He clasped his hands and closed his eyes. "They made a good life in the valley, and now and then they'd get a wanderer or fugitive from another gang that'd stay and join. Most everybody farmed or raised the lugs, but me dads and mums went into the iron business. As a boy, they showed me the rocks to look for, how to make a hot stack, and how to pound out the slag. That was where the nails, axes, saws, and knives came from. They used to settle their troubles among themselves, there was no gang, and no one was boss. They was just free.
"Me world was trees, crops in the fields, barns full of lughoxen, a full table, friends to play with, and a peaceful bed at night. There was Mums and me dads. Mums'd gone to school and she taught me letters and numbers, and how to do what's right. Never did know what Mums did to be exiled off to Tartaros. I think she was real ashamed of it. It was a beautiful place."
Ondo was silent for a long time, and I'd been in the crowbars too long not to know what that silence meant. The native Tartaran stared at the fire cube and said, "That all ended when I was eight. One of the Lake Real gangs got pushed into us by another gang."
Alna asked, "What happened?" Her features were reflected in the light from the cube. I looked beyond her, and standing at the edge of the shadows, Stays was studying the map. I pointed at an empty spot near the burning cube. Stays nodded, walked over to the place, and sat down.
Ondo looked up at Alna, and without blinking he said, "In a couple of hours all we had in Our Place was done past. Me dads tried to organize a fight, but they striped and thinned him. It was Rack Tanner's mob, and before me dads died, they raped me mums in front of him a dozen times."
Alna grabbed my arm and held on as Ondo continued. "I saw it happen from where I was hid. Then they killed me mums by cuttin' her throat and sittin' her up so she could watch herself and Dads die. Next day the gang was gone and the valley was dead."
He sighed and the glisten in his eyes was very real. "I buried me parents, then I buried the rest of me friends, the ones I could find. After that, I went to the' furnace, stoked it up, and began makin' myself a brace of throwin' knives. Don't know how long it took. Don't know how long I practiced with the knives as I tracked Tanner's gang. One-by-one I thinned the lot—Tanner, and every one of them that did me dads and mums. When I'd done with it, the rest of the gang was after me, so I strolled. I went west, made a log raft with a couple of other fugies like meself, and went to find out what dream was under the horizon."
He shrugged and spat out the pulp from his sand grape. "When we landed, we got captured by the Hand, then we was thrown to Boss Kegel. He give us an offer to either ride and kill for him or die. I had knives, but his people had guns, so I rode. I been with Kegel since."
Martin Stays leaned his elbows on his knees and studied the map. After awhile he said out loud something I think he meant only to say to himself. He said, "Wherever you are, there is a sunset and another land beyond it. It will always be invisible to those who quit looking for it."
▫
Everyone else was turning in as I sat alone with my thoughts at the fire cube. As the size of the cube dwindled, I thought about what Stays had said about there being a land beyond every sunset. The possibility of hope was the core of the thought, and I hated the thought of having any kind of hope if the hope would turn out to be nothing more than another lie.
There was something else that stuck in my mind. It was something that guard on the ship had said to me on my way out the hatch. Something about being able to change my own luck.
In the middle of the Forever Sand at night was a strange place to be thinking about hope, changing my luck, and what's under the horizon. I heard a noise to my left and I looked up and saw the deadhead who had borrowed my book.
"Here it is, and thanks."
"It was nothing." I took the little book and flipped through the pages.
"I spoke to the group about it, and they'd like to buy the book from you. We have some tobacco, food, stuff we took off the sheets, some clothing, even some other books. What do you say?"
"Let me think about it, okay?"
"Sure. If we're still alive we'll be meeting tomorrow night. Can we borrow it again?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Rus Gades waved and nodded his thanks, then he walked off and was swallowed by the dark. I faced the open book toward the dying fire cube and continued to flip through the pages. There was a pumpkin-colored ribbon marking a place. I began reading there.
