Truckers (20 page)

Finally he could stand it no longer. Too many people kept staring at him. He went back down to the garage, where Dorcas was still watching from his spy post on top of the girder.

“What's happened?” said Masklin.

The old nome pointed to the truck immediately below them.

“That's the one we want,” he said. “It's got all sorts in it. Lots of stuff from the Do-It-Yourself Department. There's even some Haberdashery things, needles and whatnot. All the stuff you told me to look out for.”

“We've got to stop them from driving it out!” said Masklin.

Dorcas grinned. “The machinery that raises the door won't work,” he said. “The fuse has gone.”

“What's a fuse?” said Masklin.

Dorcas picked up a long, thick red bar lying by his feet. “This is,” he said.

“You took it?”

“Tricky job—we had to tie a bit of string round it. Made a powerful big spark when we pulled it out.”

“But I expect they can put another one in,” said Masklin.

“Oh, they did,” said Dorcas, with a self-satisfied expression. “They're not daft. Didn't work, though, because after we took the fuse out, the lads went and cut the wires inside the wall in a couple of places. Very dangerous, but it'll take the humans forever to find it.”

“Hmm. But supposing they lever the door up?”

“Won't do them any good. It's not as if the truck will go, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Dorcas pointed downward. Masklin watched, and after a moment he saw a couple of small figures scurry out from under the truck and dive into the shadows by the wall. They were carrying a pair of pliers.

A moment later a solitary figure hurried after them, dragging a length of wire.

“Powerful lot of wire them trucks need,” said Dorcas. “This one ain't got so much, now. Funny, isn't it? Take away a tiny spark and the truck won't go. Don't worry, though—I reckon we'll know where to put it all back later.”

There was a clang down below. One of the humans had given the door a kick.

“Temper, temper,” said Dorcas mildly.

“You've thought of just about everything,” said Masklin admiringly.

“I hope so,” said Dorcas. “But we'd better make sure, hadn't we.” He stood up and produced a large white flag, which he waved over his head. There was an answering flicker of white from the shadows on the far side of the garage.

And then the lights went out.

“Useful thing, electricity,” said Dorcas in the darkness. There was a rumble of annoyance from the humans below, and then a jangling noise as one of them walked into something. After some grunting and a few more thuds, one of the humans found a doorway out into the basement, and the rest of them followed it.

“Don't you think they'll suspect something?” said Masklin.

“There's other humans working in the Store. They'll probably think they caused it,” said Dorcas.

“That electricity is amazing stuff,” said Masklin. “Can you make it? The Count de Ironmongri was very mysterious about it.”

“That's because the Ironmongri don't know anything.” Dorcas sniffed. “Just how to steal it. I can't seem to get the hang of the reading business, but young Vinto has been looking at books for me. He says making electricity is very simple. You just need to get hold of some stuff called you-ranium. I think it's a kind of metal.”

“Is there some in the Ironmongery Department?” said Masklin hopefully.

“Apparently not,” said Dorcas.

The Thing wasn't very helpful, either.

“I doubt if you are ready for nuclear power yet,”
it said.
“Try windmills.”

Masklin finished putting his possessions, such as they were, in a bag.

“When we leave,” he said, “you won't be able to talk, will you? You need electricity to drink.”

“That is the case, yes.”

“Can't you tell us which way we should go?”

“No. However, I detect radio traffic indicative of airline activity to the north of here.”

Masklin hesitated. “That's good, is it?”

“It means there are flying machines.”

“And we can fly all the way Home?” said Masklin.

“No. But they may be the next step. It may be possible to communicate with the starship. But first, you must ride the truck.”

“After that, I should think anything is possible,” said Masklin gloomily. He looked expectantly at the Thing, and then noticed with horror that its lights were going off, one by one.

“Thing!”

“When you are successful, we will talk again,”
said the Thing.

“But you're supposed to
help
us!” said Masklin.

“I suggest you consider deeply the proper meaning of the word ‘help,'”
said the box.
“You are either intelligent nomes or just clever animals. It's up to you to find out which.”

“What?”

The last light went off.

“Thing?”

The lights stayed off. The little black box contrived to look extremely dead and silent.

“But I relied on you to help us sort out the driving and everything! You're just going to leave me like this?”

If anything, the box got darker. Masklin stared at it.

Then he thought: It's all very well for
it
. Everyone's relying on me. I've got no one to rely on. I wonder if the old Abbot felt like this. I wonder how he stood it for so long. It's always me who has to do everything—no one ever thinks about me or what I want. . . .

The shabby cardboard door swung aside and Grimma stepped in.

She looked from the darkened Thing to Masklin.

“They're asking for you out there,” she said quietly. “Why is the Thing all dark?”

“It just said good-bye! It said it won't help anymore!” Masklin wailed. “It just said we have to prove we can do things for ourselves and it will speak to us when we're successful! What shall I do?”

I know what I could do, he thought. I could do with a cool washcloth. I could do with a bit of understanding. I could do with a bit of sympathy. Good old Grimma. You can rely on her.

“What you'll do,” she said sharply, “is jolly well stop moping and get up and go out there and
get things organized
!”

