The next morning I rushed down to our basket, to see if Zicky was back. But the hollow she lies in was empty and cold, and her bowls of sausaus and milk were still full of lonely- looking sausaus and milk. I went to the doors and looked out, in case she was out in the courtyard.
She wasn't. The clouds had fallen down on top of us (as they often do on winter mornings) and I could hardly see a thing. "Zicky" I yelled, banging my fist on the glass. "I'm here." That was in case she couldn't see our dome from where she was. I waited for her to answer, but the only sound was the wind howling back at me.
I went back to our basket, and started snuffling again.
Zinxniz came crashing down and heard me. "I'm sure she'll turn up soon," he said, picking me up for a cuddle. "She must be getting hungry. And why are you wriggling like that? I'll put you outside now, so you can do your business."
I ran through the icy courtyard, across the cold herb lawn, behind the hedge, to the compost heap, which is always warm. Wisps of steam were drifting off it, joining the cloud just above. As I crouched on the compost heap, covering my droppings with wet leaves, a dreadful thought came to me. I rushed back inside and told Tamomat, who understands a little more.
At least, I began to tell her - but then I heard a sound that could have been a zepper, so I had to rush outside to investigate. It was only the wind, so I went back inside.
"She might stay with the other dromes for ever," I told Tam, "because they give her bacon."
Tamomat looked over at Zinxniz, who was demolishing a huge bowl of soupuos. "Keddy's trying to tell us something," she concluded.
I nodded my head vigorously.
"I think that means agreement," said Tamomat. "Quite a smart little man, this one."
"I do wish he'd stop running inside and outside, though," said Zinxniz crossly. "Every time he goes through the doors, that cold wind blows in. Sometimes I wish we hadn't taught him how to whistle them open."
Some days, if we're patient, and hang around the table for long enough, and make little whining sounds to show how much we admire their food, we get their breakfast scraps. But today they were greedy, and ate the lot. I was hungry. I eyed Zicky's bowls for a long time. Finally, I ate up her sausaus. If she's been eating bacon, she won't mind.
Tamomat went off in the zepper, to another meeting, and Zinxniz went into his lab. I wanted to stay with him, but I hate the seaweed smells in there.
Instead, I considered going back to that grassy bank. "Only one at a time," the drome had said. Maybe they'll come back for me. If only I'd gone with her yesterday! I decided not to go up the bank yet. It was drizzling now, and there was cloud everywhere. Even if the yellow-grey zepper had come, those dromes couldn't have seen me. Instead, I decided to go and see Hanny on the next farm, in case he knew anything about the mystery dromes.
I found him lying under a sheeparoo that he'd pulled down on top of him, trying to keep warm and dry. It was bleating frantically, making little kicking movements as it feebly tried to stand up. But it couldn't, because its legs were up in the air, and Hanny had an arm around its neck.
"So it's YOU," he snapped.
"That looks cosy," I said. I tried to grab a sheeparoo, to copy Hanny, but its wool was wet and greasy, and it hopped away. Hanny laughed.
I wriggled under his sheeparoo, joining him. There wasn't enough wool for both of us.
"What do you want?" he snapped. "Don't take my blanket."
"I'll warm you up," I said, wriggling next to him.
"Get away, you're making me cold."
I ignored him. Hanny's always like that.
No, he hadn't seen Zicky, or any strange zeppers, and he couldn't care less.
Hanny's no fun any more. A few years ago we used to fight a lot, growling like dogs and scaring the sheeparoos. Being a Working Boy, he's a different breed from us: much bigger and stronger - and so hairy. In our fights, he could beat the two of us at once. Once he knocked out Zicky with an old branch. She was bleeding a lot and I had to drag her home. Then Zinxniz called the vet and told Salobolas, who thrashed Hanny with a whip.
This was meant to teach him not to fight. Actually, it made him worse. Part of the reason I couldn't catch the sheeparoo today was that I was holding a rock in one paw, and trying to keep it hidden from Hanny. I needed it in case one of his dogs came near, or he turned nasty, but I knew that even seeing it would make him turn nasty.
"Where's Zicky?" Hanny sneered. "I thought you were too chicken to come over here without her to protect you."
"Hanny, that's why I've come." I explained the situation to him. When I finished explaining, he was quiet for a minute. The only sound was his brain going chug-chug-chug while he thought.
