The Bromeliad 1 - Truckers

by Terry Pratchett

'Look at 'em,' he said. 'Powerful lot of stuff in there that we could find useful, and the Stationeri guard it like, like-' 'Like something well guarded?' said Masklin.

  'Right. Right. That's exactly right. They keep looking hard at 'em. Reading, they call it. But they don't understand any of it.' There was a whirr from the Thing in Torrit's arms, and a few lights lit up.

  'Books are repositories of knowledge?' it said.

  'There's said to be a lot in them,' said Dorcas.

  'It is vital that you obtain books,' said the Thing. 'Stationeri hold on to 'em,' said Dorcas. 'Unless you know how to read books properly they inflame the brain, they say.' 'In here, please,' said Gurder, shifting a card­board barrier.

  Someone was waiting for them, sitting stiffly on a pile of cushions with his back to them.

  'Ah. Gurder,' he said. 'Come in. Good.' It was the Abbot. He didn't turn around.

  Masklin prodded Gurder. 'It was bad enough just now,' he said. 'Why are we doing this again?' Gurder gave him a look which seemed to say: Trust me, this is the only way.

  'Have you arranged for some food, Gurder?' said the Abbot.

  'My lord, I was just-' 'Go and do it now.' 'Yes, my lord.' Gurder gave Masklin another desperate look and scurried away.

  The nomes stood sheepishly, wondering what was going to happen next.

  The Abbot spoke.

  'I am nearly fifteen years old,' he said. 'I am older even than some departments in the Store. I have seen many strange things, and soon I am going to meet Arnold Bros (est. 1905) in the hope that I have been a good and dutiful nome. I am so old that there are nomes who think that in some way I am the Store, and fear that when I am gone the Store will end. Now you tell me this is so. Who is in charge?' Masklin looked at Torrit. But everyone else looked at him.

  'Well, er,' he said. 'Me. I suppose. Just for the moment.' 'That's right,' said Torrit, relieved. 'Just for the moment I'm puttin' him in charge, see. Because I'm the leader.' The Abbot nodded.

  'A very wise decision,' he said. Torrit beamed.

  'Stay here with the talking box,' said the Abbot to Masklin. 'The rest of you, please go. There will be food brought to you. Please go and wait.' 'Urn,' said Masklin, 'no.' There was a pause.

  Then the Abbot said, quite softly, 'Why not?' 'Because, you see, urn, we're all together,' said Masklin. 'We've never been split up.' 'A very commendable sentiment. You'll find, however, that life doesn't work like that. Come, now. I can hardly harm you, can I?' 'You talk to him, Masklin,' said Grimma. We won't be far away. It's not important.' He nodded reluctantly.

  When they had left, the Abbot turned around. Close to, he was even older than he had looked before. His face wasn't just wrinlded, it was one big wrinlde. He was middle-aged when old Torrit was born, Masklin told himself. He's old enough to be Granny Morkie's grandfather! The Abbot smiled. It was a difficult smile. It was as if he'd had smiling explained to him but had never had chance to practice.

  'Your name, I believe, is Masklin,' he said.

  Masklin couldn't deny it.

  'I don't understand!' he said. 'You can see me! Ten minutes ago you said I didn't even exist and now you're talking to me!' 'There is nothing strange about it,' said the Abbot. 'Ten minutes ago it was official. Goodness me, I can't go around letting people believe that I've been wrong all along, can I? The Abbots have been denying there is anything Outside for gen­erations. I can't suddenly say they were all wrong. People would think I've gone mad.' Would they?' said Masklin.

  'Oh, yes. Politics, you see. Abbots can't go changing their minds all the time. You'll find this out. The important thing about being a leader is not being right or wrong, but being certain. Otherwise people wouldn't know what to think. Of course, it helps to be right as well,' the Abbot conceded. He leaned back.

  'There were terrible wars in the Store, once,' he said. 'Terrible wars. A terrible time. Nome against nome. Decades ago, of course. It seemed that there was always some nome who thought his family should rule the Store. The Battle of the Freight Elevator, the Goods Inwards Campaign, the dreadful Mezzanine Wars... But that's past, now. And do you know why?' 'No,' said Masklin.

