Descending Road - BOUNDED IN A NUTSHELL by Dana W. Paxson

BOUNDED IN A NUTSHELL

1563 4D

Andrew barely gave Ezzar and the others time for a quick wash. They hurried through lifts and across long blocks, Andrew spilling a flood of words on them, until she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on her feet. Andrew seemed to know the jostling grubby parts in Sobi Zone perfectly, homing in on food.

“In here,” he called over the growing gabble and thump in the understreet. A fluttering, glowing sign atop a streetwall opening read ZOOTURE SELF. Andros and humans mingled here freely.

Drawing the others along, Andrew wedged past a line of people into a long, high-ceilinged food burrow, down in lower Poly Town where the music of Corsang Run picked itself up again, step by step, for another swell of celebration. “Enough tank and tuber and burg for everybody,” Andrew called to a tall thin server man in a bright green coverall. Ezzar shoved her way along a row of backs to sit by him on a bench at a long narrow steel trestle table.

“Get us all some washes,” Deen called as she slipped in across from Andrew, “We’re still not clean.”

“Brewtanks, best stuff,” Jeddin called, and the server, departing for the kitchen, twirled a pair of fingers over his shoulder at the words.

The eatery, its walls exuberant with bulging montages of fashion armor in garish colors, served greenburgers and small spiced tubers cut in half, peeled, and sauteed, each half resembling a breast with a pointed nipple.

To Ezzar they smelled delicious beyond imagination. She cleaned up with the hot, terp-smelling tempweave the server brought, guzzled a whole tank of brew, and then dug into her heap of food, wondering how she had gotten so hungry, afraid that this hunger might vanish into the nausea of exhaustion. It didn’t.

Women and children wound spiral ways around and across the crowded street outside. Around them swirled the recent celebrants of Corsang Run, springing alive once more, the withdrawal of the government soldiers and corpos invigorating a doubled festival of drinking, eating, dancing, singing, shouting and general making of noise and body contact. Air moved freely again; the huge pumps buried in their shafts worked now to disperse the last of the hazes and stenches of battle. Ezzar took it all in, strange nameless colors fringing her vision.

The dome of the nearby crossing glowed. The edges of its groining shone with strips of spingold running from floor to the dome’s center to meet in a falling-down splash of shining light.

A detachment of brown-clad rebel soldiers arrived at the eatery, looking for Andrew and Jeddin. “Nazrelo! Marande!” Andrew called as they approached. Smiles flashed. As Andrew hugged them, Ezzar remembered her own scorched hair and skin. I look like hell. Why didn’t I clean up better? She stuck another tuber in her mouth and chewed ravenously, noting just how long Marande hugged Andrew. The soldiers sat down, and soon more plates arrived.

“Where’s the ship?” Nazrelo asked, grabbing a brew tank and looking at Andrew. “I thought we were going to keep it away from here until we had assurances.”

Andrew smiled through a mouthful of greenburger. “Oh, yes. Just shifted it to a safer spot.” He removed a hundred-piece coin from his coverall, flipped it, and put it away again.

Jeddin stood up with a tank of brew in hand, raised it, and said, “I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space.” He gestured to imaginary listeners in the ceiling arches of the long narrow eatery, and sat down again. Ezzar looked at him. What was he saying? It made no sense to her.

Andrew leaned over to her. “He says it’s mathematics.”

“Get out of here, you little rats!” A shrill cry from a server. Ezzar looked up. Janny and her two little friends slithered between tables, servers and customers to throw their arms around Andrew and yell, “Daddy!” Out in the understreet, a young man with patches of lizard skin on his ears and face stood, looking into the dim interior where Ezzar and the others sat.

Something about him reminded Ezzar of Andrew, she wasn’t sure. She nudged Andrew and pointed. “Who’s that?”

Andrew looked, and froze. “Engel!” He jumped to his feet, shooed the children ahead of him, and pushed his way out to grab the young man and lift him from the street with a vast and crushing hug. Ezzar watched them nodding and pointing and hugging again.

His eyes wide, Andrew reached up with his hand and caressed his son’s face, where lizardskin had replaced scar tissue. How much he must have loved them all. As Andrew turned and dragged Engel toward her, she tried to smooth her grimy clothes and her nonexistent hair, and smile. Everyone looked filthy and unkempt, but their smiles flicked off and on like lights. So hard for her to smile right now.

So when Andrew said, “Ezzar, this is Engel, you know, my son? Stars, blood and dust, look at him! We found each other!” She looked from father to son and tried to make her mouth turn up at the corners.