"It's obvious," he said at last. "They've stolen her."
"What do you mean?" My heart raced up in fear.
"Just like they steal sheepies. That's why I have to guard these stupid things all the time. At this time of year, with all this wool, a sheepie's worth over ten minims. You know what happened yesterday? One of my blues just vanished. Boy, did I get into strife for that. Salob punished me. Feel these marks on my bum."
"I can't. There's too much wool in the way." I was practically suffocating under the giant sheeparoo.
"All that for maybe six minims - it was only a small sheepie. Now, what's your sister worth, in cold hard cash?"
"What do you mean, Hanny?"
"You pampered pet, you haven't a clue what anything's worth! What a life! If only I could swap with you! Now, do you know what I'm worth?"
Don't be so baggy, I thought.
"Fifteen, if I'm lucky. Ha! I mean, if Salob's lucky. I wish the brute WOULD sell me. That's a good price for a Working Boy. But as for your bloody pet market - us workers can't compete. You're pedigree, aren't you, you and your precious sister?"
I nodded. He couldn't see me, under the sheeparoo, with his eyes shut to stop the rain dripping into them, but he knew the answer and kept on.
"Don't deny it - I've seen the symbol on your back paw. A golden-brown shorthair like you, in good condition, would easily be worth 40, maybe 50."
This meant nothing to me at first. But I remembered that a long sausaus tube costs a minim. So she's worth maybe 50 tubes of sausaus. I tried to picture that much sausaus. Would the tubes fill a house? A room? I had no idea. It was more sausaus than I could ever eat.
"But a female of prime breeding age could be a lot more," Harry added.
"She's NOT of breeding age!" I shouted.
"Coming close," said Harry. "Give it a year or two, she'll be big and fat with her first cub."
"No!" I yelled.
"Where were you, exactly, when she was stolen?"
"That bank with the line of cypress trees, where the road turns a corner, by the bridge over the creek."
"Hmmm," said Hanny.
"What do you mean, hmmm?"
"Nothing. Good place for an ambush though. And are you sure you know nothing about that missing sheepie. Salob said he'd whip the stuffing out of me if I didn't find it today, and I wouldn't get any meat for a month."
"Haven't a clue," I said, envious because Hanny got to eat real meat and we only get sausaus. "All sheepies look the same to me. Look, I've got to go."
I slid out from under the sheeparoo, and ran home in the rain. On the way, I detoured past the blue sheeparoo we crashed yesterday. Its eyes were full of ants, who were busy biting out little pieces of eye and taking them home for dinner. Yuk!
"Poor old sheepy," I said, scraping ants off my back legs.
Thinking about Salobolas, I realized that the Zims aren't too bad after all. They're pretty thick, but they're usually good to us. What more could we ask for? Bacon more often? Chocobacon, even. More rides in the front of the zepper, letting us ride on their kneenoses, looking out the windows? To sleep on their bed every night? And they never punish us - except when we knock down flowers in their garden.
Compare that with Hanny's life: Salobolas never lets him in the dome, even on the coldest nights. Hanny has to look after the sheeparoos all the time, and gets punished when Salob is in a bad mood - which is every day. Hanny even has a nasty little fensnef inside his shoulder, which Salob can use to keep track of him, and give him an automatic pain, if he's doing something Salob doesn't like.
Back at home, I breezed in through the front doors and found both the Zims had gone out. So I went back to our basket in the basement, and huddled under the blanket, holding it to my nose, persuading myself I could smell Zicky's sweat on it.
I slept a while, and woke up with a thought that rang like an alarm in my head: Hanny might be right. Perhaps those dromes HAD stolen Zicky.
Tonight we had a visit from Salobolas and Instni, who are going on holiday to a place called Uruguru.
Salob was raving on about his farm animals going missing, and our Zims were saying "Yes, Yes" (if you must know, it was actually "!Krjrk! !Krrjrrk!") but I could tell they didn't agree with Salobolas much. In fact, I don't think they like Salob, but they're only polite to him because dromes are always polite, and because he lives on the next farm.
It was a cold night, so the Zims lit a big fire in the huge stone fireplace. I lay low on a couch, half-under a cushion. The four of them were drinking lots of winesky, and getting quite excited (for dromes). Tamomat mentioned that Zicky was missing.
