Pandora's Star

  ‘How would you like me to pay?’ Ozzie brought out his wallet. ‘Earth dollars, Augusta dollars, Orleans francs?’ He didn’t mention the gold coins in his secure pocket.

  ‘Ah,’ the landlord smiled for the first time, revealing yellow teeth. ‘A smart visitor. That’ll be five Earth dollars, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Man,’ Ozzie said glumly. ‘That’d better be for the beer and the room.’

  ‘Not worth my while to open the door for less than thirty.’

  ‘Thirty, my ass! I’ve only got fifteen in total, and I need to buy some provisions.’

  It took another three minutes of haggling, but he managed to get the room, and the beer, for seventeen Earth dollars. He drank the beer as he counted out the money. For a wheat beer it was suspiciously dark, but Ozzie conceded it had a good taste – though he could have done without the slice of lemon which had sunk to the bottom of the glass. The landlord accepted the clean notes happily, and tucked them into his jerkin pocket. ‘Orion! Take the gentleman out back to his room.’

  The kid who showed up was barely fifteen, dressed in long black trousers and an ancient purple T-shirt with a swirling counter spiral hologram of some Total Sense Immersion recording (Ozzie was interested to see it worked). He had thick curly ginger hair, which hadn’t been cut for a long time. It actually rivalled Ozzie’s luxuriant growth. Long skinny limbs, a semi-wicked smile, freckles, bright green eyes, scab on his elbow – your typical hellbound tearaway. He’d taken hold of the saddle before Ozzie could say anything, struggling to balance it on his bony shoulder. ‘This way, mister.’

  The guest rooms were in an annexe at the back. Surprisingly clean and well-kept; Ozzie walked in to find a simple cot bed and chest of drawers, with a plain-white china bowl and jug of water on the table. A small fireplace was filled with kindling, a stack of cut logs beside it. There was a dream-catcher web on the wall above the bed, causing him to raise an eyebrow. The first sign of spirituality he’d seen on the planet.

  Orion dropped the saddle on the bed, and stood smiling expectantly.

  Ozzie produced a dollar note and put it in his hand. ‘You look like you’re the kind of guy it’s smart for a visitor to know. It’s Orion, right?’

  ‘That’s right, mister.’

  ‘Okay, well just call me Ozzie, everybody else does. I get kind of nervous when people say, sir, or mister. Was that your daddy downstairs?’

  ‘Hell no, this is Big Bear’s place. I don’t know where my parents are. They went down the paths ages ago.’ He didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.

  ‘Right. So who takes care of you?’

  A frown creased the boy’s heavily freckled forehead. ‘I do.’

  ‘Of course, sorry there little dude.’

  ‘What do you mean, little?’

  ‘I don’t mean anything by it, just the way I talk, is all.’

  ‘Well okay then.’

  ‘Good. Now I’m going to need some serious guidance round this town, can you like provide that for me?’

  ‘Sure can.’ He winked elaborately. ‘I know where all the girls are; I can help you meet them.’

  The reply actually shocked Ozzie. A fifteen-year-old pimp? No – just a kid who’s been fending for himself for too long. Uncomfortable memories of his own time as a teenager on the city streets trickled back into his mind. ‘No. Thanks for the offer there, dude, but, uh, that’s not what I’m here for.’

  ‘Okay. But if there’s anything you need, I know where it’s hid in this dump.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. Right then, what I need is a horse, and maybe some kind of guide.’

  Orion tipped his head on one side, viewing Ozzie sceptic-ally. ‘You here to see the Silfen?’

  ‘Obvious, huh? Yeah, I want to see the Silfen. That’ll do to start with.’

  ‘Oh.’ Orion pulled a face. ‘A pathwalker. It doesn’t work you know. You can’t just show up and expect it to happen. The paths aren’t like the trains.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘We get them here all the time, pathwalkers. They start off into the forest all happy and pleased with themselves; then a couple of weeks later they’re back, all dirty and hungry.’ For a second he paused, his little face all serious. ‘That’s if they come back. I never met one who did get anywhere else but lost. But I can get you to the Silfen, no trouble. I know the glades they visit. The near ones anyway.’

