A Larger Universe (7 page)

Forset no longer required Tommy to do most of the talking as
long as he upheld his portion of the conversation.  Tommy used this time to ask
questions that had bothered him since he arrived on the ship.  Some questions
Forset answered.  Other questions were answered with "That is not for me
to tell you."  When Tommy asked "Why do you all speak English?" 
Forset paused beside a small stream that ran under the trail.  He had to
sprinkle his response with words in English, like church, clergy, and squire,
that didn't have equivalents in the lords’ language.

"All of the farmers, priests, and artisans on this ship
are descendents of the population of a single village and its surrounding lands
in England," Forset told him.  "The shopkeepers, the farmers, the
village squire, and the clergy in the church went to sleep one night and woke
the next morning in this ship."  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. 
"They took our livestock.  They took our tools.  They took the books from
the church.  That was over four hundred years ago.  Our English has changed
little since, so you were able to understand us."

"I had a hard time, at first," Tommy said,
"but your English is not so different from how some people speak in parts
of America, in the mountains.  I just had to listen carefully."

Forset squatted by the stream and let the water pour over
his hands.  "English has served the ship well, at least as far as Earth is
concerned.  The spread of the British Empire on Earth gave our people the
ability to communicate and trade almost anywhere they landed.  Other ships that
go to Earth made poorer choices of crew."

Tommy looked around the Commons.  "Other ships?  Other
ships like this one?"

"You thought this is the only ship?  The lords have
many ships, and, of those, many stop to trade at Earth.  Whether they are like
this one, I couldn't say."

"Kidnapping the inhabitants of a town doesn't sound
like trade to me.  As for that, kidnapping me isn't trade either."

Forset splashed water on his face.  "They take
sometimes; they trade almost always.  Your own ancestors were enslaving others
at the time my ancestors were stolen.  For manufactured or farm products, they
almost always find trading easier than stealing, as long as the lords have
something that is wanted in return."

"What do the lords offer on Earth?"

Forset laughed.  "Earth's inhabitants are especially
easy, I'm told.  The lords have maintained relationships with families there
for many generations, and all feral humans want is gold and, for the last few
trips, boxes of strangely decorated pieces of paper with your symbol for one
hundred printed on them.  The lords took a sample, and the artisans produced
them by the thousands.  The gold is gotten with little effort from your own
comet cloud when we first arrive in-system."

"What do the lords get in return?"

Forset stood and continued walking.  "Organics.  Art. 
Animals.  This past landing, no doubt some things that require your
services."

Tommy's next question got only a blank expression at first. 
"Why do women only work at cooking and serving in the meal room and hoeing
weeds?"

Finally, Forset replied, "That is the way it has always
been.   How would you have it?"

"In my time, on my Earth, at least in the United
States, women are allowed to do anything a man can do," Tommy said.

"That makes no sense," Forset replied. 
"Everyone knows women are inferior.  Requiring more of them would be
harmful."

"My mom would strongly disagree with you," Tommy
said.

They had reached the end of their walk and were back at
Forset's cabin.  "Perhaps you could help me with a trade item I do know
of.  The artisans gave me a wonderfully tiny knife with many blades obtained
from Earth."

Forset produced a small box containing a four-bladed safety
razor.  "I bloodied my finger on the blades, but I cannot imagine what is
meant to be cut by them."

#   #   #

On one walk through the Commons, Tommy asked about the parts
of the ship he hadn't seen. 

"I am told the ship is a gigantic sphere, compressed
slightly from top to bottom," Forset said.  "I haven't seen the ship
from the outside, but the artisans and warriors who ride in the landers give
that description.  My world inside the ship is not so much different from your
world.  The place I meet with the lords, you have not seen, and I have led the
artisans' services in places you have not been, but our walks have taken you to
most of the other places I know.  I believe the engines that push this ship are
below us, and the lords live in the space above the Commons, but I have seen
neither."

"The warriors.  Are they lords?"

