IN THE MOUNTAINS OF FIRE by Dolores J. Nurss
Volume
II: Tests of Fire and Blood
Chapter 33 Tumblebugs
Saturday, May 23, 2708,
continued We hear the roaring of
engines at least a mile away. Before we
reach the crater's rim the noise hurts our ears and thrums against our
chests. Cautiously we peer over the lip
of stone onto a gigantic banner declaring "Tumblebugs!" in
fluorescent colors. Down below vehicles
careen around the crater's bowl, up the steep sides to tumble down again,
rolling head over heels by grace of heavy, global cages of rollbars that
encircle every vehicle. Under the growling we can
now distinguish the shrieks and laughter of the customers and, way down there,
we can watch them sporting with fear, their voluminous garments flapping wildly
around them as they take the curves at killer speeds to bounce harmlessly off
each other. How much technology went
into such sturdy material, in this hard and backwards land? Higher up on the opposite
slope I can see the open-air masseurs and chiropractors restoring their charges
back to perfect alignment--medical practitioners dedicated to treating excess
fun, while new-made cripples, without help, lose their livelihoods every
day. And still other patrons of this
fine establishment soak off the day's exertions in pools fed by sulfurous hot
springs that stink like hell and probably feel like heaven to those less weary
than ourselves. That smell cuts through
even the aroma of so much stapleseed oil burning down below. Look at them!
Popping around like corn in an oiled wok, wasting the subsistence of a
land where three-fourths of the populace would count themselves lucky to own a
draft-animal cart. "They have no
idea," Imad says, "of what they play upon." His eyes burn, and not from the sulfur in the
air. "They have no idea what could
erupt right out from under them." I
listen to the customers scream in their thrills, all of them unaware of what a
scream can mean. My ears slowly adjust to
all the noise till I hear, to my surprise, the whimpering of the twins. I look and see the little redheads shiver
visibly, pressed tight against each other.
Chulan goes over and hugs them, murmuring, "Soon dear ones,
soon," over and over till their shivering abates. Fatima explains to me,
mouth practically on my ear, "They saw both of their parents run over as
their family fled the farm. They managed
to steal half-broken colts and so escaped.
They only stop fearing mechanical vehicles when they get to blow them
up." I suddenly remember. "Their horses! They rode superbly-trained horses into
battle--what happened to them?" "Back in their own
stables, best not to know where."
Nor to know who takes care of them in the interval--I get the picture. The machines putter to a
halt to let new customers take the place of the last bunch. "Come on," Lucinda growls more
softly than usual. "Time you boys
got used to machines--that's tonight's shelter and tomorrow's rendezvous point
down there." Yan bursts into tears and
Yaimis buries his face is his brother's shirt. Kief squats down beside
them. "This is a kind of
battle," he says to them. "All
that noise down there, that's the enemy.
You fight it by going forward anyway.
You go where the noise tries to keep you from going. In that way you win." Slowly Yaimis raises his head while Yan wipes
his nose on his sleeve. Kanarik pulls her luck-doll
out from within her shirt and holds it up.
"And you don't face it alone.
The dead go with you--your mommy and daddy go with you down into the
noise. They never left you, you
know." As the tumblebugs rev up
again, I see their hands steal to their breasts where I expect they have their
own luck-dolls hidden within their clothes.
Kief helps them to their feet. "Damien," Kief
says, "Sing your song while we march.
Sing about Kanarik and the others, in the Bullet-Dance." So, hidden under the roar of the engines, in
his cracking soprano/tenor voice, Damien sings back to us how brave we'd been
on that terrifying day before the twins joined up with us, and though they
still shudder uncontrollably, lips quivering as one, they march with us around
the rim to the other side. * * * Turns out the entire staff
of Tumblebugs, management excepted, consists of rebel sympathizers, “Long
before it came into fashion for fancy-servants,” Lucinda drawls, “But Cyran’s
kept this card close to hir chest.”
They've been positioning thus for years.
Lucinda got intelligence from the gardeners that customers here let
information slip, sometimes, relaxing in the baths or softening under the
kneading masseuse's hands. For instance,
one fool sent a servant all the way down to town to fetch a forgotten coat,
left at his job--in Soskia's laboratories.
The servant has not forgotten the lock combinations since. First thing we get, even
before food, are baths—we’ve had too little opportunity in that department
lately, and unfortunately our odor would precede us in a nice establishment
like this. At the first whiff of soap
Aichi whoops for delight and strips off her clothes without being told, dancing
about like a skinny little fairy with tiny buds of breasts and a surprising
hint of curls between her legs--who knows how old she is? Kanarik takes her by the hand and dances with
her into the bath-room, and hungry though we are, none of us can contain our
joy. Servants bathe in
utilitarian concrete tubs, rectangles all lined up in a double row with the
spigots down the middle, a grid without privacy or decoration. But we all get the same slippery mineral
water that the rich enjoy, hot from the planet's heart and brewing marvelous
witchery around our weary limbs--oh, I could spend hours in such water! Aichi kicks up a fountain of diamond-drops
and laughs till the concrete echoes with her mirth. All too soon we must drag
ourselves back up into the world of gravity, and towel each other off. I gasp when Kief smacks me suddenly with a
rolled-up towel and laughingly says, "C'mere, you!" I turn as red as mahogany from crown to
sole--I hope he attributes it to the water's heat as he towels me off with
brisk enthusiasm. Thank God he leaves
the private parts for me to dry! When he lets me do the same
for him, I feel as though I polish some brazen idol, like I do something
sacredly profane. How hard, the muscles
of his arms, his back, his calves. How
hard his chest, his abdomen, his...oh! I
avert my face as he hastily grabs the towel and turns his back, as embarrassed
as myself. He hurries into the
uniform-trousers supplied him before his skin has completely dried. Should I say
something? Dare I? Should I pretend that nothing happened? Yes, I can do that, say nothing, and he'll
say nothing, and between us we'll agree by default that nothing indeed
happened, who pays any attention to these little betrayals of the body, anyway? I, too, don the servant's uniform issued to
me before the steam completely leaves my flesh. We emerge from the room of
the sulfurous fog out into the sharp mountain air. Not looking at me, Kief quickly drops a shawl
over my shoulders and accepts one for himself, wrapping all those muscles out
of sight. In winter it snows up in these
mountains, even in this beginner-range before the higher peaks of perpetual
snow, and already autumn feels the chill. Meanwhile servants cook up
supper--oh, supper!--outside on a ramada grill, coals glowing the same color as
the sunset. I smell sweet potatoes
sizzling in their skins and my mouth waters. "It's only vegetarian
fare," Lucinda tells us.
"Company rules don't allow meat at the spa--some of the patrons
find it offensive." Fine with me--I
could eat a tree right now, root to crown. Yet my appetite abates as I
watch the twins take seats at the table.
They move like blind children, their eyes as red as their hair, as
Chulan guides their hands to the chairs.
Clumsily they fumble at the flatware, though they eat lustily enough. Once again I catch a whiff of marijuana, when
I lean that way for the salt-paste. Fatima notices my
glare. "Don't worry," she
tells me. "They won't need much
wits for awhile."
The engines have all died down
for the night. At least the boys will sleep.
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