Use of Weapons (61 page)
Authors: Iain M. Banks
Tags: #High Tech, #Space Warfare, #space opera, #Robots, #General, #Science Fiction, #Adventure, #Fiction
They
slept and they woke and they got drunk again and they told more jokes and lies,
and a light shower of rain blew softly over the city at one point, and
sometimes the young man would move his hand over his shaved head, through long,
thick hair that was not there any more.
Still
they waited, and when the first shells started to fall they found they'd picked
the wrong place to wait, and so went scrambling out of it, down the steps and
into the courtyard and into the half-track and then away, out into the desert
and the wasteland beyond, where they camped at dusk and got drunk again and
stayed up specially that night, to watch the flash.
Watching from the room
As the troops go by.
You ought to be able to
tell, I think,
Whether they are going
or coming back
By just leaving the gaps
in the ranks.
You are a fool, I said,
And turned to leave,
Or maybe only mix a
drink
For that deft throat to
swallow
Like all my finest lies.
I faced into the shadows
of things,
You leant against the
window,
Gazing at nothing.
When are we going to
leave?
We could get stuck here,
Caught
If we try to stay too
long. (turning)
Why don't we
leave
?
I said nothing,
Stroked a cracked glass,
Exclusive knowledge in
the silence;
The bomb lives only as
it is falling.
-
Shias Engin.
Complete Collected Works (Posthumous Edition).
Month 18, 355th Great Year (Shtaller, Prophetican calendar).
Volume IX: 'Juvenilia and Discarded Drafts'
The
path up to the highest cultivation terrace followed an extravagantly zig-zag
route, to allow the wheelchairs to cope with the gradient. It took him six and
a half minutes of hard work to get to the highest terrace; he was sweating when
he got there, but he had beaten his previous record, and so he was pleased. His
breath smoked in the cold air as he undid the heavy quilted jacket and wheeled
the chair along to one of the raised beds.
He
lifted the basket out of his lap and balanced it on the retaining wall, took
the cutters from his jacket pocket and looked carefully at the selection of
small plants, trying to gauge which cuttings had fared best since their
planting. He hadn't chosen the first one when some movement up-slope attracted
his attention.
He
looked through the high fence, to the dark green forest. The distant peaks were
white against the blue sky above. At first he thought it was an animal, then
the figure moved out of the trees and walked over the frost-whitened grass
towards the gate in the fence.
The
woman opened the gate, closed it behind her; she wore a thin-looking coat and
trousers. He was mildly surprised to see that she didn't have a rucksack.
Perhaps she had walked up through the grounds of the institute earlier, and was
now returning. A visiting doctor, maybe. He had been going to wave, if she
looked at him as she took the steps down to the institute buildings, but she
left the gate and walked straight towards him. She was tall; dark hair and a
light brown face under a curious looking fur hat.
'Mr
Escoerea,' she said, extending a hand. He put down the cutters, shook her hand.
'Good
morning, Ms...?'
She
didn't reply, but sat down on the wall, clapped ungloved hands together,
looked around the valley, at the mountains and the forest, the river, and the
institute buildings down-slope. 'How are you, Mr Escoerea? Are you well?'
He
looked down at what was left of his legs, amputated above the knees. 'What is
left of me is well, ma'am.' It had become his usual reply. He knew it might
sound bitter to some people, but really it was his way of showing he did not
want to pretend that there was nothing wrong with him.
She
looked at the trousered stumps with a frankness he had only known before from
children. 'It was a tank, wasn't it?'
'Yes,'
he said, taking up the clippers again. 'Tried to trip it up on the way to
Balzeit City; didn't work.' He leant over, took a cutting and placed it in the
basket. He made a note of which plant he'd taken it from, and attached it to
the twig. 'Excuse me...' He moved the wheelchair along a little, and the woman
got out of his way as he took another cutting.
She
stepped round in front of him again. 'Story I heard said you were dragging one
of your comrades out of its -'
'Yes,'
he interrupted. 'Yes, that's the story. Of course I didn't know then the price
of charity is developing extremely strong arm muscles.'
'You
get your medal yet?' She squatted down on her haunches, putting one of her
hands on a wheel of his chair. He looked at the hand, then at her face, but she
just grinned.
He
opened his quilted jacket, showed the uniform tunic underneath, with all its
ribbons. 'Yes, I got my medal.' He ignored her hand, pushed the chair along
again.
The
woman rose, squatted down again, beside him. 'Impressive display for one so
young. Surprised you weren't promoted faster; is it true you didn't show the
right attitude to your superiors? That why -'
He
threw the clippers down in the basket, wheeled the chair round to face her.
'Yeah, lady,' he sneered. 'I said the wrong things, my family were never very
well-connected even when they were alive and now they're not even that, thanks
to the Imperial Glaseen Air Force, and
these
...'
He clutched at the chest of the tunic, hauling at the medal ribbons,
brandishing them. 'These I'd trade you; all of them for a pair of shoes I could
wear. Now,' he leant forward at her, took up the clippers. 'I have work to do.
There's a guy down in the institute who stepped on a mine; he hasn't got any
legs at all
and
he lost an arm. Maybe
you'd find it even more fun to go and patronise him. Excuse me.'
He
whirled the chair around, moved off a few metres, and took a couple of
cuttings, tearing at two plants almost at random. He heard the woman on the
path behind him, and put his hands on the wheels, pushing himself away.
She
stopped him. Her hand held the back of the wheelchair and she was stronger than
she looked. His arms strained against the wheels; the rubber buzzed against the
stone path, wheels turning but not propelling him anywhere. He relaxed, looked
up at the sky. She came round in front of him, squatted down again.
He
sighed. 'What exactly do you want, lady?'
'You,
Mr Escoerea.' The woman smiled her beautiful smile. She nodded at the stumps.
'By the way; the deal with the medals and the shoes; fair enough.' She
shrugged. 'Except you can keep the medals.' She reached into the basket, took
out the clippers and stuck them into the earth under the plants, then put her
hands, clasped, on the front of the seat. 'Now, Mr Escoerea,' Sma said,
shivering. 'How would you like a proper job?'
END
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