▫
Do I find myself in despair with the words "It's hopeless" on my lips? Once again am I collecting evidence to confirm how pointless it is to try one more time?
Ponder the arrogance it takes to declare a person, place, thing, or situation hopeless. Although hope and hopelessness exist in the present, they both find and make their lies or truths in the future. To have the certainty that something is hopeless, then, I would have to know everything about the future. If I know less than this, I cannot make a judgment that something is hopeless.
I cannot see the future, which means there is nothing—no person, place, thing, or situation—that I can declare hopeless. In the absence of certain hopelessness, there is some hope. Shall I have hope or despair?
It is my choice.
▫
"Back in the crowbars they would say that this guy is short on yard smarts," I muttered as I closed the little book and stuck it in my kit bag. I didn't feel as certain as my words sounded. When I was finished putting away the book, I pulled my sheet around me, snuggled up against Alna, and thought about the stupe who had written all that treacle about hope and hopelessness. Whoever it was had to have been sitting in a plush chair in a plush room trying to overcome the despair he or she was feeling over the price of magnolias or something. Maybe his video heads needed cleaning. Maybe it was a vid star who broke a fingernail or woke up with the Zit From Hell on her nose.
Just to satisfy my curiosity, I opened my kit bag and took the book out again. I looked and there was no author listed. The brief introduction stated that the selections came from recovering addicts of various kinds.
"Ahh, leave it to a deadhead to believe in hope."
"Bando?" It was Alna's voice, thick and sleepy. "Are you all right?"
I shoved the book back into my kit bag. "All right?" I smiled as I snuggled up against her. "That covers a lot of territory. I sure hope so."
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▫
A Beginning
▫
It didn't sound like much of a choice. At first light we gathered on the facing sides of a couple of dunes as Darrell explained about the mirage and why we had to head south where Boss Kegel and a hundred thousand armed cons were waiting for us. There were prisoners who said that Ondo Suth was lying and that if we didn't head for the mountains we would certainly die.
Ondo replied that the ones who wanted the gang to head for the mountains counted on the sheets knowing more about living in the desert than the newly arrived exiles. He insisted that only death would result from heading toward the mountains.
The filbert named Nkuma got into the middle and began calling Garoit a bunch of names in a couple of different languages. He pointed out that the lives of everyone hinged on whether we could trust Ondo Suth, and that he, for one, didn't trust him.
Garoit tried to shout Nkuma down, so Nkuma fed Pussyface a fist. Darrell went out, Nkuma headed west for the mountains, and around three hundred of the gang, fifty animals and thirty rifles went with him. Democracy in action.
Dom was one of those who went with Nkuma. I tried to stop him, but there wasn't any point in trying to get physical with Dom. That would be like trying to arm wrestle an avalanche. As best as I could, accompanied by finger-drawn maps in the sand, I explained where the Devil's Divide was, mirages, and the Big Grass south. Then Dom summed up for all eternity the central issue of the past several thousand years' discussion on religious philosophy.
"Bando, if it ain't real but I
can see it, it's a lot realer than somethin' that's real I can't see."
I watched the big man tag on to the end of Nkuma's gang, and offered a little request to that which cannot be seen. Some night I hoped Dom would open his eyes and see the sky filled with stars.
"Bando?" I heard Alna's soft voice. I turned to look at her, and she was looking at Nkuma's herd.
She had a strange look on her face. I took a step toward her. "You're not going with them, are you?"
"Maybe," she answered.
"You're joking. Did you notice that none of the prisoners who said they wanted to go to the mountains went with Nkuma? They're staying with us. Why they're staying with us is because they want to live. That filbert Nkuma is going to get his bunch thinned."
Her eyes looked down. "Are we something, Bando?"
"Something? What are you talking about, something?"
"Are we something? Anything? To each other?" She pointed toward Nkuma's gang. "Almost all the sisters I know—my friends—are with Nkuma. I want to be with them." She looked down for a moment. "But if we're something, I'll stay with you."