"That's the trouble with humans," said Salobolas. (Because he's a farmer, he seems to think he's an expert on us.) "They're always running away, just when you've finally got them house-trained. That's usually the age they do it, too - when they become teenagers, their nature calls them, to go wild and breed. Have you had her sterilized yet?"
"We don't approve of that," said Tam firmly.
"She's a pedigree," Zinx added. "They should remain intact."
"Asking for trouble!" Salobolas said. "Myself, I always had them fixed up when they were babies. With that, and a fensnef, they never run away."
"We don't like fensnefs," said Zinxniz. "We prefer animals in their natural state, without electronic gadgets inside them. It's fairer to them, and more ecologically sound."
Looking cross, Salobolas sat down on the couch, next to the cushion I was hiding behind. I hoped, for the Zims' sake, he wouldn't notice me and be disgusted with them. I didn't dare move: I curled up and kept very still.
"But you never kept humans for long, did you?" Tamomat asked, trying to humour him.
"Correct. After about thirty years, humans become very bad- tempered. No fun any more. Whenever mine got to that stage, I had them put down, and replaced them with a child - about five years old. Younger than that, they're too much trouble. Always crying for their mothers. But I got tired of humans. I haven't had any for over three centuries."
(He seemed to have forgotten about Hanny at first - then I realized he was only talking about pets.)
"If I ever owned a pet," said Instsni, "I'd like a horse. Such cute little creatures, the way they gallop around."
"Impossible to house-train!" said Salob rudely. "And their hooves damage the furniture." He thinks he can boss Instsni around, because Instsni is only 100 years old. Salob whacked his great arm down on the cushion, to emphasize his point. A huge puff of stale air blew out of it, almost knocking me off the couch.
"And look at this!" he roared, noticing me at last. "Thinks it's a drome, just like us, does it? Lying on the couch! So sneaky! And dirty! Look at that dried mud!"
He bared his horrid pink teeth - three rows of them. "Geddown!" he snapped at me, pointing at the floor.
"He's not doing any harm," Tamomat began. I hesitated.
"Covered in fleas! You don't know where it's been! Totally unhygienic. Down, vermin!"
I jumped down, hurting my ankle, and slunk under the couch.
Zinxniz and Tamomat cast guilty glances at each other: what would Salobolas say if they told him they sometimes let Zicky and me sleep on their bed? For a moment, I treasured them.
"I prefer humans for pets," said Zinxniz cautiously (as if he expected Salobolas to contradict him.) "I know they're funny looking animals, but I kind of feel sorry for them. They're so symmetrical, they house-train easily, they're smarter than most other animals, and they don't shed hairs all over the place."
"Backward creatures!" said Salobolas. "Our geneticists have been trying to improve them for 2000 years - and what have they succeeded with? Nothing but scrawny fur!"
"If their fur was any longer, it would be hard to clean and dry," said Tam. "As it is, there's just enough fur to keep them warm, so they don't have to wear those smelly animal skins. And it's nice to stroke, too." She reached under the couch, lifted me onto her lap, and gently stroked my back. If I was a cat, I'd have purred.
"Besides, humans can be a lot of fun," Zinx added.
Then Tamomat said slowly, "Yes, they can be absolutely hilarious - specially the babies. If Zicky doesn't come back, why don't we get a new one, Zinxniz? A little companion for Keddy."
"Great idea!" said Instsni (who always wants everybody to be happy, so has to spend a lot of time humouring Salob). "But of course the breeders won't separate the babies from their mothers for the first few years."
"Mothers!" said Tamomat. "And fathers! How cute! Aren't humans an odd species, having two different sexes?"
"No more than most other mammals," said Zinxniz. "Only the mothers have babies, and the fathers just sort of hang around."
"So different from us, my pumpkin."
"No, not so different, watermelon. We both sort of hang around, don't we?"
This was embarrassing Salobolas and Instni, who knew perfectly well what they were talking about. Baby dromlins are rare. The Zims both want one, but all they ever keep in their pouches are metrortems. Zicky and I call Zinx "him" and Tam "her", but they're both the same under their kilts.
Tam tried to change the subject. "Isn't it strange to think," she said, "that humans once ruled the world?"
"They only thought they did," Instsni snorted.
