Raft

by Stephen Baxter

  He straightened his back and concentrated on what Pallis was saying.

  "...I'll have to find an Officer," the pilot mused, scratching a stubbly chin. "Log you as a stowaway. Get you a temporary Class assignment until the next tree goes out. All that paperwork, damn it...

  "By the Bones, I'm too tired. And hungry, and dirty. Let's leave it until next shift. Rees, you can stop over at my cabin until it's sorted. You too, Gover, though the prospect is hardly enticing."

  The apprentice stared into the distance; he didn't look around at the pilot's words.

  "But I don't have supplies for three growing lads like us. Or even one, come to think of it. Gover, get out to the Rim and get a couple of shifts' worth on my number, will you? You too, Rees; why not? You'll enjoy the sightseeing. I'll go scrape a few layers of dust off my cabin."

  And so Rees found himself trailing the apprentice through the swarm of cables. Gover stalked ahead, not deigning to wait; in all this murky, tree-shadowed world the apprentice was Rees's only fixed point, and so the miner made sure he didn't lose sight of Gover's unprepossessing back.

  They came to a thoroughfare cut through the tangle of cables. It was crowded with people. Gover paused at the edge of the thoroughfare and stood in sullen silence, evidently waiting for something. Rees stood beside him and looked around. The clear, straight path was about ten yards wide: it was like looking along a tree-roofed tunnel. The path was lined with light; Rees made out globes fixed to the cables just like the globes in the depths of the star mine.

  There were people everywhere, an even stream that flowed briskly in both directions along the path. Some of them stared at Rees's dishevelled appearance, but most politely looked away. They were all clean and well-groomed — although there were hollow eyes and pale cheeks, as if some sickness were haunting the Raft. Men and women alike wore a kind of coverall of some fine, gray material; some wore gold braid on their shoulders or cuffs, often woven in elaborate designs. Rees glanced down at his own battered tunic — and with a jolt recognized it as an aged descendant of the garments of the Raft population. So miners wore Raft cast-offs?

  He wondered what Sheen would say about that...

  Two small boys were standing before him, gazing with round eyes at his dingy tunic. Rees, horribly embarrassed, hissed to Gover: "What are we waiting for? Can't we move on?"

  Gover swivelled his head and fixed Rees with a look of dull contempt.

  Rees tried to smile at the boys. They just stared.

  Now there was a soft, rushing sound from the center of the Raft. Rees, with some relief, stepped out into the thoroughfare, and he made out the bizarre sight of a row of faces sliding towards him above the crowd. Gover stepped forward and held up a hand. Rees watched him curiously—

  —and the rushing grew to a roar. Rees turned to see the blunt prow of a Mole bearing down on him. He stumbled back; the speeding cylinder narrowly missed his chest. The Mole rolled to a halt a few yards from Gover and Rees. A row of simple seats had been fixed to the upper surface of the Mole; people rode in them, watching him incuriously.

  Rees found his mouth opening and closing. He had expected some wonderful sights on the Raft, but — this? The little boys' mouths were round with astonishment at his antics. Gover was grinning. "What's the matter, mine rat? Never seen a bus before?" The apprentice walked up to the Mole and, with a practiced swing, stepped up into a vacant seat.

  Rees shook his head and hurried after the apprentice. There was a low shelf around the base of the Mole; Rees stepped onto it and turned cautiously, lowering himself into the seat next to Gover's — and the Mole jolted into motion. Rees tumbled sideways, clinging to chair arms; he had to wriggle around until he was facing outwards, and at last found himself gliding smoothly above the heads of the throng.

  The boys ran after the Mole, shouting and waving; Rees did his best to ignore them, and after a few yards they tired and gave up.

  Rees stared frankly at the man next to him, a thin, middle-aged individual with a sheaf of gold braid at his cuff. The man studied him with an expression of disdain, then moved almost imperceptibly to the far side of his seat.

  He turned to Gover. "You call me a 'mine rat.' What exactly is a 'rat'?"

  Gover sneered. "A creature of old Earth. A vermin, the lowest of the low. Have you heard of Earth? It's the place we—" he emphasized the word "—came from."