  'We stopped it. The Stationeri. By cunning and common sense and diplomacy. We made them see that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects nomes to be at peace with one another. Now then. Supposing that I, in there, had said I believed you. People would have thought, the old boy has gone off his head:' The Abbot chuckled. 'And then they'd have said, have the Stationeri been wrong all this time? They would have panicked. Well, of course, that would never do. We must hold the nomes together. You know how they bicker at every opportunity.' 'That's true,' said Masklin. 'And they always blame you for everything and say, what're you going to do about it?' 'You've noticed, have you?' said the Abbot, smiling. 'It seems to me that you have exactly the right qualification for being a leader.' 'I don't think so!' 'That's what I mean. You don't want to be one. I didn't want to be Abbot.' He drummed his fingers on his walking stick, and then looked sharply at Masklin.

  'People are always a lot more complicated than you think,' he said. 'It's very important to remem­ber that.' 'I will,' said Masklin, not knowing what else to say.

  'You don't believe in Arnold Bros (est. 1905), do you?' &aid the Abbot. It was more a statement than a question.

  'Well, er-' 'I've seen him, you know. When I was a boy. I climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts, by myself and hid, and I saw him at his desk writing.' 'Oh?' 'He had a beard.' 'Oh.' The Abbot drummed his fingers on his stick. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. Then he said, 'Hmm. Where was your home?' Masklin told him. Funnily, it seemed a lot better now he looked back on it. More summers than winters, more nuts than rat. No bananas or electric or carpets, but plenty of fresh air. And in memory there didn't seem to be as much drizzle and frost. The Stationeri listened politely.

  'It was a lot better when we had more people,' Masklin finished. He glanced at his feet. 'You could come and stay. When the Store is demo­thinged.' The Abbot laughed. 'I'm not sure I'd fit in,' he said. 'I'm not sure I want to believe in your Outside. It sounds cold and dangerous. Anyway, I shall be going on a rather more mysterious journey. And now, please excuse me, I must rest.' He thumped on the floor with his stick. Gurder appeared as if by magic.

  'Take Masklin away and educate him a little,' said the Abbot, 'and then the both of you come back here. But leave that black box, please. I wish to learn more about it. Put it on the floor.' Masklin did so. The Abbot poked it with his stick.

  'Black box,' he said, 'what are you, and what is your purpose?' 'Jam the Flight Recorder and Navigation Com­puter of the starship Swan. I have many functions. My current major function is to guide and advise those nomes shipwrecked when their scout ship crashed here fifteen thousand years ago.' 'It talks like this all the time,' said Masklin apologetically.

  'Who are these nomes of which you speak?' said the Abbot.

  'All nomes.' 'Is that your only purpose?' 'I have also been given the task of keeping nomes safe and taking them home.' 'Very commendable,' said the Abbot. He looked up at the other two.

  'Run along, then,' he commanded. 'Show him a little of the world, Gurder. And then I shall have a task for both of you.' Educate him a little, the Abbot had said.

  That meant starting with The Book of Nome, which consisted of pieces of paper sewn together with marks on them.

  'Humans use it for cigarettes,' said Gurder, and read the first dozen verses. They listened in silence, and then Granny Morkie said, 'So this Arnold Bros-' '-(est. 1905)-' said Gurder primly.

  Whatever,' said Granny. 'He built the Store just for nomes?' 'Er. Ye-ess,' said Gurder, uncertainly.

  'What was here before, then?' said Granny.

  'The Site.' Gurder looked uncomfortable. 'You see, the Abbot says there is nothing outside the Store. Urn.' 'But we've come-' 'He says that tales of Outside are just dreams.' 'So when I said all that about where we lived, he was just laughing at me?' said Masklin.

  'It is often ver
y hard to know what the Abbot really believes,' said Gurder. 'I think most of all he believes in Abbots.' 'You believe us, don't you?' said Grimma. Gurder nodded, half-hesitantly.

  'I've often wondered where the lorries go, and where the humans come from,' he said. 'The Abbot gets very angry when you mention it, though. The other thing is, there's been a new season. That means something. Some of us have been watching humans, and when there's a new season something unusual is happening.' 'How can you have seasons when you don't know about weather?' said Masklin.

  Weather has got nothing to do with seasons. Look, someone can take the old people down to the Food Hall, and I'll show you two. It's all very odd. But-' and now Gurder's face was a picture of misery '-Arnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldn't destroy the Store, would he?'