"But when we arrived from Andromeda," said Salobolas, "they were no match for us. Basically, they have two of everything, and we have three."
"It was more their lack of intelligence that left them where they are today," said Zinx. "After all, any dromlin can work out in less than a second the cube root of 1,881,365,963,725 - but apparently humans could do this only with a machine."
"Watermelon, I wonder if you mistook the eleventh digit," Tam said. "If you mean the cube of 12,345, that should be 6, not 7."
"Of course, my pumpkin, how silly of me! All this winesky is making me lose concentration."
When Salobolas and Instsni left, I heard them talking in the courtyard. Instsni said: "Those two have no dromlins, you know. That's why they spoil their pets so shockingly."
I dreamed she came back as a bird. She waved her feathery wings at me, and dropped slowly down to our basket. She covered me with a wing, softer than fur, and whispered to me, so as not to wake me up. I've learned to fly, she whispered, grabbing my hand. Come up with me, Keddy.
In my dream, I felt the air pushing me up. We both rose into the clouds, and between them I saw the ground far below us, all the way from home, across the plains, to the city by the sea.
Then I woke up. I'd seen that view before, from a village called Noton Sumut, where the Zims often go to get supplies. Noton Sumut is a very narrow place - it has a wide street along the top of a ridge, and big domes almost touching the street, so they won't fall off. But in the gaps between the domes you can look down. The hill's so steep it's almost a cliff - on both sides. On the side closest to our farm, it's a long, long way down - but you can still see the sheeparoos at the bottom. On the other side, though, the cliff is so far down that you can't even see the bottom. Instead you look out, and there in the distance, far below, is the shiny sea, and beside it is a line of tall domes. That's the city of Glenelg, and the cup-shaped dome with trees growing on top of the handle is where Tamomat goes to her CAC meetings. A few times, the Zims have taken Zicky and me to the sea. It's like the biggest pond you ever saw, and it was so pleased to see us that it kept jumping out at us. The sea reminds me of a dog: a friendly thing, but scary too.
For the next few days, I waited for Zicky, sitting on that bank they stole her from. At night the Zims let me sleep on their bed, but they kicked me in their sleep, and snored like thunderstorms.
Each morning I went up the grassy bank again, and just waited. Every now and then I had a little sob. Occasionally, zeppers went past, but always ones I knew: dromes who lived further out in the hills. I hid in the grass, watching the road as well as the sky, and didn't care how much it rained on me. I didn't even see any of Hanny's sheeparoos, whose bright colours were usually visible on the opposite hillside. I began to wonder if the dromes had taken them.
Of course all those sheeparoos wouldn't fit in a zepper, but that's how crazy I was feeling. And the worst part was, I always ended up going to sleep. I woke up each afternoon with a guilty start - what if Zicky and the dromes had come back to get me, not seen me, and gone away again?
Every day, on the way to and from the bank, I passed our dead blue sheeparoo, watching it slowly disappear. On the third day the eyes were only holes, and the ants were marching out of its mouth, carrying little pieces of tongue. Both its back legs had vanished - perhaps an eagle had taken them. A few days later, the ants had invited all their friends, and little birds were pulling out tufts of blue wool to build their nests. Spring was definitely on the way.
One afternoon, as I dozed on the bank, waiting for Zicky to come back (or the zepper to take me to her) I heard a rustling sound in the bushes near me. A branch snapped. It was something big - maybe a wombat.
In the bush, I could make out something large and black, possibly part of a leg. Not a wombat. Maybe a gigantic dog. I felt uneasy inside. I was desperate to run away, but I know better than that, specially with a giant dog. I'm a little scared of giant dogs, actually. I looked around for a big stick. There was nothing in sight.
It hissed at me!
I jumped out of my skin. This is the end of me, I thought. My arms were shaking so much I couldn't think. I screwed up my eyes as tight as I could. Just let it be quick, I thought bravely.
I could hear it coming out of the bushes.
I screwed up my eyes even tighter.
"Wake up!" hissed a voice. I looked up fearfully. It was an old woman, with a kangaroo skin wrapped around her shoulders. The arm bits (where the paws had been) were tied around her neck. Her skin was as black as night. All I could do was blink.
"What are you doing on my road?" she asked.
Her skin was so black, it was purple.
"Why don't you answer me. And why are you shaking like that?" she said. I blinked again. I thought I knew all the humans around here, but I'd never seen anything like her.
