Surfing?
Dura fell silent, trying to puzzle all this out.
Ito brightened. ‘Besides - with all respect to you and your people, dear - I wouldn’t want to live on some remote farm, when I could be surrounded by all this. The shops, the theatres, the libraries at the University . . .’ She looked at Dura curiously. ‘I know this is all strange to you, but don’t you feel the buzz of life here? And if, one day, we could move a bit further Upside . . .’
‘Upside?’
‘Closer to the Palace.’ Ito pointed upwards, back the way they had come. ‘At the top of the City. All of this side of the City, above the Market, is Upside.’
‘And below the Market . . .’
Ito blinked. ‘Why, that’s the Downside, of course. Where the Harbour is, and the dynamo sheds, and cargo ports, and sewage warrens.’ She sniffed. ‘Nobody would live down there by choice.’
Dura Waved patiently along, the unfamiliar clothes scraping across her legs and back.
As they descended, the walls of Pall Mall curved away from her like an opening throat, and the avenue merged smoothly into the Market. This was a spherical chamber perhaps double the width of Pall Mall itself. The Market seemed to be the endpoint of a dozen streets - not just the Mall - and traffic streams poured through it constantly. Cars and people swarmed over each other chaotically; in the dust and noise, Dura saw drivers lean out of their cars, bellowing obscure profanities at each other. There were shops here, but they were just small, brightly coloured stalls strung in rows across the chamber. Stallkeepers hovered at all angles, brandishing their wares and shouting at passing customers.
At the centre of the Market was a wheel of wood, about a mansheight across. It was mounted on a huge wooden spindle which crossed the chamber from side to side, cutting through the shambolic stalls; the spindle must have been hewn from a single Crust-tree, Dura thought, and she wondered how the carpenters had managed to bring it here, into the heart of the City. The wheel had five spokes, from which ropes dangled. The shape of the wheel looked vaguely familiar to Dura, and after a moment’s thought she recalled the odd little talisman which Toba wore around his neck, the man spreadeagled against a wheel. Wasn’t that five-spoked too?
Ito said, ‘Isn’t this great? These little stalls don’t look like much but you can get some real bargains. Good quality stuff, too . . .’
Dura found herself backing up, back towards the Mall they’d emerged from. Here, right in the belly of this huge City, the noise, heat and constant motion seemed to crowd around her, threatening to overwhelm her.
Ito followed her and took her hand. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s find somewhere quieter and have something to eat.’
Cris’s room was a mess. Crumpled clothes, all gaudily coloured, floated through the Air like discarded skin; from among the clothes’ empty limbs, bottles of hair-dye protruded, glinting in the lamplight. Cris pushed his way confidently into this morass, shoving clothes out of the way. Farr didn’t find it so easy to enter the room. The cramped space, the clothes pawing softly at his flesh, gave him an intense feeling of claustrophobia.
Cris misread his discomfiture. ‘Sorry about the mess. My parents give me hell about it. But I just can’t seem to keep all this junk straight.’ He tipped back in the Air and rammed at a mass of clothing with both feet; the clothing wadded into a ball and compressed into one corner, leaving the Air marginally clearer; but even as Farr watched the clothes slowly unravelled, reaching out blindly with empty sleeves.
Farr peered around, wondering what he was supposed to say. ‘Some of your belongings are - attractive.’
Cris gave him an odd look. ‘Attractive. Yeah. Well, not half as attractive as they could be if we had a little more money to spare. But times are hard. They’re always hard.’ He dived into the bundles of clothing once more, pulling them apart with his hands, evidently searching for something. ‘I suppose money doesn’t mean a thing, where you grew up.’
‘No,’ Farr said, still unsure what money actually was. Oddly, he had heard envy in Cris’s voice.
Cris had retrieved something from within the cloud of clothing: a board, a thin sheet of wood about a mansheight long. Its edges were rounded and its surface, though scored by grooves for gripping, was finely finished and polished so well that Farr could see his reflection in it. A thin webbing of some shining material had been inlaid into the wood. Cris ran his hand lovingly over the board; it was as if, Farr thought, he were caressing the skin of a loved one. Cris said, ‘It sounds great.’