  6

  iii. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Let there be Signs, so that All within shall know the Proper Running of the Store.

  iv. On the Moving Stairs, let the Sign Be: Dogs and Pushchairs Must be Carried; v. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for many carried neither dog nor pushchair; vi. On the Lifts, let the Sign Be: This Lift to Carry Ten Persons; vii. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for oftimes the Lifts carried only two or three; viii. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Truly Humans are Stupid, who do not understand plain language.

  From The Book of Nome, Regulations v.III-VIII It was a long walk through the busy underfloor world.

  They found that Stationeri could go where they liked. The other departments didn't fear them, because the Stationeri weren't a true department. There were no women and children, for one thing.

  'So people have to join?' said Masklin.

  We are selected,' Gurder corrected. 'Several intelligent boys from each department every year. But when you're a Stationeri, you have to forget about your department and serve the whole Store.' Why can't women be Stationeri, then?' said Grimma.

  'It's a well-known fact that women can't read,' said Gurder. 'It's not their fault, of course. Appar­ently their brains get too hot. With the strain, you know. It's just one of those things.' 'Fancy,' said Grimma. Masklin glanced side­ways at her. He'd heard her use that sweet, innocent tone of voice before. It meant that, pretty soon, there was going to be trouble.

  Trouble or not, it was amazing the effect that Gurder had on people. They would stand aside and bow slightly as he went past, and one or two of them held small children up and pointed him out. Even the guards at the border-crossings touched their helmets respectfully.

  All around them was the bustle of the Store moving through time. Thousands of nomes, Masklin thought. I didn't even think there were any numbers that big. A world made up of people.

  He remembered hunting alone, running along the deep furrows in the big field behind the motorway. There was nothing around but earth and flints, stretching into the distance. The whole sky was an upturned bowl with him at the centre.

  Here, he felt that if he turned round sudden­ly he would knock someone over. He wondered what it would be like, living here and never knowing anywhere else. Never being cold, never being wet, never being afraid.

  You might start thinking it was never possible to be anything else... He was vaguely aware that they'd gone up a slope and out through another gap into the big emptiness of the Store itself. It was night -Closing Time - but there were bright lights in the sky, except that he'd have to start learning to call it the ceiling.

  'This is the Haberdashery Department,' said Gurder. 'Now, do you see the sign hanging up there?' Masklin peered into the misty distance and nodded. He could see it. It had huge red letter shapes ona white banner.

  'It 'should say Christmas Fayre,' said the Stationeri. 'That's the right season, it comes after Summer Bonanza and before Spring Into Spring Fashions. But instead it says-' Gurder narrowed his eyes, and his lips moved soundless­ly for a moment '-Final Reductions. We've been wondering what that means.' 'This is just a thought,' said Grimma, sarcas­tically, 'it's only a small idea, you understand. I expect big ideas would make my head explode. But doesn't it mean, well, everything is finally being reduced?' 'Oh, it can't mean anything as simple as that. You have to interpret these signs,' said Gurder. 'Once they had one saying Fire Sale, and we didn't see them sell any fire.' What do all the other things say?' said Masklin. Everything being Finally Reduced was too horri­ble to think about.

  Well, that one over there says Everything Must Go,' said Gurder. 'But that turns up every year. It's Arnold Bros (est. 1905)'s way of telling us that we must lead good lives because we all die eventually. And those two over there, they're always there too.' He looked solemn. 'No one really believes them any more. There were wars over them, years ago. Silly superstition, really. I mean, I don't think there is a monster called Prices Slashed who walks around the Store at night, seeking out bad people. It's just something to frighten naughty children with.' Gurder bit his lip. 'There's another odd thing,' he said. 'See those things against the wall? They're called shelves. Sometimes humans take things off them, sometimes they put things on them. But just lately ... well, they just take things away.' Some of the shelves were empty.

  Masklin wasn't too familiar with the subtleties of human behaviour. Humans were humans, in the same way that cows were just cows. Obvi­ously there was some way that other cows or humans told them apart, but he'd never been able to spot it. If there was any sense in any­thing they did, he'd never been able to work it out.

  "Everything Must Go",' he said.

  'Yes, but not go,' said Gurder. 'Not actually go. You don't really think it means actually go, do you? I'm sure Arnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldn't allow it. Would he?' 'Couldn't rightly say,' said Masklin. 'Never heard of him till we came here.' 'Oh, yes,' said Gurder, in a meek voice. 'From Outside, you said. It sounded very interest­ing. And nice.' Grimma took Masklin's hand and squeezed it gently.

  'It's nice here, too,' she said. He looked sur­prised.