"It's not a road," I whispered. (I don't know why I was whispering.) "This is my little nest. That's the road, down there."
She waved along the line where the grass was pushed down. "This is the humans' road," she said. "We don't walk where dromes go. I need water - is that stream down there drinkable?"
"Yes, above that bridge. Downstream, the sheepies spoil it."
I noticed she was carrying a buckub.
"I need to stew some muttoroo," she explained.
"Have you seen my sister?" I asked.
Right then we heard a sound. It could have been a zepper, or it could have been the wind. "Lie down!" she snapped. By now, I was sure it was the wind, but to humour her, I lay down with her in the long grass.
"Does she have milky-brown fur like yours, with brown eyes and curly hair?"
"Yes," I sobbed, clinging to the woman, who poked me away with her elbow. "She's gone."
"That's why you must keep out of sight. The strays are being rounded up."
"Strays? Rounded up? What do you mean?"
"Too many things are disappearing, boy. Sheepies found dead in a hole. Bacon disappearing from smokehouses. Baits being laid. If you see a chocobacon biscsib on a boxob, don't touch it - it's a trap. If you see the red zepper, hide, or show your collar."
We hate the collars. We always take them off. The Zims have given up trying to make us wear them.
"Why?" I said, scared for Zicky. At least the one that took her wasn't red. "What does the red zepper do?"
"Takes you away and puts you down. They make you into sausaus. Ever seen a red tube of 777? That was one of us."
"Oh, yes," I said doubtfully. "That's exactly the sort of thing Zicky would say."
"Is Zicky your sister, who disappeared?"
I wrinkled my nose, trying not to cry. "Yes," I burst out. "A zepper took her away. A drome with bacon."
"Was it red?" the woman demanded. "And there's no need to cry."
"Not really. Pinkish-brown, with yummy stripes of fat."
"The zepper, idiot!"
"Sort of yellow-grey."
"A white glyph on the side, like this?" She crossed two finders on each hand, and linked her thumbs below them.
"No, like a potato tree upside down, with roots."
The black woman nodded slowly. "That could be the Repackagers. They don't sell the meat, they sell the living beast - for a lot of minims, to sad old dromes who don't have dromlins."
"Which beast?" I asked.
"Your sister, for example. We're all beasts, you and I." She grabbed me tight with her bony hands. "When you're as old as me," she said, squeezing my shoulders hard, "you'll know the life of a beast."
"But how will I find her?" I cried.
"See this road? She's down there somewhere. Just keep putting one foot in front of another, and you'll be walking."
She wasn't pointing at the old road, but at her faint line in the grass. I heard another sound. The wind again, or a zepper? I looked around. When I knew it was only the wind, I looked back at the woman. She had disappeared.
Zinxniz said "We're feeling sorry for you, Keddy. Today we'll take you to a humanry and let you choose a little new companion."
"A male, I think," said Tamomat. "From all accounts, they don't run off so much."
So they took me for a ride in the zepper, not to Noton Sumut, but the other way, to Yllidilly. It was a farm with long white buildings. I had to wear my collar, and a lead - which I hate.
My dromes led me into a hall, where two others were talking. One was the breeder, because he wore a kilt. The other was a town drome, wearing a toga. On a table was a child in a wooden cage: a girl, hardly more than a baby. The town drome was buying her from the breeder.
The girl looked at me, wide-eyed, scared. I smiled at her, and waved my fingers. She covered her eyes and howled.
"Don't scare it!" the breeder snapped at me, then he spoke to Zinxniz and Tamomat. "He'll have to stay outside if he upsets the stock."
"We brought him back to show you," said Tamomat. "We bought him here years ago - do you remember?"
"I don't remember individuals," said the breeder. "So many pass through." He grabbed me roughly, turned me upside down, and read the mark on my foot. "Oh yes," he said. "1436. I think I remember that litter. Wasn't there a matching female, a little older?"
Tamomat waved a feeler, in the gesture that meant Yes, you're brilliant, you've guessed it right. "But she disappeared last month," she said sadly.
"She was stolen!" I piped up. Surely a human-breeder would understand our language.
The breeder ignored me. "Easy come, easy go," he said to the Zims. "Buy another! I'd recommend a Mongol. They're very affectionate, and never run away."