"No, they are not lords.  The lords seldom fight for
themselves, I am told.  The warriors are also from the Earth of our time, but
from another part of England."

"Why do we never see them or the artisans on our
walks?"

"The lords have made all of us different, too different
to be comfortable together, perhaps.  Sometimes, a farmer will talk with an
artisan about a problem within the ship.  The warriors keep to themselves.  If
you are ever close to one, you will understand why."  He pointed at a
dusty cloud clockwise around the central column.  "You have seen something
of the warriors almost every day in our walks.  The dirt in their practice area
has been ground to powder by their feet.  When the dust is in the air, they are
training."

"Could I watch?"

The horrified expression on Forset's face almost made Tommy
laugh aloud. 

"No, of course not!" Forset said.

#   #   #

For a while after his first meeting with Forset, Tommy's
mornings at the stables became harder.  The boys didn't appreciate his new
confidence and tested him at every opportunity.  Whenever the first Jack and
the second Jack were out of sight, one of his tormentors picked a fight.  Tommy
held back in these scuffles, and they made noise without much injury, but the
fights always drew one of the Jacks to see what was happening.  Jack would
threaten, and things quieted down for a day or so, until the next clash.

Except for bruises, the fights mostly made Tommy hungry.  He
couldn't get enough to eat, and by the time he was talking with Forset about
artisans and warriors in walks through the decks and the Commons, he had twice
exchanged his shirts and pants for larger sizes.

One day, the first Jack told Mark to accompany the second
Jack to pick up some equipment, and Tommy had to unload the feed wagon alone. 
When this had happened before, Tommy had jerked the bags off of the wagon, one
at a time, into the wheelbarrow.  This time, he was thinking over the previous
day's lesson and the essay he would write that afternoon, and, without being
aware of what he was doing, he brought a feed bag to his chest and threw it
into the wheelbarrow.  He stopped. 
That felt good
, he thought.  He
picked up another bag and threw it after the first. 
That felt easy!
 
The third bag he lifted over his head before sending it after the others,
filling the wheelbarrow. 
That was unbelievable!
 

He climbed into the bed of the wagon and danced around,
holding his arms in the air and congratulating himself. 
That was fun!
 
On the second turn, he calmed down and glanced around guiltily. 
I mustn't
be caught playing instead of working.
 

Movement at the far edge of the stable caught his
attention. 
That's the first Jack talking to a group of boys
, he
thought. 
They looked like... Yes, they are the boys I've been fighting. 
What is that about?

The wheelbarrow rolling over loose straw muffled any sounds
the boys might have made, and his eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the
stable prevented him from seeing their ambush.  A blow across his upper back
sent him stumbling forward into the wheelbarrow.  If the impact had been six
inches higher, the attack might have ended then.  Instead, it knocked his face
into the stack of feed bags and gave him time to turn around.  For months, the
fights had been with bare hands.  This time, each of the five boys stood in
front of him with a weapon. 

I might have a chance against the sticks
, he thought,
but I need more than my bare hands against the two with pitchforks.
  He
looked around for a weapon of some kind.  They had backed him inside the
wheelbarrow handles against a stack of immovable feed bags.  The handles
confined him to a space two feet wide.

Maybe not so immovable
, he thought.  In one whirling
turn, he picked up a fifty-pound sack of feed from the wagon and heaved it at
the nearest boy with a pitchfork.  The boy went down with a loud cry, his
pitchfork flying into the darkness behind him.  Another turn and heave knocked
the second pitchfork wielder to the floor with the sack on his chest.  Tommy
kept the third sack in his hands and charged the remaining three, knocking two
into the hay bales stacked by the entrance and chasing the third out the door.

Numbers three and four had disappeared when he returned, but
the first two sat on the floor, moaning.

"You broke my ribs," one of them said.

"And what were you planning to do to me with that
pitchfork?" Tommy said.