"What'd I just tell you? Your friends and Nkuma are off to eat sand until death do them part."
"Answer me. What are we, Bando?"
It was no time to lecture her on being in command of her own life. If she went with Nkuma, she'd die. I didn't figure it was time to search my own heart for feelings that had been paralyzed for years. But I guess that helped put things into a grotesque kind of balance. I was impotent and she was terrified of sex. Perfect. A match made in Heaven.
But Bando Nicos always kept his options open. It would be a cold day in Hell before this busy bee tied himself down to one blossom, always assuming that I could get my stinger working again. Anyway, I didn't really know her, and she didn't really trust me. Of course, I didn't really know anybody, and I didn't really trust anybody.
As such things usually went, I made my decision based on cold reason and flawless logic: She had cried on me; I had cried on her. "Yeah. I guess we're something."
With one hand she gave my arm a tiny squeeze, turned and waited for Garoit's mob to begin moving south. This was going to be some torrid romance. I wondered what peaks of passion we would climb when she squeezed my arm with both hands. The prospect fairly made me tremble with anticipation.
I spat in the sand as some noise drew my attention. There was another argument raising the dust near Garoit, and I worked my way through the sharks until I saw Pussyface spitting blood at a yard monster from Greenville.
The yard monster was the leader of the black gang, Rhome Nazzar, and he made Freddy the leg-breaker look anorexic. Considering who he had picked his fights with, I figured Pussyface must be dragging around a death wish the size of a hippo.
I guess he deserved a little credit. Right after his knuckle entree from Nkuma, Garoit was up to his ears in there flapping his jaw at the monsters, asking for another helping. I wasn't certain that what I was feeling for him was respect or pity, but it didn't make any difference. If we lost Garoit, I couldn't even guess at the pistachio that would slide into control.
I positioned myself between Darrell and the yard monster and asked Nazzar, "What's the problem, friend?"
The yard monster's eyes went wide. "You're about to die is the problem now, greasy."
I grinned, which is what I do sometimes instead of raging off into hysterical fits of temper. When I could see again, I spoke. I tried to soften my observations with logic and sweet reason.
"Listen, Frankenstein," I began, "I don't swap taps with sweetmeats 'cause I'm not stupid. If you want to work your jaw on my socioeconomic heritage, I won't stop you. Not in the daylight."
My grin went a little wider. "But what I will do is slide on you in the shadows. I'll glide out of the shadows like a shade and, maybe, shove an ice pick in your ear. I think maybe I'll give the pick a couple of quick gorm arounds in there before I shove it all the way in and yank it out. What do you say, Frankenstein?"
The yard monster stared at me for ten of the longest seconds of my life. Then he nodded and said, "My name is Rhome Nazzar. I apologize for the 'greasy' thing. I was out of line."
"Bando Nicos. So pleased to meet you."
I turned to Garoit and almost fell flat on my face I was so light-headed from the sheer terror of certain doom averted. Pussyface was staring at me like I had a tentacle growing out of my forehead. "What's your problem?" I asked.
Garoit pointed at Nazzar. "He's the problem."
What the hell. Maybe I was immortal. I looked back at the yard monster. "Pussyface says you're a problem. How about it?"
Nazzar put his hands on his narrow hips and looked at his feet for a second. He lifted one of his massive arms and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb.
"It's the prisoners. Me and my point gang have been set to guard some of them. I'm no stain and I don't like it."
I shrugged. "No problem. We'll get someone else."
The big man shook his head. "That's not the way I see it."
I took a deep breath and let out a long slow sigh. "Share your sight, brother crowbar, so that we can all become enlightened."
"No guards, no prisoners, is the way I see it. Either the sheets join us, we cut them loose, or kill them. I just spent twenty-four years in crowbars with the stain grinding his foot in my face. I'm not going to let us build our own little walking penitentiary here on the sand. No guards; no prisoners." He looked around and shouted at the watchers.
