Authors: Christopher Priest
“They haven’t the vaguest idea what they’ve got to do,” Malchuskin said to me, chuckling. “But they’ll pretend to understand.”
The first task was to dismantle the buffer, and move it up the tracks to a position just behind the city. Malchuskin and I had only just started to demonstrate how the buffer was dismantled when the sun went in abruptly and the temperature dropped.
Malchuskin glanced up at the sky. “We’re in for a storm.”
After this remark he paid no more attention to the weather, and we continued with the work. A few minutes later we heard the first distant grumble of thunder, and a short while after that the rain began to fall. The hired men looked up in alarm, but Maichuskin kept them going. Soon the storm was on top of us, the lightning flashing and the thunder cracking in a way that terrified me. We were all soon drenched, but the work continued. I heard the first complaints, but Malchuskin—through Juan—stilled them.
As we were taking the component parts of the buffer back up the track, the storm cleared and the sun came out again. One of the men began to sing, and soon the others joined in. Malchuskin looked happy. The day’s work finished with erecting the buffer a few yards behind the city; the other crews also stopped work when they had built theirs.
The next day we started early. Malchuskin still looked happy but expressed his desire to get on with the work as fast as we could.
As we tried to take up the southernmost part of the track, I saw at first hand the cause of his worry. The tie-bars holding the rails to the sleepers had bent, and had to be wrenched away manually, bending them beyond re-use. Similarly, the action of the pressure of the tie-bars against the sleepers had split the wood in many places—though Malchuskin declared they could be used again—and many of the concrete foundations had cracked.
Fortunately, the rails themselves were still in a usable condition; although Maichuskin said they had buckled slightly, he reckoned they could be straightened again without too much difficulty. He held a brief conference with the other Track guildsmen, and it was decided to dispense with the use of the bogies for the moment, and concentrate on digging up the track before any more of it became distorted. As it was still some two miles between where we were working and the city, each journey in the bogie took a long time and this decision made sense.
By the end of that day we had worked our way up the track to a point where the buckling effect was only just beginning to be felt. Malchuskin and the others declared themselves satisfied, we loaded the bogies with as many of the rails and the sleepers as they would hold, and called a halt again.
And so the track-labours continued. By the time my ten-day period came to an end, the track-removal was well advanced, the hired men were working well as teams, and already the new track to the north of the city was being laid. When I left Malchuskin he was as contented as I had ever seen him, and I felt not in the least guilty about taking my two days’ leave.
Victoria was waiting for me in her room. By this time the bruises and scratches from the fracas had mostly healed, and I had decided to say nothing of it. Word of the scuffle had evidently not reached her, for she did not ask me about it.
After leaving Malchuskin’s hut in the morning I had walked across to the city, enjoying that early part of the morning before it became too hot, and with this in mind I suggested to Victoria that we could go up to the platform.
“I think it’ll be locked at this time of day,” she said. “I’ll go and see.”
She was gone for a few seconds, then returned to confirm that this was so.
“I suppose it’ll be open some time after midday,” I said, thinking that by this time the sun would have passed from the view of the platform.
“Take your clothes off,” she said. “They need laundering again.”
I started to undress but suddenly Victoria came over to me and put her arms around me. We kissed, spontaneously realizing that we were pleased to see each other.
“You’re putting on weight,” she said, as she slipped the shirt from my shoulders and ran her hand lightly across my chest.
“It’s all the work I’m doing,” I said, and began to unbutton her clothes.
As a consequence of this change in our plans it wasn’t until some time later that Victoria took my clothes away to be laundered, leaving me to enjoy the comforts of a proper bed.
After we had eaten some lunch we discovered that the way to the platform was now open, and so we moved up there. This time we were not alone; two men from the education administration were there before us. They recognized us both from our days in the crèche, and soon we were involved in a bland conversation about what we had been doing since coming of age. From Victoria’s expression I gathered that she was as bored as I was with this, but neither of us liked to make a move to finish it.
In due course the men bade us farewell and returned to the interior of the city.
Victoria winked at me, then giggled.
“God, I’m glad we’re not still in the crèche,” she said.
“So am I. And I thought they were interesting when they were teaching us.”
We sat down together on one of the seats and looked out across the landscape. From this part of the city it was not possible to see what was happening immediately at the side of the city, and even as I knew the track-crews would be carting the rails from the southern side to the north, it was not possible to see them.
“Helward … why does the city move?”
“I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway.”
She said: “I don’t know what the guilds imagine we think about this. No one ever says anything about it, though one has only to come up here to see the city has moved. And yet if you ask anyone about it you’re told it’s not the concern of an administrator. Are we not supposed to ask questions?”
“They tell you nothing?”
“Nothing at all. A couple of days ago I came up here and discovered that the city had moved. A few days before that the platform had been locked for two days on end, and word was passed round to secure loose property. But that was all.”
“O.K.,” I said, “you tell me something. At the time the city was moving, were you aware of it?”
“No … or I think not. Remember, I didn’t realize until afterwards.
Thinking back, I don’t recall anything unusual the day it must have been moved, but I’ve never left the city and so I suppose all the time I was growing up I must have got used to occasional moves. Does the city travel along a road?”
“A system of tracks.”
“But why?”
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
“You promised you would. Anyway, I don’t see what harm it would do to tell me how it moves … it’s pretty clear it does.”
The old dilemma again, but what she said made sense even though it was in conflict with the oath. Gradually, I was coming to wonder about the continued validity of the oath, even as I felt it eroding about me.
I said: “The city is moving towards something known as the optimum, which lies due north of the city. At the moment the city is about three and a half miles south of optimum.”
“So it will stop soon?”
“No … and that’s what isn’t clear to me. Apparently, even if the eity ever did reach optimum it couldn’t stop as the optimum itself is always moving.”
