Expendable - James Alan Gardner [85]
Either there hadn’t been enough plastic to spell out BIRTHDAY, or nobody cared enough to bother.
The Gift
The Morlocks glared at Oar with the owlish blinks of drunks everywhere. They had not consumed much liquor yet—I could tell just looking at their stomachs—but already they showed its effects.
Tobit gestured toward the Morlocks. “These are my faithful comrades: Mary, Martha, Matthew, and Mark. Perfect names for disciples, don’t you think?”
The Morlocks didn’t move to acknowledge their names. They continued staring at Oar.
“My name is Festina Ramos,” I said to them, “and this is Oar.”
In a whisper, she said, “An oar is an implement used to propel boats.”
The Morlocks remained motionless. Tobit looked from them to us, then gave an exaggerated sigh. “Am I the only one on this goddamned planet who knows how to party? Fun! Festivity! Falling down dribbling spittle! You hear me?”
Every Morlock said, “Yes, lord.” They didn’t mean it.
Another tense silence. Tobit groaned. “All right. I was going to leave this till later, but we have to do something to get people in the spirit. Ramos…time for your present.”
“I don’t need a present.”
“Everyone needs presents. And I have the perfect one for you. Something you could search for from one end of the galaxy to the other, and lucky me, I have some right here. Damned good luck, considering I didn’t know you were coming. If you had any sense of courtesy you’d have called ahead—”
“Phylar…” I sighed.
“All right, leave it be. No sense pissing you off when I can win your everlasting gratitude…not to mention showing how smart I am to think of this on the spur of the moment.” He drew himself up with counterfeit dignity. “Explorer Ramos, have you noticed my disciples’ bodily adornment?”
“The skin?”
“Yes, the skin. Have you wondered where they got it?”
“I’m hoping from animals.”
“Wrong!” Tobit grinned in triumph. “It’s artificial: comes straight out of a synthesizer down the block.”
“Obviously not a food synthesizer.”
“No,” Tobit agreed. “This town has lots of different synthesizers, programmed with manifest goodies from the League of Peoples. You guessed that, right, Ramos? You guessed that the League relocated these folks to Melaquin from Earth?”
I nodded. “The League must have made the same offer they made us four hundred years ago—renounce violence and get a new planet.”
“Right,” Tobit replied. “I get the feeling they only made the offer to selected tribes…maybe those who were already peaceful enough to convince the League they were sentient. Anyway, your ancestors and mine stayed back on Earth while the chosen few got a free ticket to Melaquin. The League built these towns, the synthesizers, the communications systems…and they also arranged that all future generations would be strong and healthy.” Tobit pointed at Oar. “God knows why the League decided to make them of glass, but I suppose people got used to it. This all happened about four thousand years ago; folks from those days must have been so glad their kids didn’t die in infancy, they didn’t care what the babies looked like.”
“My mother was proud of how I look,” Oar said defensively. “I happen to be extremely beautiful.”
“Yeah, you’re one in a million,” Tobit sniggered. “Anyway,” he turned back to me, “I was talking about my Morlocks’ skin. The League whipped it up for the first generation to come here—the non-glass humans. It’s a bandage material: covers cuts, bruises, pockmarks…those people must have been a sorry-looking bunch when they came here, what with disease, malnutrition, and all the other crap of 2000 B.C. Artificial skin must have been damned popular with them.
“Of course,” he continued, “the glass kids were next to undamageable, so the skin wasn’t used once the first generation died; but a few hundred years ago, some wise man from this town—”
“The Prophet!” one of the Morlocks shouted. For a moment I thought she sounded angry, but then she raised her drink and chugged it in a toast.
“Yes, the Prophet,” Tobit agreed, then turned my way, rolled his eyes, and mouthed the word