"But aren't they a bit stupid?" Tam asked.
The breeder nodded his feeler vigorously. "That's why they never run away!" he said.
The Zims looked at each other, flicking their feelers, which means No.
"Or maybe you'd like a fierce guard-human," the breeder suggested. "There's a big demand for those lately, specially among city folks. Those strays are becoming such a nuisance!"
"We don't want a fierce one," said Zinx. "Just a baby."
The breeder led us into one of the long white buildings. It was partitioned into wooden cages, with a corridor down the centre. A great howling rose up: every partition had a mother, and one or two young children, all clinging to each other furiously, and glaring at me.
"One down here is ready to go," the breeder said, leading us to the far end of the building.
"We're letting Keddy choose," Tamomat stated proudly.
The breeder stared at him. "Are you crazy?" his stare said.
I didn't want to choose any of those kids. The mothers looked ready to rip me apart.
In the last cage was a boy by himself.
"Where's the mother?" Zinxniz asked.
"She was sick. Too old. Headed for a little red tube." He laughed.
A terrible fear came over me. I felt like throwing up. Maybe the old woman hadn't just been trying to scare me: maybe it was true after all. But it wasn't a red zepper that took Zicky.
While I was thinking about this, a little hand flicked out of the cage, and clutched mine.
"Look at that!" said Tamomat fondly, as I tried to wriggle free.
"I think we've found a friend here," Zinxniz observed. "Let's take this one - what do you think, Keddy?"
"Pedigreed?" asked Tam - who can be a bit of a snob.
"No," said the breeder. "Otherwise we'd have tried to save the mother. But from guaranteed healthy stock, and only 30 minims."
"That seems very reasonable," Tamomat observed. "For a non- pedigree. Are you sure you don't mean 33?"
"Even if of unmatched parentage," added Zinxniz.
"Prices are up," said the breeder. "Way up. You're ten years out of date. One of those would cost you 60 now."
He was pointing at me.
"We made a good investment," said Tamomat, patting me on the head.
"You could trade this one in," the breeder suggested, looking at me. "There's strong demand for all pedigrees right now, even used ones. I had an inquiry only today." He was staring at me.
"We paid 40 for the pair," said Zinxniz proudly.
"Perhaps we should say 27," the breeder said. "Or zero, with a trade-in."
"No, no, no," said Zinx. "I think 30 is a much rounder figure."
"Well, there you are!" said the breeder, back where he started, They were all happy, after their absurd bargaining. He unlocked the cage and let out the boy, who grabbed me with sticky little hands.
"Can he talk?" asked Tamomat.
"We get too sentimental about humans," said the breeder. "To use a word like 'talk' can be misleading. In the trade, we call it 'sounding.' To answer your question, this little fellow's pretty quiet. He's had a bit of a rough time with his mother, but I'm sure young 1436 here will soon have him chattering away like a songbird."
"Does the little one have a name?" asked Zinxniz.
The breeder shook his heads. "That's up to you. As far as I'm concerned, this is just one of batch 4252."
As we began to walk back through the long white building, all the people in the cages set up a loud howling, and beating on the bars. They weren't actually saying anything, but their message was clear: leave our boy alone. I was terrified. And of course the boy was howling too. I wriggled out of his grasp and walked well behind my companions.
"Ignore them," said the breeder. "They always do this when one of them's sold. It's their way of saying goodbye."
From another building came the deeper sound of men's voices. Then, from the opposite site, the voices of older children. But they weren't howling now: they were singing. The mothers joined in.
I had to stand still, my spine was shivering so much. It was the saddest music I'd ever heard. Tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to make out the words. It began something like "Fly away, my thoughts" - I couldn't catch the rest.
"Isn't that just amazing!" said Zinxniz and Tamomat, holding on to each other.
"Troublemakers!" the breeder snorted. "Bunch of idiots! The slaves' chorus, indeed! They don't know how well off they are! Their life expectancy here is at least double what it would be in the wild."
Back in the marble hall, the Zims were paying the breeder. Each was paying 15 minims, so they'd each own half of young 4252. First Tam took out her metrortem, and played the breeder 15 minims of what dromes call music. The breeder pretended to love it, standing there listening with all six eyes shut. Then Zinx pulled out HIS metrortem, and played another 15 minims. Meanwhile, 4252 clung to the breeder's leg like grim death. I strolled around the hall, my lead trailing behind me, pretending not to know them. 30 minims takes quite a long time. In one corner, on a low bench, I noticed a heap of letters.
