Skyland (14 page)

Nothing.

The grumbling in the chair maker's stomach
made him notice, again, that there was no food. The tea he had
drunk that morning made him notice, again, that there was no
toilet.

He stepped around the bed and began to walk
again around the room. His head nodded as he walked, his eyes
blinked heavily, his shoulders bent. But he rubbed his ear and the
bruise on his nose to stay awake.

He shivered.

And he walked. Around and around and around
the room. One side, then another, then another. Walking reminded
him that he was alive. For now. Perhaps for not much longer, but at
least for now.

There were tears on his face.

Hot first, steaming against his shivering
cheeks, they fell, then chilled in the air of the room. They ran
over his nose, salted his lips, dropped from his chin.

Belle...

And he walked.

Again.

Again and again. Around the room, and around
again, and again.

One knee gave out and he tumbled to the
floor.

He pushed himself up, braced his hands
against the black wall, took another step.

Belle...

His knees wobbled.

Nothing you can do... There is nothing
you can do. Nothing you can do...
A sob broke through the
silent tears at the thought.
Nothing you can do...

He leaned against the bed.

Then he sat. Then, finally, he lay down. The
mattress, squeaked under him. He curled up. His arthritic knees
creaked, but he pulled them up tight under his chin. The tears ran
sideways over his temple, onto the mattress.

He couldn't sleep. The shivering and the
squeaking and the thinking kept him awake.

He thought of Belle. He thought of the
professor and the woman who'd poured the tea, and wondered where
they were now. He thought of the tea, the tea that had reminded him
that there was no toilet, and he thought of the flying bullet ships
whizzing in its reflection, and he wondered what was happening in
the Sky outside the obsidian room.

The chair maker shivered.

He knew why the bearded man had been so
calm. He did not need to threaten the chair maker, the cold would
do that for him.

Belle...

Chapter
Sixteen

in which there is... an
informant?

The hanging contraption of plastic links
wasn't much more a bed than it was a chair. Harper curled
uncomfortably in it. The guard had showed him how to expand the
chair-bag so that it hung like a hammock and he could sleep in it.
He'd showed Harper to a storage unit in one corner where there were
pillows and blankets and then told him to sleep well.

He didn't.

The pillow didn't make the chain-link
chair-bed any softer, and the blanket... the blanket didn't do
anything whatsoever. Here, as on the Skyland ship – chilly after
the scorching heat of Skyland, then oven-like after the cold of the
obsidian room – the air, after a few hours, just felt... neutral.
Harper felt neither heat nor cold on his skin. The chains of the
chair-bed were no less uncomfortable and the seat no warmer with
the flimsy bedclothes. Harper wondered why, in the perfectly
temperature-controlled rooms of the ship, they even had blankets.
He suspected both pillows and blankets were symbolic. Cheap
reminders of home for the Union soldiers. Comforts, if not
physical, at least psychological.

Harper was not comforted.

A few hours after the angry man left, most
of the civilians had made their seats into hammocks and laid down.
Some snored softly. Harper lay awake. The door opened and closed a
few times. People come in and out quietly. Harper did not look
over. He lay awake watching the automatically-dimming room. He
curled up one way, then the other, tossing and turning trying to
find some sleepable position. Eventually, he lay still, eyes open,
arms crossed over his chest feeling the rubber links of the chair
bite into his back through the blanket, wondering–

"It's not so bad, you know."

The voice came from the darkness on his
right. Harper turned his head. Ben the
Transport-worker-turned-soldier was back. He sat in the hanging
seat he had vacated earlier.

He had taken off his red Transport Union
uniform and put on the dirt colored one of the Union soldiers.
Harper looked at the tag on the chest. In the low light he could
just see the G of "Gather." The new soldier looked down, not
meeting Harper's eyes. He played with the cuffs of his new uniform.
It looked slightly too long in the sleeves.

"What are you doing here?" Harper kept his
voice low. None of the snorers around him broke their rhythm.

Ben didn't look up. "I'm allowed to walk
around."

"So?"

"I just thought... Look, I feel bad about...
about this afternoon. I'm sorry."

"About?"

"Look, I know it's your planet. I just
wanted to apologize for..."

"Going to war with my home?"

"No, just.... I don't know. Being angry.
Before. I know not all of Skyland is the same. Like you. You're
different. You left." Finally, he looked at Harper. One side of his
mouth crooked up into a half-smile. "And we're on the same
side."

"I am not on a side."

"You're helping the Union."

"I know." He didn't know what to say to the
rambling, trying-to-be-friendly soldier. He wasn't in the mood to
say anything at all. He turned his head back to the black ceiling,
wondering why the guy was even making an effort to talk to him at
all. Then, "What do you mean?"

"What?"

"You said 'It's not so bad,'" Harper
clarified. "What did you mean? What's not so bad?"

"This..." Ben gestured vaguely. "Everything.
This whole... situation. Us being here."

"Five thousand people are dead and we're
going to war."

"I know, I know. I just mean... Look, in the
Transport Union, I was a steward. A
steward.
I brought
people crackers and asked if they wanted magazines. I've been going
all over the galaxy for years but not actually
going
anywhere." He looked at Harper, eyes wide, almost pleading.

Harper didn't reply.

"Now I can do something," he went on
Something significant. Something–"

"Wrong."

The soldier was silent for a moment. "You
know it's not."

Harper rolled his head back over to the
right for a second to stare at the man next to him. He looked at
Ben's face. He could barely see his eyes, glinting in the low glow
of the lights on the floor. Ben turned away.

Harper looked back at the ceiling. "I don't
know."
Is it wrong?
"I really don't."