They took her in their arms.

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	BOUNDED IN A NUTSHELL 1563 4D Andrew barely gave Ezzar and the others time for a quick wash. They hurried through lifts and across long blocks, Andrew spilling a flood of words on them, until she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on her feet. Andrew seemed to know the jostling grubby parts in Sobi Zone perfectly, homing in on food. “In here,” he called over the growing gabble and thump in the understreet. A fluttering, glowing sign atop a streetwall opening read ZOOTURE SELF. Andros and humans mingled here freely. Drawing the others along, Andrew wedged past a line of people into a long, high-ceilinged food burrow, down in lower Poly Town where the music of Corsang Run picked itself up again, step by step, for another swell of celebration. “Enough tank and tuber and burg for everybody,” Andrew called to a tall thin server man in a bright green coverall. Ezzar shoved her way along a row of backs to sit by him on a bench at a long narrow steel trestle table. “Get us all some washes,” Deen called as she slipped in across from Andrew, “We’re still not clean.” “Brewtanks, best stuff,” Jeddin called, and the server, departing for the kitchen, twirled a pair of fingers over his shoulder at the words. The eatery, its walls exuberant with bulging montages of fashion armor in garish colors, served greenburgers and small spiced tubers cut in half, peeled, and sauteed, each half resembling a breast with a pointed nipple. To Ezzar they smelled delicious beyond imagination. She cleaned up with the hot, terp-smelling tempweave the server brought, guzzled a whole tank of brew, and then dug into her heap of food, wondering how she had gotten so hungry, afraid that this hunger might vanish into the nausea of exhaustion. It didn’t. Women and children wound spiral ways around and across the crowded street outside. Around them swirled the recent celebrants of Corsang Run, springing alive once more, the withdrawal of the government soldiers and corpos invigorating a doubled festival of drinking, eating, dancing, singing, shouting and general making of noise and body contact. Air moved freely again; the huge pumps buried in their shafts worked now to disperse the last of the hazes and stenches of battle. Ezzar took it all in, strange nameless colors fringing her vision. The dome of the nearby crossing glowed. The edges of its groining shone with strips of spingold running from floor to the dome’s center to meet in a falling-down splash of shining light. A detachment of brown-clad rebel soldiers arrived at the eatery, looking for Andrew and Jeddin. “Nazrelo! Marande!” Andrew called as they approached. Smiles flashed. As Andrew hugged them, Ezzar remembered her own scorched hair and skin. I look like hell. Why didn’t I clean up better? She stuck another tuber in her mouth and chewed ravenously, noting just how long Marande hugged Andrew. The soldiers sat down, and soon more plates arrived. “Where’s the ship?” Nazrelo asked, grabbing a brew tank and looking at Andrew. “I thought we were going to keep it away from here until we had assurances.” Andrew smiled through a mouthful of greenburger. “Oh, yes. Just shifted it to a safer spot.” He removed a hundred-piece coin from his coverall, flipped it, and put it away again. Jeddin stood up with a tank of brew in hand, raised it, and said, “I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space.” He gestured to imaginary listeners in the ceiling arches of the long narrow eatery, and sat down again. Ezzar looked at him. What was he saying? It made no sense to her. Andrew leaned over to her. “He says it’s mathematics.” “Get out of here, you little rats!” A shrill cry from a server. Ezzar looked up. Janny and her two little friends slithered between tables, servers and customers to throw their arms around Andrew and yell, “Daddy!” Out in the understreet, a young man with patches of lizard skin on his ears and face stood, looking into the dim interior where Ezzar and the others sat. Something about him reminded Ezzar of Andrew, she wasn’t sure. She nudged Andrew and pointed. “Who’s that?” Andrew looked, and froze. “Engel!” He jumped to his feet, shooed the children ahead of him, and pushed his way out to grab the young man and lift him from the street with a vast and crushing hug. Ezzar watched them nodding and pointing and hugging again. His eyes wide, Andrew reached up with his hand and caressed his son’s face, where lizardskin had replaced scar tissue. How much he must have loved them all. As Andrew turned and dragged Engel toward her, she tried to smooth her grimy clothes and her nonexistent hair, and smile. Everyone looked filthy and unkempt, but their smiles flicked off and on like lights. So hard for her to smile right now. So when Andrew said, “Ezzar, this is Engel, you know, my son? Stars, blood and dust, look at him! We found each other!” She looked from father to son and tried to make her mouth turn up at the corners. They took her in their arms.