"No prisoners!"
There were a lot of nods from the brothers and sisters. I was nodding myself. I looked at Garoit. "I agree with Nazzar. It looks like a lot of the sharks agree with him."
"It doesn't make sense," Garoit hissed through his torn lips. "It isn't safe." He looked at the brothers and sisters. "We have something to protect here, and that means keeping down those who want to destroy us."
"No!" shouted Nazzar. "Kill them or cut them loose. Don't keep them down." He looked around at the brothers and sisters. "From when we all cherried as protos, that's what the stains and smears have done all our lives: keep us down." He pointed at his heart. "We got to know better than that." He looked around until his gaze settled on Nance Damas. She was stretched out on the sand, her legs crossed, her hands clasped in back of her head.
"Damas, what about you? You speak for the sisters."
"No," she answered quietly as she sat up and got to her feet. "I only speak for me. The sisters speak for the sisters." She pointed at the faces in the crowd. "The rest of you sharks do the same." She looked around, ending her scan with Nazzar's face. "We vote on it."
Garoit held up his hands. "Wait, there are things we have to discuss—"
"I can't think of anything we've already discussed more or thought about more before we even heard about this damned place," interrupted Nance. "Either we can hold someone prisoner or we can't. Vote on it."
Nazzar shouted, "Vote on it!"
The call was picked up and repeated until Garoit nodded and held up his hands. When things were quiet, he said, "We resolve that this gang shall not have the power to take and hold prisoners. All those in favor, raise your hands."
Nearly all the brothers and sisters put up a hand.
"Opposed."
There were maybe twenty hands. Garoit faced Rhome Nazzar. "You win. We can't hold prisoners." Nazzar grinned widely. Garoit returned the grin. "So now it's time for you to keep 'em, kill 'em, or cut 'em loose."
The grin disappeared. "Me?"
"You started this shit, Nazzar!" Garoit exploded angrily. "You got it your way, so finish it!" He looked around at the voters. "We're heading south, people. Since no one trusts anyone else to do a fair job at rationing, everyone is responsible for his or her own water and food. We have three hundred miles to make before we reach water. If we can make forty miles a day in this heat, it'll still take seven or eight days. If you run out before then, we'll show you how to get water from the sand grapes. If that isn't to your taste, tha
t's tough."
A sharper edge of scorn slid into his voice. "So that we can put some distance between us and Nkuma and those of Kegel's gang Nazzar turns loose, we'll march today, take a brief rest this evening, then begin marching at night and sleeping during the heat of the day. We'll continue traveling at night from then on, unless there are some objections from the constituency."
He whirled his hand around his head and pointed south. "Scouts out." His face grimaced like he was trying to be gracious and swallow a slab of raw liver at the same time. "Please."
Garoit and the others began moving south. I hung back wondering what Nazzar would do. "What're you lookin' at?" he demanded.
"Nothing," I answered. "Except maybe you might want some help?"
He averted his eyes and nodded. "Thanks. Come on." He turned and walked toward the space between two dunes where he was holding the prisoners. There were ten or so guards holding guns on the sheets. Nazzar stood before them, his rifle held across his chest. "We just took a vote, people. It was about what to do with you." I watched as the faces lightened a shade.
"We don't hold prisoners from now on, so you have three choices. Either you can join up with us, we kill you dead right now, or we send you out into the sand with nothin' but your ugly faces."
"Hey," called Jak Edge. "If we join, what's that mean?"
"It means you're part of this gang, and if you sell us out to some other outfit, you're dead."
"We can just walk on out of here if we don't join?"
Nazzar nodded. "That's right."
"I don't understand," said Edge. "You mean you're going to let us go, even if we end up fighting you again?"
"Yeah," said Rhome Nazzar, "but I can promise you one thing, sly. If you do fight us again and your ass gets caught again, you can count on a quick trip to cement city."
INFINITY HOLD3 Page 8
