Descending Road - WORDS FOR SKY by Dana W. Paxson

WORDS FOR SKY

1544 4D

Two hundred men and women in barred dark-gray coverall uniforms, laughing and joking, complaining and snapping, boarded the train deep in the City, in Fortovo Zone, hauling their long bags of gear. Andrew wedged his way into line at the nearest car’s double doors, balancing his drooping, dark-blue bag on his head.

“Sorry,” he said. He’d been standing, waiting for four hours, and all he wanted was to sit down.

The man next to him muttered, “Dumb cock,” and made room. Andrew ignored him and wearily plunged past two women to collapse into a seat.

What a time to get militia training far from the City. Now he had Leil and their new son, Engel, to care for, and he had to leave them for this. There were very few exceptions allowed. If you had a sibling on training with you, and one of you were killed, the other could go home with the body. Or if you were injured too badly to complete training. Or…

Thankfully, Martin and Raul and Norwell weren’t out here with him. Their tours would come later; they could keep an eye on Leil and Engel until Andrew got back. Ordinary City life carried more danger than these training rounds.

The train was a cylinder of dull-gray metal, the cars set low over the tracks, long windows lining each car, and front-facing deep-upholstery seats covered in purple-gray synskin. Lanky, cream-skinned andros of both sexes broomed and scrubbed the floor, walls and ceilings; a few of them would stay on the train until its first stop, for special services and labor.

A regional military officer, tall and solid in a mid-gray uniform, stood at the front of their car as the train accelerated silently. His words came like punches. “I’m Bermarin, your captain. Here’s the word. You’re going to work hard before you go home. If you fuck up, you’re going home in a long tight steel box.

“We’ve got a job to do. First, you’re going to train for counter-insurgency work. Then you’re going to clean out some bad spots. Then you’re going to get paid some money. Then you’re going to take it home and piss it away just like you did the last time you trained.” He grinned, making the skin around his mouth tighten and shine. “Any questions?” He waited.

A woman’s voice behind Andrew called, “Yeah, uh, counter-insurgency work? You mean we’re actually fighting somebody?”

Bermarin smiled with his mouth, and glared with his eyes. “This is a standard, active-service training mission. You’re on it. Simple, isn’t it?” His frown scanned all the men and women in the car. “You’ll get detailed briefings when you need them. Until then, no details.”

A voice called, “What’s the mission duration?”

Andrew spun around, searching. It sounded like Nexi Harren‘s voice.

Bermarin said, “Until it’s done. We expect CI training to last about twenty days, and then the mission starts. Might be as little as forty days, might be longer. It depends on you. The better you do, the faster you get home.” The officer turned and exited the car before anyone else could speak.

“Shit,” Andrew muttered.

Most young City adults, including Andrew, detested these obligatory militia excursions, but had no way to escape them except buyout, which amounted to paying a ransom to move out of the underground cities altogether and attempt to scratch out an unsupported and tightly-restricted life on the surface.

On the surface, no combustible fuels. No burning except under costly regional-government license. No dispersal of waste without costly biocompensation. No additions to families without a heavy per-capita tax. No trash. No taking of wildlife, under penalty of death. No breeding of domestic animals without costly licenses for feed, waste, and parasite control. No high-speed transportation.

The City people summed up surface life this way: You can fart, if you inhale it. You can shit, if you eat it. And you can fuck, but they’ll tax it.

Andrew stood and walked back to where Nexi sat with two of his brothers: Alliji, the little scrawny one, and Nurumin, the chunky poet. “Nexi! What are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are, cod.” Nexi stretched his compact but powerful arms.

“But you didn’t have militia training rotation for another year. Somebody wants us out here, maybe?”

“I think it’s the Astrans,” Alliji said from the seat behind Nexi.

“Leil thinks it’s Mentrius,” Andrew said.

Nexi said, “Nah, I think it’s that Herindina thing. The Astrans all just made it sharp and long for us, and stuck it in. Triesh Adrili‘s got connections with City. Ho, join us.”

Andrew traded seats with the man on the aisle beside Nexi, and plopped himself down. The train slid on into a slowly-climbing tunnel with acid lights that beat rhythmically at his eyes. At his left, Nexi scratched his nose and yawned. Beside Nexi, Nurumin stared fixedly out the window, blinking as each light passed.

They surfaced abruptly about thirty kilometers outside the City‘s farthest outliers, and sunshine exploded into Andrew‘s face. He squinted, stared past Nexi and Nurumin out the window; a murmur of surprise swelled in the car around him. The men and women in the car, all City people, rose and leaned to look out.

The words to describe what he saw came slowly to Andrew, recalled haltingly from his childhood, reinforced sporadically by sensi images. It was… mid-afternoon. The air entering the car from the vents carried the warmth of a coming… summer; the sky arched clear and vast with a few flat… clouds hanging in the north above a wide reach of… hills. The murmurs died away into awed silence as the train rushed onward.

