he was, and maybe he’d join up with her and the whole family group. At least he wasn’t no ugly.

  No, he didn’t want to join up with them, they were just as bickering and quarrelsome as his own people. He’d hook her and persuade her to join him, solo. That’d be the way, catch his own Pretty, and start his own family group. Then he’d be Pa, and everyone would mind him. Why not? And he was feeling fearful lusty.

  Bi lit up his little cookfire and stirred some ration and tea. The family group was eating too. The tangle-haired Pretty had a good appetite, that was sure. Be sure to catch her ration card when you catch her! Now they were laying out their rolls. Good, her’s was near the edge, not too far from him. Easy!

  Except now some double-ugly old man from her family is coming up to talk to her and grin and leer and pat her body under her robe. It’s clear he’s going to stick around for a while. And the Pretty doesn’t seem to mind, even though he’s an ugly! She’s grinning and leering back. Gap, they’re all like that. Well, let that ugly old grandpa try to warm her up, if he still can—must be in his third decade, at least. When he’s done, and crawled back to his own roll to sleep, Bi will sneak up and warm her good! Bi would keep watch all night, if necessary. Why not! He had eyes like a night critter. Bi crawled into his warm roll, and prepared to keep watch.

  * * * *

  But he must’ve been tired from the long move, because it was nearly dawn when he awoke. He could tell from the way the dark stood deep and dense on the grasslands. Both moons had already set. But no matter, there was still time, they were all still asleep. He crawled out of his roll and inched silently along the ground to the Pretty’s roll. He remembered just where it was, and his eyes were good enough to see that there was only one body in the roll. Good. Bi reached his hands in and began to rub and fondle the body inside the roll. The flesh felt warm, smooth and slightly moist. Bi felt almost dizzy with lust.

  The Pretty jumped, startled awake. But just like Bi figured, she was used to it. “You again?” she murmured. Bi grunted and crawled inside her roll. Her body, under the robe, felt so good. Warm and soft, with bony parts and fleshy parts, and sticky, hairy places where Bi could finally relieve himself and her too. Over and over again, not thinking about anything else, like one of his dreams, deep, but with no content.

  The Pretty was used to it, but she wasn’t used to Bi, that was sure. She was rumbling and heaving like a cart spitting ration. Until suddenly, Bi felt a sharp pain in his back. He looked up, startled, and realized it was already dawn, and that double-ugly old man was standing above them, full of hate and aiming another kick at Bi’s back! Gap, the old man was kicking him and kicking him. Sharp stabs of pain in his back and legs and head.

  Bi scrambled out of the roll, trying to protect himself from the kicks with one arm and reaching for his knife with the other hand. The knife had been a gift from his Pa. A secret forbidden gift that Pa kept hidden in his pouch. The ugly raised a big yell, when he saw it, and left off kicking. Bi went after him with the knife, but now the other men in the family had jumped up and were heading towards him. There were a lot of them, big and tough and mean. Bi broke into a run. He couldn’t fight them all, that was sure, even with the forbidden knife. But as he ran, he looked back at the Pretty. She was staring at him, and when she caught his eye, she gave him one of her big, laughing grins.

  Bi ran out into the bush, far enough from the line that no one would come after him. Folks who’d never drifted were powerful afraid of the bush, but Bi had faced the critters and solitude before. He sat down on a flat place, as the morning sun rose up through the mist, and tied his battered robe back around his short, muscular body. Well, he had relieved himself, that was sure.

  But he had also lost his place in line.

  No matter, he could sneak back at night to get his roll and kit, and then he could drift ahead and jump again—and maybe he could persuade the tangle-haired Pretty to drift and jump with him.

  * * * *

  Bi hovered near the line until the next night, foggy and dark, when everyone was asleep. Then he crawled back to grab his things. But he got a surprise. Someone was waiting, in a roll nearby. At first he got scared, thinking it was a double-ugly waiting to grab him. But the eyes that gleamed out were friendly, and that tangle of hair was unmistakable. It was her.

  “You wanna drift and jump with me?” he whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “You got your ration card?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come on.”

  They silently packed up their rolls and his mess kit and tins and crawled back into the bush. It was still dark, nothing for a drifter to do but snooze and keep watch for critters. But with her along, there was plenty to do. They spread out her roll in a clearing in the bush, and both crawled inside. This time was even bouncier than before.

  * * * *

  Dawn. Time to start drifting and watching for a chance to jump. Lucky the carts had just been along, so Bi’s tins were nearly full. Enough water and ration to last near a week, if they were careful. Of course, it was pretty bad, raw ration and no tea, but you couldn’t risk the smoke of a cookfire out in the bush. If drifters get caught, they’re dead critters, fair game for any of the men in the line, looking for a little fun and excitement.