I may not be able to read, but I know a symbol when I see it. Checking that nobody was looking at me (the breeder still had his eyes shut, and the Zims were watching the boy), I snatched an unopened letter, rolled it up small, and hid it in the only place I could find: under my armpit.
Just in time. "Come and look after your little brother," said Tamomat. I went to the door, and stared out. I'm only a dumb human, aren't I? So I'm not meant to understand them.
"Keddy, is there something wrong with your arm?" Zinxniz called. "Why are you holding it that funny way?"
I turned around, hoping the letter wasn't visible behind my shoulder. At least the breeder wasn't looking at me: his eyes were still shut, counting the minims.
In the back of the zepper, going home, I hid the letter under an empty boxob and tried to amuse the boy. I spoke to him, I whispered, I even laughed, but he didn't say a thing. I noticed the Zims glancing back at us now and again.
As soon as we got home, Tamomat made a great fuss of the boy and proposed a whole lot of names, all of which Zinxniz rubbished. While Tam tried to feed him sausaus from a red tube (which I've decided never to eat again), Zinx spoke to me in a low voice. I don't know who he was trying to keep a secret from, because a low voice for him is like a herd of cows running past.
"So you haven't really hit it off with your little brother yet," he told me.
"He's not my little brother." (Of course, Zinxniz didn't understand this.)
"I guess you'll get used to each other soon. Look, he doesn't want his sausaus. I don't think he knows what it is. Goodness knows what they get fed at that humanry. Here, Keddy, I'll put out some sausaus. You show him how to eat it!"
I made the most disgusting retching, gagging noise I could.
The kid actually laughed.
Tamomat and Zinxniz beamed at each other. "Settling in already," they said. "Eat up, Keddy, don't teach him to be a fussy eater like you."
They put him in the basket with me, but he woke up in the middle of the night and started howling. Tamomat came rushing down the wave-ramp, picked him up, and took him back to their bed. I didn't get invited.
In the morning, before the Zims came down, I took my letter from its hiding place, and opened it by pressing the button on one end, just the way I'd seen the Zims do. Inside, as I hoped, was a piece of paper. There were more of those funny little marks they call dromescript, and in one corner was that glyph again: the potato person. Somehow this letter could lead me to Zicky. But how could I find out what the writing meant?
Then it came to me.
When the Zims came thumping down to have their eucalyptus soupuos, I was ready for them.
Zinxniz looked around at Tamomat. I could tell he was puzzled because his feeler was bending over to one side. "Where did you get this from, watermelon?" he asked, waving a crumpled piece of papypap.
"Get what from, pudding?" Tamomat replied, rocking the howling boy in her arms.
"This letter from the HSPSH to Yllidilly."
"You mean the humanry we went to yesterday?"
"Yes, the place where we got Viggy."
"You mean Zujjy, pudding?"
They still couldn't agree on its name. This gave me great malicious pleasure.
"No, watermelon, I mean 4252."
"And what's the letter about?"
"A city drome called Glozbzolg is offering to make a bulk purchase of unwanted humans, for a recycling experiment."
"And how did the letter get here?"
They looked at the boy, who wouldn't stop howling. They looked at me. I looked at a bird outside.
"I suppose there's only one thing to do," said Tamomat, loosening his kilt and pulling it a little lower. He took the ungrateful infant and slipped it into his pouch.
And of course, it stopped crying immediately. Its horrid little face looked out over the top of the pouch and gloated at me, as it impertinently waved an arm.
I gave a despairing whimper.
"Stop that, Keddy!" Zinxniz said sternly. "You're far too big to fit in here."
A drome's pouch is the best place I've ever been in my life. It's lined with the softest, thickest fur you can imagine. It's always warm, and it holds you up wherever you want to be. And if you're a dromlin, you can even get juice from it, I'm told. For the first few years I was with the Zims, I used to make for their pouches whenever Zicky upset me. We'd each sit in a pouch and make faces at one another.
But one day - just like that - our dromes decided we were too big for their pouches. It's not so much that we grew suddenly, I think, it was because we discovered mud.
And now this awful brat was in my favourite place.