  Rees thought that over; then he studied the machine he was riding. "What did you call this thing?"

  Gover looked at him with mock pity. "This is a bus, mine rat. Just a little something we have here in the civilized world."

  Rees studied the lines of the cylinder under its burden of furniture and passengers. It was a Mole all right; there were the scorch marks showing where — something — had been cut away. On an impulse he leaned over and thumped the surface of the "bus" with his fist. "Status!"

  Gover studiously ignored him. Rees was aware of his thin neighbor regarding him with curious disgust—

  —and then the bus reported loudly, "Massive sensor dysfunction."

  The voice had sounded from somewhere under the thin man; he jumped and stared open-mouthed at the seat beneath him.

  Gover looked at Rees with a grudging interest. "How did you do that?"

  Rees smiled, relishing the moment. "Oh, it was nothing. You see, we have — ah — buses where I come from too. I'll tell you about it some time."

  And with a delicious coolness he settled back to enjoy the ride.

  * * *

  The journey lasted only a few minutes. The bus paused frequently, passengers alighting and climbing aboard at each stop.

  They passed abruptly out of the mass of cables and slid over a clear expanse of deck. Unimpeded Nebula light dazzled Rees. When he looked back the cables were like a wall of textured metal hundreds of feet tall, topped by discs of foliage.

  The nose of the bus began to rise.

  At first Rees thought it was his imagination. Then he noticed the passengers shifting in their seats; and still the tilt increased, until it seemed to Rees that he was about to slide back down a metal slope to the cables.

  He shook his head tiredly. He had had enough wonders for one shift. If only Gover would give him a few hints about what was going on—

  He closed his eyes. Come on, think it through, he told himself. He thought of the Raft as he had seen it from above. Had it looked bowl-shaped? No, it had been flat all the way to the Rim; he was sure of that. Then what?

  Fear shot through him. Suppose the Raft was falling! Perhaps the cables on a thousand trees had snapped; perhaps the Raft was tipping over, spilling its human cargo into the pit of air—

  He snorted as with a little more thought he saw it. The bus was climbing out of the Raft's gravity well, which was deepest at the structure's center. If the bus's brakes failed now it would roll back along the plane in from the Rim towards the Raft's heart... just as if it were rolling downhill. In reality the Raft was, of course, a flat plate, fixed in space; but its central gravity field made it seem to tilt to anyone standing close to the Rim.

  When the slope had risen to one in one the bus shuddered to a halt. A set of steps had been fixed to the deck alongside the bus's path; they led to the very Rim. The passengers jumped down. "You stay there," Gover told Rees; and he set off after the others up the shallow stairs.

  Fixed almost at the Rim was the huge, silhouetted form of what must be a supply machine. The passengers formed a small queue before it.

  Rees obediently remained in his seat. He longed to examine the device at the Rim. But there would be another shift, time and fresh energy to pursue that.

  It would be nice, though, to walk to the edge and peer into the depths of the Nebula... Perhaps he might even glimpse the Belt.

  One by one the passengers returned to the bus bearing supply packets, like those which Pallis had brought to the Belt. The last passenger thumped the nose of the bus; the battered old machine lurched into motion and set off down the imaginary
slope.

  * * *

  Pallis's cabin was a simple cube partitioned into three rooms: there was an eating area, a living room with seats and hammocks, and a cleaning area with a sink, toilet and shower head.

  Pallis had changed into a long, heavy robe. The garment's breast bore a stylized representation of a tree in the green braid which Rees had come to recognize as the badge of Pallis's woodsman Class. He told Rees and Gover to clean themselves up. When it was Rees's turn he approached the gleaming spigots with some awe; he barely recognized the clean, sparkling stuff that emerged as water.

  Pallis prepared a meal, a rich meat-sim broth. Rees sat cross-legged on the cabin floor and ate eagerly. Gover sat in a chair wrapped in his customary silence.

  Pallis's home was free of decoration save for two items in the living area. One was a cage constructed of woven slats of wood, suspended from the ceiling; within it five or six young trees hovered and fizzed, immature branches whirling. They filled the room with motion and the scent of wood. Rees saw how the skitters, one or two adorned with bright flowers, fizzed towards the cabin lights, bumping in soft frustration against the walls of their cage. "I let them out when they're too big," Pallis told Rees. "They're just — company, I suppose. You know, there are some who bind up these babies with wire to stunt their growth, distort their shapes. I can't envisage doing that. No matter how attractive the result."