  ‘I’ve seen the Silfen many times.’

  ‘Yeah, so if you’re not here for them, or the girls, what are you doing?’

  ‘You got it right first time, I’m a pathwalker. I want to go deep into the forest and on to other worlds.’

  ‘All right, it’s your money. You get your horse from Mr Stafford, at Top Street stables. He keeps a load of animals, not just horses, there’s dogs, venshrikes, and lontrus, too. Keeps them ready for offworlders, makes a pretty packet out of it, and all; but you can haggle him down if you stand your ground. There’ve not been so many folks visiting for a while.’

  ‘Thanks. What about a guide? Do I need one?’

  ‘I told you, I can show you where the Silfen live. I’ve met them, see.’ He put his hand down the front of his T-shirt and fished out a small pendant worn round his neck on a black leather string.

  Ozzie examined it curiously. It was a teardrop pearl with a strong gold tinge, held inside a mesh of gossamer-fine platinum. Tiny pale-blue sparkles bloomed and died beneath its translucent surface, as if it had caged a swarm of Aphelli phospheens.

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘I’m their friend,’ Orion said proudly. ‘That’s a friendship charm, that is.’

  ‘When did you get it?’

  ‘Years ago. Mom and Dad used to take me camping with them out in the forests when I was little. I played with the Silfen. I like them, even though they’re weird.’

  ‘You used to play with them? The Silfen?’

  ‘Sure. No big deal. They like human kids. Dad says it’s because we’re more like them than the adults. He always took me with him when he went into the forest. It was like I was his ticket to meet them.’

  ‘What did you play?’

  ‘All sorts of stuff. Tree climbing, swimming, chase. You know.’

  ‘Yeah. So did they show you the paths?’

  ‘No. I told you, there’s nobody who knows where the planet paths are, don’t matter how much they brag they do.’

  ‘That makes sense.’

  Orion dropped the pendant back down into his T-shirt. ‘So you see, I can find them for you. I charge five Earth dollars a day, and you got to feed me, too.’

  ‘I think you should be staying here and earning your keep, perhaps go to school in the day.’

  ‘What do I want to go there for?’

  ‘I don’t know. To get educated, maybe? That’s what happened in those places when I was your age.’ There was more he should have said, as a civilized responsible adult, things like what about the social services, and medical care. He didn’t, even though it pained him. It was something he’d learned on his wanderings years – decades – centuries ago. Not to interfere – not unless he was witness to some monstrous evil or brutality. He couldn’t be responsible for everyone. Together with Nigel, he’d given the human race unlimited opportunity to live as they wanted. If some chose this kind of life that was up to them. But it was hard to see children living like this. They were having their choice taken away.

  ‘I know what I need, thanks,’ Orion said.

  ‘Okay. I’m not the police. When did your parents leave?’

  ‘I dunno. A while back. They walked off while I was playing with the Silfen. I looked for them for days, but I got hungry and came back to town. The Silfen eat the fruit in the forest, but it doesn’t fill people so good. I miss them sometimes, I guess.’

  Ozzie sighed, and pulled out his wallet. ‘Look, I’ve got some friends back in the Commonwealth, quite a few families would be happy to take care of you. I’ll buy you a ticket for the train. How’s that?’
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  ‘But when Mom and Dad come back, I won’t be here, I’ll never see them again.’

  He didn’t know what to do, which was funny in a painful, sad way. The great Ozzie stumped by a kid who wouldn’t admit he needed help. And he had set himself a greater task. ‘Okay.’ He took a couple of twenty-dollar bills from the wallet. ‘But you get yourself some decent clothes, and a good meal.’

  ‘Oh wow!’ Orion held the bills up, his eyes bugging in amazement. ‘You must be really rich, mister – er, Ozzie.’

  ‘I am. Which means you do as I ask, or you’ll be in real trouble. To start with you can take me to the stable yourself, and help me find some local food for the trip.’