“Then what’s the point of trying to reach it?”
There was no answer to that, because I didn’t know.
Victoria continued to ask questions, and in the end I told her about the work on the tracks. I tried to keep my descriptions to the minimum, but it was difficult to know how far I was breaching the oath, in spirit if not in practice. I found that everything I said to her I qualified immediately afterwards with a reference to the oath.
Finally, she said: “Look, don’t say any more about this. You obviously don’t want to.”
“I’m just confused,” I said. “I’m forbidden to talk, but you’ve made me see that I don’t have any right to withhold from you what I know.”
Victoria was silent for a minute or two.
“I don’t know about you,” she said eventually, “but in the last few days I’ve begun to develop a rather strong dislike for the guild system.”
“You’re not alone. I haven’t heard many advocate it.”
“Do you think it could be that those in charge of the guilds keep the system in operation after it has outlived its original purpose? It seems to me that the system works by suppression of knowledge. I don’t see what that achieves. It has made me very discontented, and I’m sure I’m not alone.”
“Perhaps I’ll be the same when I become a full guildsman.”
“I hope not,” she said, and laughed.
“There is one thing,” I said. “Whenever I’ve asked Malchuskin—he’s the man I’m working with—the sort of questions you’ve asked me, he says that I’ll find out in due course. It’s as if there is a good reason for the guilds, and it relates in some way to the reason the city has to move. So far, all I’ve learnt is the city does have to move … but that’s all. When I’m out there it’s all work, and no time to ask questions. But what is clear is that moving the city is the first priority.”
“If you ever find out, will you tell me?”
I thought for a moment. “I don’t see how I can promise that.”
Victoria stood up abruptly and walked to the far side of the platform.
She stood at the rail, looking out across the roof of the city building below at the countryside. I made no move to join her; it was an impossible situation. Already I had said too much, and in her demands that I say more Victoria was placing too great a burden on me. And yet I couldn’t deny her.
After a few minutes she returned to the seat and sat down beside me.
“I’ve found out how we get married,” she said.
“Another ceremony?”
“No, it’s much simpler. We just have to sign a form and give a copy to each of our chiefs. I’ve got the forms downstairs … they’re really very straightforward.”
“So we could sign them right away.”
“Yes.” She looked at me seriously. “Do you want to?”
“Of course. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“In spite of everything?”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“In spite of the fact that you and I can’t seem to talk without coming across something I either can’t or shouldn’t tell you, and the fact that you seem to blame me for it.”
“Does it worry you?” she said.
“A lot, yes.”
“We could postpone getting married if you prefer.”
“Would that solve anything?” I said.
I was uncertain of what it would mean if Victoria and I broke off our engagement. Because the guilds had been instrumental in formally introducing us, what new breach of the system would it imply to say now that we did not intend to marry? On the other hand, once the formal introduction was out of the way there appeared to be no pressure on us to marry immediately. As far as she and I were concerned the vexations of the limitations placed by the oath were the only differences between us. Without those, we seemed to be perfectly suited to each other.
“Let’s leave it for a while,” said Victoria.
Later in the day we returned to her room and the mood lightened considerably. We talked a lot, carefully skirting those topics of conversation we both knew caused problems… and by the time we went to bed our attitude had changed. When we woke up in the morning we signed the forms and took them along to the guild leaders. Future Clausewitz was not in the city but I found another Future guildsman, and he accepted it on Clausewitz’s behalf. Everyone seemed pleased, and later that day Victoria’s mother spent a lot of time with us, telling us of what new freedoms and advantages we would enjoy as a married couple.
Before I left the city to rejoin Malchuskin on the tracks I cleared what remained of my possessions from the crèche, and moved in officially with Victoria.
I was a married man, and I was six hundred and fifty-two miles old.
For the next few miles my life settled into a routine that was for the most part agreeable. During my visits to the city my life with Victoria was comfortable, happy, and loving. She would tell me much of her work, and through her I came to learn how the day to day life of the city was administered. Sometimes she would ask me about my work outside, but her early curiosity had either faded or she now thought better of asking me, for the resentments never again became as obvious as at first.
Outside, my apprenticeship progressed. The more work outside the city I participated in, the more I realized how much of a mutual effort the city’s moving was.
At the end of my last mile with Malchuskin I was transferred on order of Clausewitz to the Militia. This came as an unpleasant surprise, as I had assumed that on completion of my training on the tracks I would start work with my own guild of Futures. However, I discovered that I was to be transferred to another first-order guild every three miles.
I was sorry to leave Malchuskin, for his simple application to the strenuous work on the tracks had an undeniable appeal. After we were past the ridge the terrain had been easier for track-laying, and as the new group of hired men continued to labour without untoward complaint his discontent had seemed to fade.
Before reporting to the Militia I sought out Clausewitz. I did not wish to make too much of an issue, but I asked him for the reason behind the decision.
“It’s standard practice, Mann,” he said.
“But, sir, I thought by now I should be ready to enter my own guild.”
He sat in a relaxed manner behind his desk, not in the least disturbed by my mild protest. I guessed that such a query was not unusual.
“We have to maintain a full Militia. Sometimes it becomes necessary to draft other guildsmen to defend the city. If so, we do not have the time then to train them. Every first-order guildsman has served time in the Militia, and so must you.”
There was no argument with that, and so I became Crossbowman Second Class Mann for the next three miles.
I detested this period, fuming at the waste of time and the apparent insensitivity of the men I was forced to work with. I knew that I was only making life difficult for myself, and so it was, for within a few hours I was probably the most unpopular recruit in the entire Militia. My only relief was the presence of two other apprentices—one with the Barter guild and another with the Track guild—who seemed to share my outlook. They, however, had the fortunate ability to adapt to the new company and suffered less than I.