“Wha—”

“Sort things out! Make new plans! Give people orders!
Get on with it!
”

“But—”

“Do it now!”
she snapped.

Masklin stood up.

“You shouldn't talk to me like that,” he said plaintively. “I'm the leader, you know.”

She stood arms akimbo, glaring at him.

“Of course you're the leader,” she said. “Did I say you weren't the leader? Everyone knows you're the leader! Now get out there and lead!”

He lurched past. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“And learn to listen,” she added.

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“The Thing's a sort of thinking machine, isn't it? That's what Dorcas said. Well, machines say exactly what they mean, don't they?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but—”

Grimma gave him a bright, triumphant smile.

“Well, it said ‘When,'” she said. “
Think
about it. It could have said ‘If.'”

Night came. Masklin thought the humans were never going to leave. One of them, with a flashlight and a box of tools, spent a long time examining fuse boxes and peering at the wiring in the basement. Now at last even it was gone, grumbling and slamming the door behind it.

After a little while, the lights came on in the garage.

There was a rustling in the walls, and then a dark tide flowed out from under benches. Some of the young nomes in the lead carried hooks on the ends of thread lines, which they swung up to the truck's covers. They caught, one after another, and the nomes swarmed up them.

Other nomes brought thicker string, which was tied to the ends of the thread and gradually dragged upward. . . .

Masklin ran along, under the endless shadow of the truck, to the oily darkness under the engine where Dorcas's teams were already dragging their equipment into position. Dorcas himself was in the cab, rooting around among the thick wires. There was a sizzling noise, and then the light in the cab came on.

“There,” said Dorcas. “Now we can see what we're at. Come on, lads! Let's have a bit of effort!”

When he turned around and saw Masklin, he made as if to hide his hands behind his back, then thought better of it. Both of them were thrust into what Masklin could now see were the fingers cut out of rubber gloves.

“Ah,” said Dorcas, “didn't know you were there. Bit of a trade secret, see? Electricity can't abide rubber. It stops the stuff from biting you.” He ducked as a team of nomes swung a long wooden beam across the cab and started to fasten it to the gear lever.

“How long's it going to take?” shouted Masklin, as another team ran past dragging a ball of string. There was quite a din in the cab now, and threads and bits of wood were moving in every direction in what he hoped was an organized way.

“Could be an hour, maybe,” said Dorcas, and added, not unkindly, “We'd get on quicker without people in the way.”

Masklin nodded, and explored the rear of the cab. The truck was old, and he found another hole for a bundle of wires which, at a squeeze, would take a nome as well. He crawled out into the open air and then found another gap that let him into the rear of the truck.

The first nomes aboard had dragged up one end of a thin piece of wood, which was acting as a gangplank. The rest were scrambling up it now.

Masklin had put Granny Morkie in charge of this. The old woman had a natural talent for making frightened people do things.

“Steep?” she was shouting at a fat nome, who had got halfway up and was clinging there in fright. “Call this steep? It ain't steep, it's a stroll! Want me to come down there and help you?”

The mere threat budged him from his perch and he nearly ran the rest of the way, ducking gratefully into the shadows of the cargo.

“Everyone had better try to find somewhere soft to lie down,” said Masklin. “It could be a rough journey. And you must send all the strongest nomes up toward the cab. We're going to need everyone we can get, believe me.”

She nodded, and then shouted at a family that was blocking the gangway.

Masklin looked down at the endless stream of people climbing into the truck, many of them staggering under the weight of possessions.

Funny, but now he felt he'd done everything he could. Everything was ticking along like a, like a, like something that went tick. Either all the plans would work or they wouldn't. Either the nomes could act together or they couldn't.

He recalled the picture of Gulliver. It probably wasn't real, Gurder had said. Books often had things in them that weren't really real. But it would be nice to think that nomes could agree on something long enough to be like the little people in the book. . . .

“Well, it's all going well, then,” he said vaguely.

“Well enough.” Granny nodded.

“It would be a good idea if we found out exactly what was in all these boxes and things,” Masklin ventured, “because we might have to get out quickly when we stop and—”

“I tole Torrit to see to it,” said Granny. “Don't you worry about it.”

“Oh,” said Masklin weakly. “Good.”

He hadn't left himself anything to do.

He went back to the cab out of sheer—well, not boredom, because his heart was pounding like a drum—but out of restlessness.

Dorcas's nomes had already built a wooden platform above the steering wheel and right in front of the big window. Dorcas himself was back down on the floor of the cab, drilling the driving teams.

“Right!” he shouted. “Give me . . . First Gear!”

“Pedal Down . . . two, three . . .” chorused the team on the clutch pedal.

“Pedal Up . . . two, three . . .” shouted the accelerator team.

“Lever Up . . . two, three . . .” echoed the nomes by the gear lever.

“Pedal Up . . . two, three, four!” The leader of the clutch team threw Dorcas a salute. “Gear all changed, sir!” he shouted.

“That was terrible. Really terrible,” said Dorcas. “What's happened to the accelerator team, eh? Get that pedal down!”

“Sorry, Dorcas.”

Masklin tapped Dorcas on the shoulder.

“Keep doing it!” Dorcas commanded. “I want you dead smooth all the way up to fourth. Yes? What? Oh, it's you.”