  *

  It took two days to prepare everything, which was slightly longer than Ozzie had expected. But Lyddington wasn’t exactly filled with over-eager salesmen and dozens of competitive businesses. Half the people he met acted as if they were stoned, which he realized they probably were. There were a lot of kids running round all day. School seemed optional, they mostly learned what their parents felt inclined to teach them.

  However, he made progress. Mr Stafford was indeed pleased to see him, and wasn’t anything like as sceptical as young Orion when told Ozzie wanted to venture far into the forests. ‘Many of my clients do the same,’ he confided. ‘I offer all of you that I buy back the animals when you return. There are some I never see again, though I think of them often, walking on worlds across the galaxy. Who knows where the deep paths lead? There are no maps. Stay clear of scoundrels that would sell you such fakes.’

  Of which, it turned out, there were many. Ozzie was offered a dozen as he and Orion strode about town getting things ready for his departure. Some were elaborate parchments with gold-leaf runes and skilled drawings of animals and plants, lines leading to small star charts of constellations unknown to the Commonwealth; one he was shown was a black frictionless sheet with intricate glyptics that claimed to be a Silfen original, while the remainder were tattered papers or aged notebook diaries of intrepid travellers who had walked the paths. Ozzie didn’t buy any, though he appreciated the effort which had gone into the forging of such detailed tourist traps.

  Mr Stafford did persuade him to purchase a lontrus as a pack beast. There wasn’t much to eat out in the forests, he said, and certainly not if he made it to another world – he would need a large amount of supplies, which were best carried by the big docile beasts. So Ozzie found a saddlery that sold him a harness with bags. He also got Mr Stafford to re-shoe his horse, a big russet-coloured mare called Polly. Various merchants were visited, and orders placed for dried food.

  He set off early on the third morning, while the sun was just a sliver of gold above the horizon, and mists lingered above the streams. The grass with its amethyst edging was wet from the night’s rains. It made the world look fresh, invigorating. A good omen for the start of his journey. Despite the welcome from people like the landlord and Mr Stafford, he was glad to be on his way. On top of everything else, the locals’ idea of nightlife in the Last Pony was folk songs sung along to an out-of-tune piano, drinking enough ale to knock out a horse, and lighting their own farts. Two centuries ago he would have enjoyed that, joining in heartily as the games became more childish; but as he’d slowly discovered, despite rejuvenation, age was a truly cumulative thing, bringing a degree of wisdom to life.

  Directly outside Lyddington, the land was host to dozens of farms; neat little fields divided up by well-layered hedges of hawthorn and ash. Cart tracks led him through them. Workers were already walking to the fields, cows being brought in for milking. Cultivation gave way to bigger pastures, and hedges gave way to rickety fences; animals from twenty worlds nuzzled at the grass and hay bales, ignoring him as he passed by.

  Eventually, the ground rose to hide the sea behind him. The stony ruts of the farm track gave way to a simple path of beaten grass. The lontrus was quiet as it shuffled along, its cloak of ratty grey-brown hair swishing about as eight legs moved in ponderous rhythm. It was about the same length as Polly, and two thirds the height, but capable of carrying twice the load of any horse. The head was a big bony wedge, with rheumy eyes set close together on the apex, at the bottom the mouth had a double jaw arrangement, allowing it to tear thick strands of vegetation. The creatures had been known to eat entire bushes if they were hungry.

  As he looked round at the rolling landscape, Ozzie could see a few houses half hidden among the folds of the ground, as if they were slowly sinking into the grass. They became less frequent as the morning began to heat up. There had been this – slightly naive – expectation that the horizon would be in some way larger, the evidence of how massive this planet actually was. In fact, its size became apparent in the silence. The air soaked up all sound, smothering him in peace. It was an eerie sensation. There were no birds out here, not above the land that stretched between sea and forest. This was simple grassland, with streams and hummocks, even trees were strangers. But true silence, he realized, came from the lack of insects. If there were any, they made no noise as they flew and crawled about their business. It was unnatural.

  After three hours he’d almost reached the outlying fringes of the forest. It had been stretched out in front of him like a dark blanket across the rolling land below the mountains, always there yet taking an age to get any bigger. It extended in a smooth unbroken expanse right back to the mountains, rising up their lower slopes and filling the valleys between them.

