Read Online The Practice Effect by David Brin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Brin
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pouches looked like it came straightout of a Kelty catalogue. Tomosh’s shoes looked a lot like the tough old sneakers Dennis had worn as a child.
A rambling farmstead came into view as they crested a low hill. A house, barn, and storehouse lay about a hundred meters back from the windbreak along the road. The yard was surrounded by a high stockade. To Dennis the place looked prosperous enough. Tomosh grew excited and pulled on Dennis’s hand. Dennis uneasily followed the boy down the hill.
The farmhouse was a low, rambling earth-sheltered structure with a shallow, sloping roof that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. At first Dennis thought the reflection came from aluminum siding. But as they came closer he saw that the walls were actually laminated wooden panels, beautifully joined and vanished.
The barn was similarly constructed. Both buildings looked like pictures out of a magazine.
Dennis stopped just outside the gate. It was his last chance to ask stupid questions.
“Uh, Tomosh,” he said, “I’m a stranger hereabouts.…”
“Oh, I could tell
that
. You talk funny!”
“Umm, yes. Well, in fact, I’m from a land far away to the … to the northwest.” Dennis had gathered from the boy’s ramblings that it was a direction about which the locals knew little.
“Naturally, I’m a bit curious about your country,” he went on. “Uh, could you tell me, for instance, the name of your land here?”
Without hesitation the boy answered, “It’s Coylia!”
“So your King is the King of Coylia?”
Tomosh nodded with an expression of exaggerated patience. “Right!”
“Good. You know, it’s a funny thing about names, Tomosh. People in different lands call the world by different names. What do your people call it?” Dennis was determined to put “Flasteria” to rest.
“The world?” The boy looked puzzled.
“The whole world.” He motioned at the earth, the sky, the hills. “All the oceans and kingdoms. What do you call it?”
“Oh. Tatir,” he replied earnestly. “That’s the name of the world.”
“Tatir,” Dennis repeated. He tried not to smile. It wasn’t much of an improvement on “Flasteria.”
“Tomosh!”
The shrill cry came from the farmhouse. A rather husky young woman stepped out onto the front porch and shouted again, “Tomosh! Come here!”
The boy frowned. “It’s Aunt Biss. What’s
she
doin’ here? An’ where’s Mom an’ Pop?” He took off toward the farmhouse, leaving Dennis standing at the gate.
Something was obviously wrong. The boy’s aunt looked worried. She knelt and held his shoulders as she explained something earnestly. Tomosh was soon fighting back tears.
Dennis felt awkward. To approach before he was invited by the adult didn’t seem wise. But he couldn’t see just walking away, either.
Nothing looked awry about the house and yard. Real chickens pecked at the ground alongside what looked like a flock of tiny tame ostriches.
The paths about the farmyard apparently were made of the same resilient, hi-tech material as the highway. They had the same raggedy edges, almost blending into the surrounding dirt and grass.
That seemed to be the way the whole farm was put together. The windows in the house were clear and well fitted, but they were inserted at various rough approximations to level and square. Big and small windows were set side by side in no apparent pattern.
Tomosh clutched his aunt’s skirt, now fully in tears. Dennis was concerned. Something must have happened to the boy’s parents.
Finally he decided to approach a few steps. The woman looked up.
“Yourr name is Dennis?” She asked coolly, in the queer local dialect.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Is Tomosh all right? Is there anything I can do to help?”
The offer seemed to surprise her. Her expression thawed just a little. “The boy’s parents are gone. I’ve come to take him to my home. You are welcome to sup and stay until my man comes to gather the goods and lock
A rambling farmstead came into view as they crested a low hill. A house, barn, and storehouse lay about a hundred meters back from the windbreak along the road. The yard was surrounded by a high stockade. To Dennis the place looked prosperous enough. Tomosh grew excited and pulled on Dennis’s hand. Dennis uneasily followed the boy down the hill.
The farmhouse was a low, rambling earth-sheltered structure with a shallow, sloping roof that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. At first Dennis thought the reflection came from aluminum siding. But as they came closer he saw that the walls were actually laminated wooden panels, beautifully joined and vanished.
The barn was similarly constructed. Both buildings looked like pictures out of a magazine.
Dennis stopped just outside the gate. It was his last chance to ask stupid questions.
“Uh, Tomosh,” he said, “I’m a stranger hereabouts.…”
“Oh, I could tell
that
. You talk funny!”
“Umm, yes. Well, in fact, I’m from a land far away to the … to the northwest.” Dennis had gathered from the boy’s ramblings that it was a direction about which the locals knew little.
“Naturally, I’m a bit curious about your country,” he went on. “Uh, could you tell me, for instance, the name of your land here?”
Without hesitation the boy answered, “It’s Coylia!”
“So your King is the King of Coylia?”
Tomosh nodded with an expression of exaggerated patience. “Right!”
“Good. You know, it’s a funny thing about names, Tomosh. People in different lands call the world by different names. What do your people call it?” Dennis was determined to put “Flasteria” to rest.
“The world?” The boy looked puzzled.
“The whole world.” He motioned at the earth, the sky, the hills. “All the oceans and kingdoms. What do you call it?”
“Oh. Tatir,” he replied earnestly. “That’s the name of the world.”
“Tatir,” Dennis repeated. He tried not to smile. It wasn’t much of an improvement on “Flasteria.”
“Tomosh!”
The shrill cry came from the farmhouse. A rather husky young woman stepped out onto the front porch and shouted again, “Tomosh! Come here!”
The boy frowned. “It’s Aunt Biss. What’s
she
doin’ here? An’ where’s Mom an’ Pop?” He took off toward the farmhouse, leaving Dennis standing at the gate.
Something was obviously wrong. The boy’s aunt looked worried. She knelt and held his shoulders as she explained something earnestly. Tomosh was soon fighting back tears.
Dennis felt awkward. To approach before he was invited by the adult didn’t seem wise. But he couldn’t see just walking away, either.
Nothing looked awry about the house and yard. Real chickens pecked at the ground alongside what looked like a flock of tiny tame ostriches.
The paths about the farmyard apparently were made of the same resilient, hi-tech material as the highway. They had the same raggedy edges, almost blending into the surrounding dirt and grass.
That seemed to be the way the whole farm was put together. The windows in the house were clear and well fitted, but they were inserted at various rough approximations to level and square. Big and small windows were set side by side in no apparent pattern.
Tomosh clutched his aunt’s skirt, now fully in tears. Dennis was concerned. Something must have happened to the boy’s parents.
Finally he decided to approach a few steps. The woman looked up.
“Yourr name is Dennis?” She asked coolly, in the queer local dialect.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Is Tomosh all right? Is there anything I can do to help?”
The offer seemed to surprise her. Her expression thawed just a little. “The boy’s parents are gone. I’ve come to take him to my home. You are welcome to sup and stay until my man comes to gather the goods and lock
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