‘What does?’
‘Life in the upflux.’ Cris looked at Farr uncertainly.
Again Farr didn’t know how to answer. He glanced around at Cris’s roomful of possessions - none of which he’d made himself, Farr was willing to bet - and let his look linger on Cris’s stocky, well-fed frame.
‘I mean, you’re so free out there.’ Cris ran his hand around the edge of his polished board. ‘Look, I finish my schooling in another year. And then what? My parents don’t have the money for more education - to send me to the University, or the Medical College, maybe. Anyway, I don’t have the brains for any of that.’ He laughed, as if proud of the fact. ‘For someone like me there are only three choices here.’ He counted them off on his callus-free fingers. ‘If you’re stupid, you end up in the Harbour, fishing up Corestuff from the underMantle - or maybe you can lumberjack, or you might end up in the sewage runs. Whatever. But if you’re a little smarter you might get into the Civil Service, somewhere. Or - if you can’t stand any of that, if you don’t want to work for the Committee - you can go your own way. Set up a stall in the Market. Or work a ceiling-farm, like my father, or build cars like my mother. And spend your life breaking your back with work, and paying over most of your money in tithes to the Committee.’ He shrugged, clinging to his board; his voice was heavy with despondency, with world-weariness. ‘And that’s it. Not much of a choice, is it?’
If Farr had closed his eyes he might have imagined he was listening to an old, time-beaten man like Adda rather than a boy at the start of his life. ‘But at least the City keeps you fed, and safe, and comfortable.’
‘But not everyone wants to be comfortable. Isn’t there more to life than that?’ He looked at Farr again with that odd tinge of envy. ‘That’s what Surfing offers me . . . Your life, in the upflux, must be so - interesting. Waking up in the open Air, every day. Never knowing what the day is going to bring. Having to go out and find your own food, with your bare hands . . .’ Cris looked down at his own smooth hands as he said this.
Farr didn’t know what to reply to all this. He had come to think of the City folk as superior in wisdom, and it was a shock to find one of them talking such rubbish.
Looking for something to say, he pointed to the board Cris was still cradling. ‘What’s this?’
‘My board. My Surfboard.’ Cris hesitated. ‘You’ve never seen one before?’
Farr reached out and ran his fingertips over the polished surface. It was worked so finely that he could barely feel the unevenness of the wood; it was like touching skin - the skin of a very young child, perhaps. The mesh of shining threads had been inlaid into a fine network of grooves, just deep enough to feel.
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Yes.’ Cris looked proud. ‘It’s not the most expensive you can get. But I’ve put a hell of a lot of work into it, and now I doubt there’s a better board this side of Pall Mall.’
Farr hesitated, embarrassed by his utter ignorance. ‘But what’s it for?’
‘For Surfing.’ Cris held the board out horizontally and flipped up into the Air, bringing his bare feet to rest against the ridged board. The board drifted away from him, of course, but Farr could see how expertly Cris’s feet moved over the surface, almost as if they were a second pair of hands. Cris held his arms out and swayed in the Air. ‘You ride along the Magfield, like this. There’s nothing like it. The feeling of power, of speed . . .’
‘But how? Do you Wave?’
Farr thought about it. ‘And you can go faster than Waving?’
‘Faster?’ Cris laughed again. ‘You can be faster than any car, faster than any farting pig - when you get a clear run, high above the Pole, you feel as if you’re going faster than thought.’ His expression turned misty, dreamlike.
Farr watched him, fascinated and curious.
‘So that’s what the board is for . . . sort of. But it’s also my way out of here. Out of my future. Maybe.’ Cris seemed awkward now, almost shy. ‘I’m good at this, Farr. I’m one of the best in my age group; I’ve won a lot of the events I’ve been eligible for up to now. And in a couple of months I qualify for the big one. The Games. I’ll be up against the best, my first chance . . .’