  The other item of decoration was a photograph, a portrait of a woman. Such things weren't unknown in the Belt — the ancient, fading images were handed down through families like shabby heirlooms — but this portrait was fresh and vivid. With Pallis's permission Rees picked it up—

  —and with a jolt he recognized the smiling face.

  He turned to Pallis. "It's Sheen."

  Pallis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his scars flaring red. "I should have guessed you'd know her. We — used to be friends."

  Rees imagined the pilot and his shift supervisor together. The picture was a little incongruous — but not as immediately painful as some such couplings he had envisaged in the past. Pallis and Sheen was a concept he could live with.

  He returned the photo to its frame and resumed his meal, chewing thoughtfully.

  At the turn of the shift they settled for sleep.

  Rees's hammock was yielding and he relaxed, feeling somehow at home. The next shift would bring more changes, surprises and confusions; but he would face that when it came. For the next few hours he was safe, cupped in the bowl of the Raft as if in the palm of a hand.

  * * *

  A respectful knock jolted Hollerbach out of his trance-like concentration. "Eh? Who the hell is that?" His old eyes took a few seconds to focus — and his mind longer to clear of its whirl of food test results. He reached for his spectacles. Of course the ancient artefact didn't really fit his eyes, but the discs of glass did help a little.

  A tall, scarred man loomed into semi-focus, advancing hesitantly into the office. "It's me, Scientist. Pallis."

  "Oh, pilot. I saw your tree return, I think. Good trip?"

  Pallis smiled tiredly. "I'm afraid not, sir. The miners have had a few troubles—"

  "Haven't we all?" Hollerbach grumbled. "I just hope we don't poison the poor buggers with our food pods. Now then, Pallis, what can I do for you — oh, by the Bones, I've remembered. You've brought back that damn boy, haven't you?" He peered beyond Pallis; and there, sure enough, was the skinny, insolent figure of Gover. Hollerbach sighed. "Well, you'd better see Grye and return to your usual duties, lad. And your studies. Maybe we'll make a Scientist of you yet, eh? Or," he muttered as Gover departed, "more likely I'll lob you over the Rim myself. Is that all, Pallis?"

  The tree-pilot looked embarrassed; he shifted awkwardly and his scar network flared crimson. "Not quite, sir. Rees!"

  Now another boy approached the office. This one was dark and lean and dressed in the ragged remnants of a coverall — and he stopped in surprise at the doorway, eyes fixed to the floor.

  "Come on, lad," Pallis said, not unkindly. "It's only carpet; it doesn't bite."

  The strange boy stepped cautiously over the carpet until he stood before Hollerbach's desk. He raised his eyes — and again his mouth dropped with obvious shock.

  "Good God, Pallis," Hollerbach said, running a hand self-consciously over his bald scalp, "what have you brought me here? Hasn't he ever seen a Scientist before?"

  Pallis coughed; he seemed to be trying to hide a laugh. "I don't think it's that, sir. With all respect, I doubt if the lad's ever seen anyone so old."

  Hollerbach opened his mouth — then closed it again. He inspected the boy more carefully, noting the heavy muscles, the scarred hands and arms. "Where are you from, lad?"

  He spoke up clearly. "The Belt."

  "He's a stowaway," Pallis said apologetically. "He travelled back with me and—"

  "And he's got to be shipped straight home." Hollerbach sat back and folded his skinny arms. "I'm sorry, Pallis; we're overpopulated as it is."

  "I know that, sir, and I'm having the forms processed right now. As soon as a tree is loaded he could be gone."

  "Then why bring him here?"

  "Because..." Pallis hesitated. "Hollerbach, he's a bright lad," he finished in a rush. "He can — he gets status reports from the buses—"

  Hollerbach shrugged. "So do a good handful of smart kids every shift." He shook his head, amused. "Good grief, Pallis, you don't change, do you? Do you remember how, as a kid, you'd bring me broken skitters? And I'd have to fix up little paper splints for the things. A damn lot of good it did them, of course, but it made you feel better."

