Read Online Magic Dirt: The Best of Sean Williams by Sean Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sean Williams
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option we have not considered.”
“And this is?”
Max thought for a second, and I waited breathlessly for his suggestion. I knew that Kris would eventually turn the Council against Davo; Kris was too persuasive and the people too afraid of resurrecting old fears. But if Max—whom the people respected at least as much as they listened to Kris, if only because he was the oldest—spoke against Kris, Davo might be given the opportunity to continue.
Max; no doubt aware of his role, weighed his words carefully. “The third option is to allow David to continue until such time as the radio is working, then reconvene the Council to decide the next step. I’m sure he can be trusted not to attempt any communication until the Council advises him that it is our wish to do so.”
Kris looked askance at Davo, who nodded eagerly. “Sure. No problems.”
Kris looked unhappy. The suggestion was so reasonable that he had no choice but to call a second vote. The muttering of the crowd became less strident as human curiosity began to break through the initial shock.
And, sure enough, this time the result was conclusive: sixty-three in favour, less than twenty against, and the rest abstaining.
Kris scowled, but capitulated. “It is decided. I must warn you, David, that any deviation from this agreement will be severely punished.”
Davo grinned. “No shit, bwana—I mean, of course I’ll behave myself.”
“Then this meeting is closed. Thank you all for coming.” Kris turned away from the crowd and bent to whisper with the Senior Councillors.
“Almost too easy,” said Max at my side.
“What?”
He looked at me. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
We helped Davo through the crowd toward the nearest bridge. Despite his handicap, no one offered to help us get him home. Jerrie, however, came with us, and remained behind after we left Davo’s workshop.
Max and I checked our garden together, spraying a few of the sickly plants with clean water.
“You go to bed,” he said when we finished the chore, taking a seat on a rusted air conditioning vent and gazing out to sea. “I think I’ll stay up for a while.”
I studied him closely; his eyes were black pits, sunken in waxy flesh.
“You must be exhausted,” I said.
He nodded, and gripped my shoulder. “I am, yes, but I will not sleep. Not tonight.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t understand, and headed for the stairs. As I left, Max moved to a position facing Davo’s building. A single candle flame burned on my friend’s floor, and my foster’s bulky frame occluded it, like the closing of an eye.
I fell instantly into a deep, dark sleep.
Less than an hour passed, however, before I awoke, scrabbling at my mask as though I were suffocating. I sat upright and listened to the sound of my own breath, wondering whether it had been the mask that had woken me or something else: a nagging sensation that something important, somewhere, was taking place.
I left my bed and padded upstairs to Max’s floor. He wasn’t there, asleep or awake. When I checked the gardens, he wasn’t there either. The plants rustled in the night breeze, and I shivered.
The night had chilled dramatically. Lifting my mask, I tested the air. It smelled of water—clean water from the melting south. The tide had turned.
I removed the mask and breathed deeply, thinking that this was what had woken me. But sleep would be hard to come by without knowing where Max had got to. Suicide never once crossed my mind, but the thought of being alone in our dying building, even for a night, made me nervous.
The Strange Stars hung like sentinels directly overhead as I ran down the stairs and across the bridge connecting our building to its neighbour. If my foster and friend weren’t up talking, then maybe Davo would know where Max had got to.
The workshop was still and silent; no one broke the peace there,
“And this is?”
Max thought for a second, and I waited breathlessly for his suggestion. I knew that Kris would eventually turn the Council against Davo; Kris was too persuasive and the people too afraid of resurrecting old fears. But if Max—whom the people respected at least as much as they listened to Kris, if only because he was the oldest—spoke against Kris, Davo might be given the opportunity to continue.
Max; no doubt aware of his role, weighed his words carefully. “The third option is to allow David to continue until such time as the radio is working, then reconvene the Council to decide the next step. I’m sure he can be trusted not to attempt any communication until the Council advises him that it is our wish to do so.”
Kris looked askance at Davo, who nodded eagerly. “Sure. No problems.”
Kris looked unhappy. The suggestion was so reasonable that he had no choice but to call a second vote. The muttering of the crowd became less strident as human curiosity began to break through the initial shock.
And, sure enough, this time the result was conclusive: sixty-three in favour, less than twenty against, and the rest abstaining.
Kris scowled, but capitulated. “It is decided. I must warn you, David, that any deviation from this agreement will be severely punished.”
Davo grinned. “No shit, bwana—I mean, of course I’ll behave myself.”
“Then this meeting is closed. Thank you all for coming.” Kris turned away from the crowd and bent to whisper with the Senior Councillors.
“Almost too easy,” said Max at my side.
“What?”
He looked at me. “Nothing. Let’s go.”
We helped Davo through the crowd toward the nearest bridge. Despite his handicap, no one offered to help us get him home. Jerrie, however, came with us, and remained behind after we left Davo’s workshop.
Max and I checked our garden together, spraying a few of the sickly plants with clean water.
“You go to bed,” he said when we finished the chore, taking a seat on a rusted air conditioning vent and gazing out to sea. “I think I’ll stay up for a while.”
I studied him closely; his eyes were black pits, sunken in waxy flesh.
“You must be exhausted,” I said.
He nodded, and gripped my shoulder. “I am, yes, but I will not sleep. Not tonight.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t understand, and headed for the stairs. As I left, Max moved to a position facing Davo’s building. A single candle flame burned on my friend’s floor, and my foster’s bulky frame occluded it, like the closing of an eye.
I fell instantly into a deep, dark sleep.
Less than an hour passed, however, before I awoke, scrabbling at my mask as though I were suffocating. I sat upright and listened to the sound of my own breath, wondering whether it had been the mask that had woken me or something else: a nagging sensation that something important, somewhere, was taking place.
I left my bed and padded upstairs to Max’s floor. He wasn’t there, asleep or awake. When I checked the gardens, he wasn’t there either. The plants rustled in the night breeze, and I shivered.
The night had chilled dramatically. Lifting my mask, I tested the air. It smelled of water—clean water from the melting south. The tide had turned.
I removed the mask and breathed deeply, thinking that this was what had woken me. But sleep would be hard to come by without knowing where Max had got to. Suicide never once crossed my mind, but the thought of being alone in our dying building, even for a night, made me nervous.
The Strange Stars hung like sentinels directly overhead as I ran down the stairs and across the bridge connecting our building to its neighbour. If my foster and friend weren’t up talking, then maybe Davo would know where Max had got to.
The workshop was still and silent; no one broke the peace there,
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