‘The Games?’
‘The biggest. If you do well there, become a star of the Games, then Parz just opens her legs for you.’ Cris laughed coarsely at that, and Farr grinned uncertainly. ‘I mean it,’ Cris said. ‘Parties at the Palace. Fame.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course it doesn’t last forever. But if you’re good enough you never lose it, the aura. Believe me . . . Will you still be around, for the Games?’
‘I don’t know. Adda . . .’
‘Your friend in the Hospital. Yeah.’ Cris’s mood seemed to swing to embarrassment again. ‘Look, I’m sorry for going on about Surfing. I know you’re in a difficult situation.’
Farr smiled, hoping to put this complex boy at his ease. ‘I enjoy hearing you talk.’
Cris studied Farr speculatively. ‘Listen, have you ever tried Surfing? No, of course you haven’t. Would you like to? We could meet some people I know . . .’
‘I don’t know if I’d be able to.’
‘It looks simple,’ Cris said. ‘It is simple in concept, but difficult to do well. You have to keep your balance, keep the board pressed between you and the Magfield, keep pushing down against the flux lines to build up your speed.’ He closed his eyes briefly and rocked in the Air.
‘I don’t know,’ Farr said again.
Cris eyed him. ‘You should be strong enough. And, coming from the upflux, your sense of balance and direction should be well developed. But maybe you’re right. You’re barrel-chested, and your legs are a little short. Even so it mightn’t be impossible for you to stay aboard for a few seconds . . .’
Farr found himself bridling at this cool assessment. He folded his arms. ‘Let’s do it,’ he said. ‘Where?’
Cris grinned. ‘Come on. I’ll show you.’
Ito took Dura to the Museum.
This was situated in the University area of the City - far Upside, as Dura was learning to call it; in fact, not very far below the Palace itself. The University was a series of large chambers interconnected by richly panelled corridors. Ito explained that they weren’t allowed to disturb the academic calm of the chambers themselves, but she was able to point out libraries, seminar areas filled with groups of earnest young people, arrays of small cells within which the scholars worked alone, poring over their incomprehensible studies.
The University was close to the City’s outer wall, and was so full of natural light the Air seemed to glow. There was an atmosphere of calm here, an intensity which made Dura feel out of place (even more than usual). They passed a group of senior University members; these wore flowing robes and had shaved off their hair, and they barely glanced at the two women as they Waved disdainfully past.
She leaned close to Ito and whispered, ‘Muub. That Administrator at the Hospital. He shaved his head. Does he belong here too?’
Ito smiled. ‘I’ve never met the man; he sounds a little too grand for the likes of us. But, no, if he works at the Hospital he has no connection now with the University. But he may once have studied here, and he wears the bald fashion as a reminder to the rest of us that once he was a scholar.’ Her smile was thin, Dura thought, and tired-looking. ‘People do that sort of thing, you know.’
‘Did you - study - at the University? Or Toba?’
‘Me?’ Ito laughed, gently. ‘Do I look as if I could ever have afforded it? . . . It would be wonderful if Cris could make it here, though. If only we could find the fees - it would give him something higher, something better to aim for. Maybe he wouldn’t waste so much time on that damn Surfboard.’
The Museum was a large cube-shaped structure at the heart of the University complex. It was riddled with passageways and illumination shafts, so that light seeped through the whole of its porous bulk. As they moved slowly through the maze of passageways, the multitude of ports and doorways seemed to conceal a hundred caches of treasure.
One corridor held rows of pigs, rays and Crust-spiders. At first the creatures, looming out of the darkness, made Dura recoil; but she soon realized that these animals were no threat to her - and never would be to anyone else. They were dead, preserved somehow, fixed to the walls of this place in grim parodies of their living postures: gazing at the magnificent, outstretched wings of a ray, pinned against a frame of wood, Dura felt unaccountably sad. A little further along a display showed an Air-pig - dead like the others, but cut open and splayed out with its organs - small masses of tissue fixed to the inner wall of the body - now glistening, exposed for her inspection. Dura shuddered. She had killed dozens of Air-pigs, but she could never have brought herself to touch this cold, clean display.