  Pallis's scars darkened furiously; he avoided Rees's curious gaze.

  "And now you bring home this bright young stowaway and — what? — expect me to take him on as my chief apprentice?"

  Pallis shrugged. "I thought, maybe just until the tree was ready..."

  "You thought wrong. I'm a busy man, tree-pilot."

  Pallis turned to the boy. "Tell him why you're here. Tell him what you told me, on the tree."

  Rees was staring at Hollerbach. "I left the Belt to find out why the Nebula is dying," he said simply.

  The Scientist sat forward, intrigued despite himself. "Oh, yes? We know why it's dying. Hydrogen depletion. That's obvious. What we don't know is what to do about it."

  Rees studied him, apparently thinking it over. Then he asked: "What's hydrogen?"

  Hollerbach drummed his long fingers on the desk top, on the point of ordering Pallis out of the room... But Rees was waiting for an answer, a look of bright inquiry in his eyes.

  "Hmm. That would take more than a sentence to explain, lad." Another drum of the fingers. "Well, maybe it wouldn't do any harm — and it might be amusing—"

  "Sir?" Pallis asked.

  "Are you any good with a broom, lad? The Bones know we could do with someone to back up that useless article Gover. Yes, why not? Pallis, take him to Grye. Get him a few chores to do; and tell Grye from me to start him on a bit of basic education. He may as well be useful while he's eating our damn food. Just until the tree flies, mind."

  "Hollerbach, thanks—"

  "Oh, get out, Pallis. You've won your battle. Now let me get on with my work. And in future keep your damn lame skitters to yourself!"

  4

  A HANDBELL SHAKEN SOMEWHERE told him that the shift was over. Rees peeled off his protective gloves and with an expert eye surveyed the lab; after his efforts its floor and walls now gleamed in the light of the globes fixed to the ceiling.

  He walked slowly out of the lab. The light from the star above made his exposed skin tingle, and he rested for a few seconds, drinking in gulps of antiseptic-free air. His back and thighs ached and the skin of his upper arms itched in a dozen places: trophies of splashes of powerful cleaning agents.

  The few dozen shifts before the next tree departure seemed to be flying past. He drank in the exotic sights and scents of the Raft, anticipating a return to a lifetime in a lonely
cabin in the Belt; he would pore over these memories as Pallis must treasure his photograph of Sheen.

  But what he'd been shown and taught had been precious little, he admitted to himself — despite Hollerbach's vague promises. The Scientists were an unprepossessing collection — mostly middle-aged, overweight and irritable. Brandishing the bits of braid that denoted their rank they moved about their strange tasks and ignored him. Grye, the assistant who'd been assigned the task of educating him, had done little more than provide Rees with a child's picture book to help him read, together with a pile of quite incomprehensible lab reports.

  Although he'd certainly learned enough about cleaning, he reflected ruefully.

  But occasionally, just occasionally, his skitter-like imagination would be snagged by something. Like that series of bottles, set out like bar stock in one of the labs, filled with tree sap in various stages of hardening—

  "You! What's your name? Oh, damn it, you, boy! Yes, you!"

  Rees turned to see a pile of dusty volumes staggering towards him. "You, the lad from the mine. Come and give me a hand with this stuff..." Over the volumes appeared a round face topped by a bald scalp, and Rees recognized Cipse, the Chief Navigator. Forgetting his aches he hurried towards the puffing Cipse and, with some delicacy, took the top half of the pile.

  Cipse panted with relief. "Took your time, didn't you?"

  "I'm sorry..."

  "Well, come on, come on; if we don't get these printouts to the Bridge sharpish those buggers in my team will have cleared off to the bars again, you mark my words, and that'll be another shift lost." Rees hesitated, and after a few paces Cipse turned. "By the Bones, lad, are you deaf as well as stupid?"

  Rees felt his mouth working. "I... you want me to bring this stuff to the Bridge?"

  "No, of course not," Cipse said heavily. "I want you to run to the Rim and dump it over the side, what else...? Oh, for the love of — come on, come on!"