Descending Road - PAID ME RATFODDER by Dana W. Paxson

PAID ME RATFODDER

1563 4D

“Nice,” Ezzar muttered in Rennie‘s ear. “This is what I wanted to prevent when I signed up. Now I get to watch it happen.” Her leg throbbed insistently, cutting through the painkiller the helm had dealt her.

Some of the pain was not from her leg. The City always moved quickly when it did these uprootings. The trains could take five hundred apiece, and the terminal had room for six of them, so that an entire segment of one of the radials could be cleansed of its inhabitants almost overnight, their belongings and the worthless SRD scrip in their hands. This was the way her father and mother had gone.

Rennie advanced with Ezzar, quietly, until they looked over a guard’s shoulder. Ezzar said, “Is this the SRD?”

The guard spun, bringing up his weapon, and walked around them. Dirty, exhausted, wounded, they waited; Ezzar hoped they looked enough like the others to be let in.

She said, “We’re late, and I’m hurt. He’s gotta carry me.”

“Got your scrip?” The guard ignored Rennie, who looked down, and glared at Ezzar.

“Traded it for food. We had to eat something.”

“You’re gonna have to leave him at the terminal. Andros don’t go. What’s in the ‘pieces?” Looking bored, the guard thumped the carapiece on Ezzar‘s back. It sounded hollow. “Never mind. Get going.”

Rennie slipped into the edge of the crowd alongside a diminutive older man. As they entered the descending way, the lines ahead of them came to a stop. People immediately flopped down to rest. Rennie let Ezzar down gently and helped her sit up against the understreet wall, cushioned by vine shoots. The Corsang Run beat softened to a dull insistent voicelike throb. Ezzar closed her eyes. “It hurts, now,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” The older man next to them bent over Ezzar to stare at her wounds with ice-blue eyes startling against his brown skin. He wore a stained pale-gray coverall, and stood so short that his head barely cleared hers as she sat. His delicate fingers probed the rips in the black fabric covering her leg. “Nasty. You need to get this fixed right now. You could have been exempted from the reloc. Why are you here?”

Ezzar smiled through the haze of pain. “It’s a long story. Do you carry a medkit?”

“I used to. One of these corpos stripped it and paid me with this ratfodder.” He waved a wad of soiled scrip notes, then tucked them away. Rolling back his sleeves, he peeled Ezzar‘s coverall leg back and studied the welts, the cuts and the pit where the heavy rock fragment had bitten into her tibia, cracked it, and glanced off. He shook his head. “What, were you in a war or something? You can’t go out with this bunch. Let me clean these out best I can, then you’ll have to get some active cleansers into it from a med. My hands are filthy.”

He pulled a handjack from his coverall, fingered it to produce a pair of thin forceps. “This is the best I can do. Better bite on something.”

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


	PAID ME RATFODDER 1563 4D “Nice,” Ezzar muttered in Rennie‘s ear. “This is what I wanted to prevent when I signed up. Now I get to watch it happen.” Her leg throbbed insistently, cutting through the painkiller the helm had dealt her. Some of the pain was not from her leg. The City always moved quickly when it did these uprootings. The trains could take five hundred apiece, and the terminal had room for six of them, so that an entire segment of one of the radials could be cleansed of its inhabitants almost overnight, their belongings and the worthless SRD scrip in their hands. This was the way her father and mother had gone. Rennie advanced with Ezzar, quietly, until they looked over a guard’s shoulder. Ezzar said, “Is this the SRD?” The guard spun, bringing up his weapon, and walked around them. Dirty, exhausted, wounded, they waited; Ezzar hoped they looked enough like the others to be let in. She said, “We’re late, and I’m hurt. He’s gotta carry me.” “Got your scrip?” The guard ignored Rennie, who looked down, and glared at Ezzar. “Traded it for food. We had to eat something.” “You’re gonna have to leave him at the terminal. Andros don’t go. What’s in the ‘pieces?” Looking bored, the guard thumped the carapiece on Ezzar‘s back. It sounded hollow. “Never mind. Get going.” Rennie slipped into the edge of the crowd alongside a diminutive older man. As they entered the descending way, the lines ahead of them came to a stop. People immediately flopped down to rest. Rennie let Ezzar down gently and helped her sit up against the understreet wall, cushioned by vine shoots. The Corsang Run beat softened to a dull insistent voicelike throb. Ezzar closed her eyes. “It hurts, now,” she said. “What’s wrong?” The older man next to them bent over Ezzar to stare at her wounds with ice-blue eyes startling against his brown skin. He wore a stained pale-gray coverall, and stood so short that his head barely cleared hers as she sat. His delicate fingers probed the rips in the black fabric covering her leg. “Nasty. You need to get this fixed right now. You could have been exempted from the reloc. Why are you here?” Ezzar smiled through the haze of pain. “It’s a long story. Do you carry a medkit?” “I used to. One of these corpos stripped it and paid me with this ratfodder.” He waved a wad of soiled scrip notes, then tucked them away. Rolling back his sleeves, he peeled Ezzar‘s coverall leg back and studied the welts, the cuts and the pit where the heavy rock fragment had bitten into her tibia, cracked it, and glanced off. He shook his head. “What, were you in a war or something? You can’t go out with this bunch. Let me clean these out best I can, then you’ll have to get some active cleansers into it from a med. My hands are filthy.” He pulled a handjack from his coverall, fingered it to produce a pair of thin forceps. “This is the best I can do. Better bite on something.”