Oddly, there was no smell in these corridors, either of life or death.
They came to an area containing human artifacts. Much of it was from the City itself, Dura gathered, but from ages past; Ito laughed as she pointed to clothes and hats mounted on the walls. Dura smiled politely, not really seeing the joke. There was a model of the City, finely carved of wood and about a mansheight tall. There was even a lamp inside so that the model was filled with light. Dura spent some time peering at this in delight, with Ito pointing out the features of the City. Here was a toy lumber train entering one of the great ports Downside, and here was the Spine leading down into the underMantle; tiny cars carrying model Fishermen descended along the Spine, seeking lodes of precious Corestuff. And the Palace at the very crown of the City - at the farthest Upside of all - was a rich tapestry glowing with life and colour.
Further along, there were small cases containing artifacts from outside the City. Ito touched her arm. ‘Perhaps you’ll recognize some of this.’ There were spears, and knives, all carved from wood; she saw nets, ponchos, lengths of rope.
Upfluxer artifacts.
None of them looked as if they had come from the Human Beings themselves. But, said Ito, that wasn’t so surprising; there were upfluxer bands all around the fringe of Parz’s hinterland, right around the Star’s Polar cap. Dura studied the objects, aware of her own knife, her rope still wrapped around her waist. The things she carried wouldn’t be out of place inside one of these displays, she realized. With a tinge of bitterness, she wondered if these people would like to pin her and her brother up on the walls, like that poor, dead ray.
Finally, Ito brought her to the Museum’s most famous exhibit (she said). They entered a spherical room perhaps a dozen mansheights across. The light here was dim, coming only from a few masked wood-lamps, and it took some time for Dura’s eyes to adapt to the darkness.
At first she thought there was nothing here, that the chamber was empty. Then, slowly, as if emerging from mist, an object took shape before her. It was a cloud about a mansheight across, a mesh of some shining substance. Ito encouraged her to move a little closer, to pu
sh her face closer to the surface of the mesh. The exhibit was like a tangled-up net, composed of cells perhaps a handsbreadth across. And Dura saw that within the cells of the main mesh there was more detail: sub-meshes, composed of fine cells no wider than a hair-tube. Perhaps, Dura wondered, if she could see well enough she would find still more cells, almost invisibly tiny, within the hair-scale mesh.
Ito showed Dura a plaque on the wall, inscribed with text on the display. ‘“The structure is fractal.”’ Ito pronounced the word carefully. ‘“That is, it shows a similar structure on many scales. Corestuff lends itself to this property, being composed of hyperons, bags of quarks in which are dissolved the orderly nucleons - the protons and neutrons - of the human world.
‘“In regions humans can inhabit Corestuff exists in large metastable islands of matter - the familiar Corestuff bergs retrieved by Fishermen, and used to construct anchor-bands, among other artifacts . . .
‘“But further in, in the deep Core, the hyperonic material can combine to form extraordinary, rich structures like this model. The representation here is based on guesswork - on fragmentary tales from the time of the Core Wars, and on half-coherent accounts of Fishermen. Nevertheless, the University scholars feel that . . .”’
‘But,’ Dura interrupted, ‘what is it?’
Ito turned to her, her face round and smooth in the dim light. ‘Why, it’s a Colonist,’ she said.
‘But the Colonists were human.’
‘No,’ Ito said. ‘Not really. They abandoned us, stealing our machines, and went down into the Core.’ She looked sombre. ‘And this is what they became. They lived in these structures of Corestuff.’
Dura stared into the deep, menacing depths of the model. It was as if, here in the belly of the City, she had been transported to the Core itself and left to face this bizarre, monstrous entity alone.
Xeelee: An Omnibus: Raft, Timelike Infinity, Flux, Ring Page 59