The other one rocked back and forth.  "We was only
supposed to hurt you a little bit, not break your ribs."

"Who told you to hurt me?"

"The first Jack," the first one said.

Tommy squatted on his heels in front of them.  "Did he
say why?"

"He says you don't belong here.  He says it's not right
you're here."

"And if you hurt me a little bit?  What good would that
do?  Would that make me go away?  To where?  Are you sure you weren't supposed
to hurt me a lot?"  He grabbed the second boy's tunic and jerked him
forward until their faces almost touched.

The boy pushed at Tommy's chest, but his face didn't move. 
"It wasn't our idea.  We was just doing what we was told."

Seeing the other boy getting up, Tommy released one hand and
grabbed, slamming the boy into the side of the one he already held.  "I've
got a new idea for you and your friends.  The next time any of you pick a fight
with me, someone will be seriously hurt, multiple broken bones hurt, and he
won't be me."  He shook them both.  "Maybe I should do some of that
hurting now."

Tommy stood up, effortlessly lifting the two boys to their
feet.  They were standing flat-footed, and he was looking over their heads. 
They
are tiny
, he thought. 
I could break their bones, but that would make me
just like them.

"Whatever Jack tells you to do, you'd best not do it if
it involves me.  Do you understand?"

When both of them nodded, he shoved them back toward the
door and went back to his wheelbarrow.  He had work to do, even if it was for
the first Jack.

#   #   #

The day after his fight with the boys, three farmers-- full-grown
men--waited for Tommy at the barn.

The man in the center was a little taller than the others
and not someone that Tommy knew.  When the man opened his mouth, Tommy could
see a wide gap in his front teeth. "Gotten too big for the boys to handle,
have you?" the man said. 

Tommy stopped well away from the barn door and put Potter
down at his feet. "I suppose." 
This doesn't look good!
  He
took a step back.  "What can I do for you?"

The two men on the outside moved slowly to Tommy's left and right. 

The gap-toothed man threw a futile kick at Potter as the cat
darted past into the open door of the barn. 

Tommy had seen the man on the left before in the meal room. 
He was scrawny, even for one of the farmers.  "We're here to make you pay
for beating up on our kids, feral," the man said.

Tommy also knew the man on the right.  He was one of the
animal handlers and was frequently called on to subdue angry livestock. 
"And the sight of your lumpy body makes us sick," that man said.

"After we make you pay, we want you out of here,"
said the gap-toothed man still in front of him. 

Tommy looked carefully back and forth at the men closing in
on him before answering.  "Where do you expect me to go?" he said. 

"We don't care," said the scrawny man on his
left.  Maybe your priest friend will let you move in with him."

"And the lords?" asked Tommy, taking another step
back.

"The lords won't care as long as you're doing your work
with the priest," said the man in the middle.

They were about three arm lengths away.

"Who told you that?" asked Tommy.

The man's expression indicated he had revealed more than he
should.  "That don't matter!"  the man said.

Tommy cocked his head to one side.  "What if I don't
want to move to the priest's deck?" 
Why did I say that?  Of course I
want to quit shoveling shit, don't I?

"Then we'll have to convince you!" the man in the
middle shouted as he charged toward Tommy.

Tommy turned and launched his body, arms out and shoulder
down, toward the scrawny man to his left, striking him just below the rib
cage.  The man collapsed, wheezing, across Tommy's back, where Tommy held him
as he whirled back toward his other attackers.  His jump to the side had
spoiled their attack, leaving them well away from his new position.

"We won't fall for that again, feral," said the
gap-toothed man.  He pulled a thick stick from underneath his tunic.  The
animal handler produced a short knife.  They charged again, side by side,
directly at him.

Tommy sidestepped, then grabbed the waistband of the man across
his back and spun, throwing the squealing man into the other two attackers. 
Well,
it works with more than feed sacks!
  All three went down in a heap with the
man he had thrown on top.  Tommy added his weight to the pile, pinning them
down.