  So drifting is a sneaky job, moving rapidly up along the line, moving ahead, always ahead. No one would be crazy enough to drift back. You could move fast that way, plenty fast. Much faster than the line, even when it’s moving, with kids and old people, and all. Always careful not to make noise. Always staying at a distance so you can see the line, but they can’t see you. Always crouching behind clumps of brush to eat or sleep or relieve yourself and scurrying across bare grasslands, hoping that the mist and fog would hide you from sight. And always, always looking for that chance to jump.

  The chance to jump could come anytime the lin
e was moving, and you had to be ready for it, ready to swoop in whenever there was a gap in the line. Like suddenly an old man would stumble, and his family group would stop to help him, and a gap would open up in the line, just for a minute or so, just big enough for one drifter and one pretty. Then you jumped into that gap, and no one could touch you, cause everyone knew that the line must always move at an even pace, with no gaps. Gaps cause confusion, cause the line to become disorderly. No gaps are allowed, therefore drifters could jump to close a gap.

  But gaps didn’t happen often. The line, itself, didn’t move often, maybe once or twice a week. And Bi and the Pretty only had ration for a week, at most. And when the line did move, most folk were very careful to keep a slow, steady pace to prevent gaps. Old folks were helped, little folks were carried. No one wanted a gap. No one wanted a strange, dirty drifter jumping in between you and your neighbors in the line, that you’ve known all your life, and maybe even shared family doings.

  When you jumped, the families behind and in front felt real mean about it, that was sure. They couldn’t touch you, but they didn’t like having you in their midst. That’s why that double-ugly was glad for an excuse to start kicking at Bi. But now he had to find a place to jump, and find it fast, before the ration was gone and they had to turn in their cards and become cart pullers. So they waited and watched.

  On the fourth day, they knew the line was gonna start moving, because of the rumble up ahead, and so they snuck up close. But the line moved ahead, fast and smooth, with no gaps at all. Bi and the Pretty broke into a run, trying to outrace the line, before it stopped again, trying, trying to find that essential gap.

  “Bi, look up there!” the Pretty whispered, panting. “Looks like some old Ma fell.”

  Bi squinted into the misty sun. Yeah, perfect. Some old Ma was breathing her last, that was sure, clutching at her bosom, with her family checking it out and trying to grab hold of her pouch. Good, the old Ma’s had the pouch with all the card in it. They couldn’t move on until they got the pouch, and the old Ma was clutching at it, cause she didn’t want to be left behind to die by herself.

  Bi and the Pretty moved in closer. The family group ahead looked back uneasily, then began to move ahead. And there it was, the precious, beautiful gap! While the family was still fussing with the old Ma, a gap opened, big enough for two or more. With triumphant yelps, Bi and the Pretty swooped in from the bush and jumped a place in the line.

  “We jumped ahead four days!” cried Bi, hugging her.

  The Pretty was laughing and clapping with excitement. The family group ahead looked back at them, meanly. They hated jumpers, but no question, there was a gap, so nothing they could do. The family group in back finally got the pouch away from the wheezing, sobbing old Ma and came rushing back up, to fill their place in line.

  * * * *

  Then some nice, quiet time in the line. Fine, fun, lovey time, playing with the Pretty, using his fingers to comb out the tangles in her rich, thick hair. Not much movement in the line. But Bi could see that, every week, the Pretty’s stomach was getting bigger. He was gonna be a Pa, that was sure. Bi felt a little bit uneasy. He wasn’t solo anymore. The Pretty was lots of fun, but now a noisy baby to look out for, too. His dreams began to be filled with critters.

  But luck was like a morning fog, it comes and goes, like his Ma used to say. One day, there was the Pretty, laying out on her roll, with her legs spread out, her stomach like a big mound, her hair more tangled than usual, and whining and crying and sweating, trying to give birth. Then came a rumble up ahead, the sound of the line getting ready to move.

  “The line is gonna move!” said Bi, excitedly. It hadn’t moved much in weeks, so this could be a long one. Maybe it would get the Pretty’s mind off her birthing. She was taking too long at it, anyway.

  “Come on and get ready,” said Bi, poking at the spread-eagled body with his foot, “sounds like it’s gonna move soon, we got to pack up your roll.”

  The Pretty stared at him, glassy eyed, sweat running down her face, even though it was a chilly, foggy day.

  “What’s the matter,” Bi said, “can’t you hear the line moving? You can do your birthing later. Get up, and I’ll help you with your roll.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean, can’t! You got legs, don’t you?”

  “It hurts too much.”

  “But you gotta! We’ll never get a good place like this, so far up the line, with ration and water so fresh and all. We can’t stay here and lose it!”