"Look, Keddy!" said Tamomat. "Remember when I used to carry you around in here?"
With all the dignity I could muster, I turned around so I wouldn't have to see them. I walked outside.
"It's you or me, kid," I said, as I mooched down the hill to see Hanny.
Glozbzolg. The city, I thought. My trick had worked, but it didn't help me much with finding her. And the bit about the recycling unwanted humans sent shivers up my spine.
Hanny was lying under a tree. He must have been tired, because he didn't open his eyes when I arrived, or told him my news.
"I'll go to the city," I said. "Somehow. And when I'm there, I'll draw this symbol on the ground, and ask people to show me the direction."
"Draw it on yourself," he said. "They'll think you come from there, and send you back."
"But they might bulk-purchase me," I cried. I imagined a machine, where unwanted humans were dropped in at the top, and little red tubes rolled out at the bottom.
Hanny laughed cruelly. "No such luck," he said. "You're worth more in one piece than in a tube. The worst they'd do is sell you. Now buzz off. I'm having a rest while Salob's down in Adalada."
I thought of going up on the grassy bank and waiting for Zicky, but a cold wind was blowing. On a day like this we'd go home and hang around the courtyard all morning. I'll do that too, I thought.
At home, the dromes were loading up the zepper. The brat, in Zinxniz's pouch now, waved at me in a nasty sort of way, gloating because he could fit in there and I couldn't.
Tamomat picked me up for one of her serious talks. "Don't be so sad, little one," she said. "We're going away for two nights, for a mathematical partytrap at Rotator's dome. The next day we're going to the human races at Kangarilla, and first thing the morning after that I'll be back. But then I have to rush off to the CAC meeting..."
She rambled on. I didn't care about her plans. All I wanted to know is why I wasn't being taken - specially to the human races. I love watching them: furless humans with enormous legs and owners' glyphs painted on their backs run around a track as fast as they can, and the dromes take bets on who'll win. The one who backs the winner has to pay lots of minims to all the others. It seems the wrong way round to me - but that's dromes for you.
Tam said "We're taking your little brother, so we'll leave you to look after the dome and find Zicky. Do you understand?"
I gave her a sad look.
"Of course you do!" said Tam, as she put me down and patted me on the head. "I've left plenty of food for you and Zicky. Don't eat it all at once. See you in a few days. Be wise!"
I stood on the herb lawn and watched, as the zepper picked up its legs, flapped its fins, and silently vanished around the hillside.
"That's it!" I said to myself. It proved they don't care about me. There was only one thing to do.
I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to somebody, but nobody was there. That was easily solved. I went back into the dome, jumped into our basket, and pulled our blanket over me. "I'm leaving now," I whispered to the little hollow where Zicky always lies. "I'll go to Noton Sumut and look for you there."
And what if you don't find me? she would have asked.
"I'll keep going till I do," I whispered. "All the way to the city."
How would you find it? she'd have said.
"We've been to Glenelg before, remember?"
But you don't have a zepper.
"Follow the road, that's what the black woman told me. Just keep putting each foot in front of the other."
"Farewell," I said to myself, climbing out of our basket. Then I noticed the blanket. I picked it up and tied it around my shoulders, in the same way that the black woman had done with her kangaroo skin. Its faint smell reminded me of Zicky.
I walked down to the road and listened out for the sound of dromes. Nothing: just a gentle hum of wind in the trees above. These tree-lined roads are thousands of years old. In the old days, Zinxniz says, humans had zeppers that couldn't fly. Those zeppers had wheels, and the humans rode them, touching the ground all the way to Adalada. These days, dromes use the roads only on fine days, admiring nature from their horsophants and buzzboards.
As I stood by the Zims' old wooden gate, I noticed next to the trees, the faintest line in the grass, as if long ago some humans had walked towards the city, dragging a stick behind them. I remembered the road the black woman had talked about, her road that she said I'd been lying on. Was this line her road too?
For a moment I imagined there might be hundreds like her, with their faint roads crisscrossing our hills - a constant stream of invisible humans trudging along them, living their lives in their own strange ways.
"Come on," I said to myself, in Zicky's voice. "Not a drome in sight. What are we waiting for? Let's clear out."
I climbed over the gate, pointed myself to Noton Sumut, and started putting my feet in front of each other.
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