  Well, it is,' she said defiantly. 'You know the others think so, too. It's warm and there's amaz­ing food, even if they have funny ideas about women's brains.' She turned back to Gurder. Why can't you ask Arnold Bros (eat. 1905) what is going on?' 'Oh, I don't think we should do that!' said Gurder hurriedly.

  'Why not? Make's sense, if he's in charge,' said Masklin. 'Have you ever even seen Arnold Bros (eat. 1905)?' 'The Abbot did, once. When he was young he climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts. He doesn't talk about it, though.' Masklin thought hard about this as they walked back. There had never been any religion or politics back home. The world was just too big to worry about things like that. But he had serious doubts about Arnold Bros (est. 1905). After all, if he had built the Store for nomes, why hadn't he made it nome-sized? But, he thought, it was probably not the time to ask r questions like that.

  If you thought hard enough, he'd always considered, you could work out everything. The wind, for example. It had always puzzled him until the day he'd realized that it was caused by all the trees waving about.

  They found the rest of the group near the Abbot's quarters. Food had been brought up for them. Granny Morkie was explaining to a couple of baffled Stationeri that the pineapples weren't a patch on the ones she used to catch at home.

  Torrit looked up from a hunk of bread.

  'Everyone's been looking for you two,' he said. 'The Abbot fellow wants you. This bread's soft. You don't have to spit on it like the bread we had at ho-' 'Never you mind going on about that!' snapped Granny, suddenly full of loyalty for the old hole.

  'Well, it's true,' muttered Torrit. We never had stuff like this. I mean, all these sausages and meat in big lumps, not stuff you have to kill, no ferreting around in dirty bins...' He saw the others glaring at him, and lapsed into shame-faced muttering.

  'Shut up, you daft old fool,' said Granny. Well, we dint have no foxes, I expect?' said Torrit. 'Like Mrs Coom and my old mate Mert, they never-' Her furious glare finally worked. His face went white.

  'It just wasn't all sunshine,' he whispered, shaking his head.
'Not all sunshine, that's all I'm saying.' What does he mean?' said Gurder, brightly. 'He don't mean nothing,' snapped Granny. 'Oh.' Gurder turned to Masklin. 'I know what a fox is,' he said. 'I can read Human books, you know. Quite well. I read a book called-' he hesi­tated '-Our Furry Friends, I think it was. A handsome and agile hunter, the red fox scav­enges carrion, fruit and small rodents. It - I'm sorry, is something wrong?' Torrit was choking on his bread while the others slapped him hurriedly on the back. Masklin took the young Stationeri by the arm and quickly walked him away.

  Was it something I said?' said Gurder.

  'In a way,' said Masklin. 'And now I think the Abbot wants to see us, doesn't he?' The old man was sitting very still, with the Thing on his lap, staring at nothing.

  He paid them no attention when they came in. Once or twice his fingers drummed on the Thing's black surface.

  'Sir?' said Gurder, after a while. 'Hmm?' 'You wanted to see us, sir?' 'Ah,' said the Abbot vaguely. 'Young Gurder, isn't it?' 'Yes, sir!' 'Oh. Good.' There was silence. Gurder coughed politely. 'You wanted to see us, sir?' he repeated. 'Ah.' The Abbot nodded gently. 'Oh. Yes. You, there. The young man with the spear.' 'Me?' said Masklin.

  'Yes. Have you spoken to this, this thing?' The Thing? Well, in a way. It talks funny, though. It's hard to understand.' 'It has talked to me. It has told me it was made by nomes, a long time ago. It eats electric. It says it can hear electric things. It has said-' he glared at the thing in his lap '-it has said that it has heard Arnold Bros (est. 1905) plans to demolish the Store. It is a mad thing, it talks about stars, it says we came from a star, flying. But....here is talk of strange events. I wonder to myself, is this a messenger from the Management, sent to warn us? Or is it a trap set by Prices Slashed? So!' He thumped the Thing with a wrinkled hand. We must ask Arnold Bros (eat 1905). We will learn his truth.' 'But, sir!' Gurder burst out. 'You're far too -I mean, it wouldn't be right for you to go all the way to the Top again, it's a terrible dangerous journey!' 'Quite so, boy. So you will go instead. You can read Human, and your boisterous friend with the spear can go with you.' Gurder sagged to his knees. 'Sir? All the way to the Top? But I am not worthy-' His voice faded away.