Each beat of Andrew‘s heart punctuated the feeling that came to him: This is where I want to be. It’s open, I can move, I can see, I can breathe. This is my home, the place I was made for, my place to live and die. A door closed forever in him, as another opened.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	WORDS FOR SKY 1544 4D Two hundred men and women in barred dark-gray coverall uniforms, laughing and joking, complaining and snapping, boarded the train deep in the City, in Fortovo Zone, hauling their long bags of gear. Andrew wedged his way into line at the nearest car’s double doors, balancing his drooping, dark-blue bag on his head. “Sorry,” he said. He’d been standing, waiting for four hours, and all he wanted was to sit down. The man next to him muttered, “Dumb cock,” and made room. Andrew ignored him and wearily plunged past two women to collapse into a seat. What a time to get militia training far from the City. Now he had Leil and their new son, Engel, to care for, and he had to leave them for this. There were very few exceptions allowed. If you had a sibling on training with you, and one of you were killed, the other could go home with the body. Or if you were injured too badly to complete training. Or… Thankfully, Martin and Raul and Norwell weren’t out here with him. Their tours would come later; they could keep an eye on Leil and Engel until Andrew got back. Ordinary City life carried more danger than these training rounds. The train was a cylinder of dull-gray metal, the cars set low over the tracks, long windows lining each car, and front-facing deep-upholstery seats covered in purple-gray synskin. Lanky, cream-skinned andros of both sexes broomed and scrubbed the floor, walls and ceilings; a few of them would stay on the train until its first stop, for special services and labor. A regional military officer, tall and solid in a mid-gray uniform, stood at the front of their car as the train accelerated silently. His words came like punches. “I’m Bermarin, your captain. Here’s the word. You’re going to work hard before you go home. If you fuck up, you’re going home in a long tight steel box. “We’ve got a job to do. First, you’re going to train for counter-insurgency work. Then you’re going to clean out some bad spots. Then you’re going to get paid some money. Then you’re going to take it home and piss it away just like you did the last time you trained.” He grinned, making the skin around his mouth tighten and shine. “Any questions?” He waited. A woman’s voice behind Andrew called, “Yeah, uh, counter-insurgency work? You mean we’re actually fighting somebody?” Bermarin smiled with his mouth, and glared with his eyes. “This is a standard, active-service training mission. You’re on it. Simple, isn’t it?” His frown scanned all the men and women in the car. “You’ll get detailed briefings when you need them. Until then, no details.” A voice called, “What’s the mission duration?” Andrew spun around, searching. It sounded like Nexi Harren‘s voice. Bermarin said, “Until it’s done. We expect CI training to last about twenty days, and then the mission starts. Might be as little as forty days, might be longer. It depends on you. The better you do, the faster you get home.” The officer turned and exited the car before anyone else could speak. “Shit,” Andrew muttered. Most young City adults, including Andrew, detested these obligatory militia excursions, but had no way to escape them except buyout, which amounted to paying a ransom to move out of the underground cities altogether and attempt to scratch out an unsupported and tightly-restricted life on the surface. On the surface, no combustible fuels. No burning except under costly regional-government license. No dispersal of waste without costly biocompensation. No additions to families without a heavy per-capita tax. No trash. No taking of wildlife, under penalty of death. No breeding of domestic animals without costly licenses for feed, waste, and parasite control. No high-speed transportation. The City people summed up surface life this way: You can fart, if you inhale it. You can shit, if you eat it. And you can fuck, but they’ll tax it. Andrew stood and walked back to where Nexi sat with two of his brothers: Alliji, the little scrawny one, and Nurumin, the chunky poet. “Nexi! What are you doing here?” “Same thing you are, cod.” Nexi stretched his compact but powerful arms. “But you didn’t have militia training rotation for another year. Somebody wants us out here, maybe?” “I think it’s the Astrans,” Alliji said from the seat behind Nexi. “Leil thinks it’s Mentrius,” Andrew said. Nexi said, “Nah, I think it’s that Herindina thing. The Astrans all just made it sharp and long for us, and stuck it in. Triesh Adrili‘s got connections with City. Ho, join us.” Andrew traded seats with the man on the aisle beside Nexi, and plopped himself down. The train slid on into a slowly-climbing tunnel with acid lights that beat rhythmically at his eyes. At his left, Nexi scratched his nose and yawned. Beside Nexi, Nurumin stared fixedly out the window, blinking as each light passed. They surfaced abruptly about thirty kilometers outside the City‘s farthest outliers, and sunshine exploded into Andrew‘s face. He squinted, stared past Nexi and Nurumin out the window; a murmur of surprise swelled in the car around him. The men and women in the car, all City people, rose and leaned to look out. The words to describe what he saw came slowly to Andrew, recalled haltingly from his childhood, reinforced sporadically by sensi images. It was… mid-afternoon. The air entering the car from the vents carried the warmth of a coming… summer; the sky arched clear and vast with a few flat… clouds hanging in the north above a wide reach of… hills. The murmurs died away into awed silence as the train rushed onward. Each beat of Andrew‘s heart punctuated the feeling that came to him: This is where I want to be. It’s open, I can move, I can see, I can breathe. This is my home, the place I was made for, my place to live and die. A door closed forever in him, as another opened.