"But I don't just mean it's not so bad for
me. I know, that's selfish. But think of yourself. Think of your
planet. Maybe this is your chance to help your people."

"So it's all good, then? People are dying,
people
will
die–"

"No. I'm not saying that. I'm saying maybe
it's meant to happen. And we can make the best of it, we can make
something better out of something terrible."

Maybe.

Harper sighed. He didn't know what was
better anymore. He'd thought going on the Skyland ship was better
than following his father's hateful plans. Now he just seemed to be
following somebody else's hateful plans.

Maybe...

Ben was still talking. "...Maybe this is
your chance to help your people in
your
way."

Harper snorted. "I'm not even here by
choice. I'm not doing anything my way."

"You are returning with the power and
protection of the Union. You can do
anything.
"

I don't know...
"But I think... I
think..." Harper squinted at the ceiling. "I think – even if I
wanted to help – I think what I can do it limited. The Union
doesn't trust me. They just want me to point out the weapons
stores, which I could do with a map, but they're worried I'll
double cross them, so they're dragging me back there..."

Ben didn't say anything.

Harper shook his head at the dark, trying to
sort his scattered thoughts. "Even when I offer to help, they're
suspicious."
Why does that hurt?

It did hurt. After everything – after
everything
– the mistrust hurt.

They don't even know. They don't know...

But he
didn't
want the other ships to
be destroyed. He
didn't
want any other Skyland farmboys to
face the choice he had. He
wanted
to help. Not with a war,
but somehow...

I am mistrusted everywhere.

"They should trust me." Harper heard the
disappointment in his own voice. "But they don't."
If only they
knew what I didn't do!

Something creaked. He looked over at the
chair-bag beside him. Ben was leaning forward – as far forward as
the hanging contraption would allow. He looked around, then turned
his head back and looked directly at Harper.

"Yes, they do."

It was a low whisper, almost impossible to
catch, but Harper did catch it. He stared at Ben.

"What?"

"They do trust you."

"I don't think–"

"They know you're not one of the bombers, or
not, like, working with them or something. You'd be locked up right
now if they did."

Oh. Of course. Really not a secret.
"I know that. But they still don't
trust
me."

"I don't know... I really don't know..." Ben
shook his head, looked around again. His shoulder twitched in what
might have been a shrug. He sat back for a moment, then jerked
forward again. "But I do," he said. "I don't think you're
dangerous. If... if that means anything."

His voice was back up to a polite
whisper.

"I know." Harper turned away again. He
rolled onto his left side, away from Ben. "Thank you." The words
were awkward in his mouth.
Thank you for what?

He didn't know.

For not assuming he was a criminal? For
telling him it was all going to be ok even though it wasn't? But he
did not know what else to say, so he just lay in silence.

And it did mean something. Not much. But
something.

"I just..." Ben's voice floated out of the
dimness again. "There's a war coming." He paused. Then, "I don't
want to leave things bad with anyone. I thought you might be angry,
from before, because... I don't know because–"

"Because you're invading my planet?"

Silence filled the dark. A couple of plastic
links of the chair back squeaked.

"I'm sorry," said Ben.

Guilt.

Harper squinted into the dark above him. His
brow furrowed deep in confusion.

He feels guilty.

He frowned, identifying the feeling behind
the apology, the subtle tone suppressed in Ben's voice. It was all
too clear, because Harper felt it, too. He turned back. Ben was
looking down into his lap.

We are all guilty.

The silence stretched. Harper felt sorry for
the new soldier. He felt sorrier for himself.

"Ben, right?"

"Yes."

"You chose to be here. You had a reason. And
you'll always have that to look back on and know
That's why I'm
here.
I don't have that."
And it'll never be 'not so
bad.'

"You do."

Harper shook his head. "No."

"Yes, you do. Somewhere along the line, you
chose too."

"You don't know that."
And neither do
I.

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't."
You can't know what side
I'm on, because I don't.

"Yes I do. You agreed to help them."

"And you believe that? You trust me?
Really?"
More than I do myself?

"Believe which part?"

"What?"

"That you
agreed
to help them? Or
that you actually
will
help them?"

"Either. Both."

"Well, I know you probably didn't have much
choice but to
agree.
But you have a choice to actually help
or not."

"And you believe that I will?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Ben looked around again. One hand pinched
the bridge of his nose. The other tapped his knee, agitated.

Harper squinted at him in the dark.
Why
are you nervous?

Finally, Ben leaned closer. "Because they
do" he said in a barely-audible whisper. He met Harper's eyes this
time, looked right into them. "
They
do. You will help them.
Because they
trust
you."

"I'm pretty sure that's not–"

"It is."

There is something you're not saying.
Harper squinted harder into the dark eyes – now just points of
light in the near-pitch-black room. "But–"

"They know more about you thank you think.
They
know
that you'll help. And I know it, too."

"Should you?"
What do you know?

"Like I said, if you were guilty of
something you'd be lock–"

"I
am
locked up."

"Not like you would be. Believe me, this is
not how they treat people they don't trust."

"Hm."

"Look, didn't you ever wonder why they found
you? You were on a ship of five thousand, and they found you within
minutes. You. Why?"

"There weren't many farmers on the
ship."

"I didn't say how, I said why."

"They needed a farmer. Someone who knew the
Sky Reverends, who could show them to the dirt stores."

"There are hundreds of thousands of farmers
across Skyland, they could pick one up in a heartbeat. One who
would have the same knowledge as you."

"My father is a Sky Reverend."

"There are thousands of Sky Reverends, one
for every village at least."

"So?"

"So why pick
you
up?"

Because my father's not just any Sky
Reverend.
"What are you saying?"