  “I can’t,” she repeated. “You go with the line. Don’t leave any gap. Keep my spot, and I’ll catch up when I’m done birthing.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess so,” said Bi, uneasily. “But I heard folks need help with birthing. Don’t you need help?”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I don’t know, I never done it before. Gap. I wish my old Ma was here! Come on and try. Maybe the line won’t move far. You can stop birthing now, and do it later. I can’t carry you, ’cause you’re too heavy, but I’ll carry all the kits and rolls this time. If you stay here by yourself, the critters might get you!”

  “Then stay here with me!” The Pretty started to cry.

  “No, I can’t do that, we’ll lose our place for good. I’ll do like you said, if you really can’t get up, but you should try, you know. I’ll keep our place in line, and you can catch up later. Maybe the line won’t move far. Maybe the birthing is almost finished. Maybe… Anyway, I’ll leave you some ration. When you’re done, just run along the line until you find me. I’ll keep your spot. But stay hidden, so they don’t think you’re a drifter. When you find me, yell loud, and I’ll tell everyone I held your spot while you were birthing.” Bi looked at her anxiously. “That sounds good, don’t it?”

  “Yeah, okay,” whispered the sad, sweaty Pretty.

  The line was nearly ready to move now. Bi hastily packed up his roll and tins, leaving her with the cookpot full of ration and water.

  “See, I’m leaving the cookpot. Don’t forget it, and hurry up, ’cause I’ll be hungry with no pot. And don’t forget your roll, neither.”

  “I won’t,” she grimaced, clutching at her belly.

  “You sure you can’t get up?” asked Bi.

  She didn’t bother to answer.

  “That jumping Pretty is gonna give birth real soon, that’s for sure. Serves her right,” cackled an old Ma in the family group up ahead.

  “See, it’s gonna be soon,” said Bi, “then you can catch up.”

  Sweat and crying were running down the Pretty’s face. She still didn’t answer.

  The line was actually starting to move now. Bi picked up his roll and kit and patted her stomach. “I’ll watch for you,” he said.

  The Pretty clutched her stomach and didn’t pay any attention. Bi shrugged his shoulders, kind of miffed at her indifference to him and the moving line. Then he began to walk slowly and steadily ahead, so as not to create a gap. He looked back a few times, but soon her body was lost in the fog. After a while he stopped fussing about her, figuring she’d be okay, until she caught up. And it was hard work, because the line was moving slightly uphill and the sun was warm now and the line moved all day, far into the night.

  “That was a real long move,” said Bi, as he finally threw down his roll and dropped, exhausted. It wasn’t until later that he realized that there was no longer anyone to talk to. He missed that, but he missed his cookpot real bad, ’cause he was very hungry and cold ration and water taste awful.

  * * * *

  He got a whole lot hungrier soon, ’cause something was wrong with the carts. Everybody’s ration and water tins were almost empty. Every day, folks peered up the line for the carts, but no carts came. Bi was getting desperate. No cookpot, no Pretty, and now no carts!

  “Gap, I’m getting hungry,” he said to no one in particular. He’d been talking to himself a lot, lately, now that the Pretty was gone. Why didn’t she hurry up with her bi
rthing and catch up so he could have the cookpot and some fun again? Where were them gappy carts? Bi spread out his roll and got ready for the night. It was cold, with no way to cook tea.

  Both moons were up tonight, and nearly full. They shone through the thin fog, lighting up the flat plane. The fog was so thin and the moons so bright that Bi thought he could actually see the Other Line, way off in the distance. Did they have carts? Nobody knew.

  Bi was thinking like that and drifting into sleep, while absently relieving himself, when he heard a tiny noise. Was it her? He looked up startled. No, it was some triple-ugly kid from the family group up ahead, messing with Bi’s ration tin!

  Bi got the knife out of his pouch and jumped up and grabbed the kid by the hair, shaking him and threatening with the knife. “Gappy thief!” he bellowed.

  The kid screamed, and his family group woke up and began to threaten and fuss, but Bi had the knife pointed right at the kid. So they didn’t dare come close.

  “This kid tried to thieve my ration,” yelled Bi. “I have the right to kill him, that’s for sure. Kill him and eat his eyeballs, if I want, and you can’t touch me, ’cause I caught him thieving. I’ll tell you what, though,” said Bi, with a very shrewd grin, “I’m not an ugly. I can see the kid is hungry like everyone else. I don’t want bad feeling with my neighbors. I’ll let the kid go, if he promises not to thieve again and if you’ll give me a little cookpot full of ration and water. I lost my cookpot a ways back, when my Pretty was birthing. I’ll let this thieving kid go, in return for a cookpot full of ration and water. How about it? Otherwise I’ll kill him and eat his balls.”