  Several times in the last hour, he’d almost lost the path as it disappeared under layers of thick grass and patches of wild flowers. Polly always seemed to know where to go, picking it up again as she plodded onwards. Now he could see two white pillars set against the cliff of dark green trunks. As he neared them, their size became apparent; solid shafts of marble, sixty metres high. There was some kind of carving at the top of both, roughly humanoid; the wind and rain of centuries if not millennia had worn away any features, leaving just the melted-looking outlines. The pillars were renowned as being about the only artefacts ever found relating to Silfen culture. Nobody knew what they signified, other than marking the start of the path into the forest.

  Polly and the lontrus ambled between them without changing gait. Ozzie saw the remnants of some wooden shack at the base of one. Blatantly a human residence, it had fallen into disrepair a long time ago. Behind it were small piles of stone, laid out in a rectangle, now almost engulfed by grass and caramel-coloured longmoss.

  The trees began three hundred yards beyond the marker pillars. As he approached he heard the faint call of birds again as they circled high above. Then he was among the first ranks of the trees. These were small, similar to Earth’s beeches, with bright green leaves as long as fingers, that drifted lightly in the breeze like small banners rustling in chorus. Pines started to appear among them, with smooth pewter-grey bark and slim, tough needles. The path was clearer now as the grass began to shrink away. On either side the trees were getting progressively taller, their great canopies shielding the ground from raw sunlight. Polly’s hoofs became silent as the ground turned to a soft loam of rotting leaves and needles. Within minutes, Ozzie could see nothing but trees when he looked back over his shoulder. Several trunks had human lettering carved into them, with arrows leading him on. He didn’t need them, the path itself was distinct, almost like an avenue. On either side the trees grew close enough to each other to prevent anyone straying. Stillness closed in on him again. Whatever birds nested here, they were lost far above the treetops.

  There was a variety among the trees, not obvious from the outside. He saw furry silver leaves, claret-red triangles bigger than his hand, lemon-green hoops, plain white; with them came all kinds of bark, from crumbling black fronds to stone-hard bronze shields. Nuts and berries hung in clusters or on single stems bowing under the weight. Ivies had found a purchase on some trunks, embracing the trees as they clawed their way up the bark, producing white and blue leaves, so old now their strands had swollen as thick as the m
ain branches.

  An hour in, and he began to glimpse the occasional animal. Fast-moving things, with sleek brown pelts, that hurtled away as soon as he got anywhere near. His retinal inserts had trouble focusing on them and capturing their profile. From their nature he suspected they were herbivores.

  When he arrived at the first stream crossing the path, he dismounted to let Polly and the lontrus drink. As soon as he was on his feet he felt the aches and sores begin. It had been an age since he’d ridden. He pushed his fists into the small of his back and started stretching, groaning as vertebrae popped and creaked noisily. Thigh muscles started shivering, close to cramp. There was a whole batch of ointments and salves in his medical kit which he promised himself he would use this evening.

  The path forded the stream with large flat stones. He led the animals across, struggling to keep his footing in the clear fast-flowing water, but the boots kept his feet perfectly dry. After that he walked for a while in the hope his various pains would ease up. It wasn’t much longer before he heard the sounds of hoofs behind him. The option of mounting up and galloping on ahead didn’t appeal, his ass was just too tender for that. So he waited patiently. Soon enough a pony came trotting into view. Ozzie groaned as he saw Orion was riding it.

  The boy smiled happily as soon as he caught sight of Ozzie, and trotted his pony right up to a disinterested Polly. ‘I thought we’d never catch up,’ he said. ‘You started really early.’

  ‘Whoa there, man.’ Ozzie held up both hands. ‘What is going on here? Where do you think you’re going?’

  ‘With you.’

  ‘No. No you’re not. No way.’

  Orion gave Ozzie a petulant look. ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘So? I know you are going back to Lyddington, right now.’

  ‘You’re Ozzie.’ Orion hissed it out like a challenge. ‘You opened the human gates. You’ve walked to hundreds of planets already. You’re the oldest person ever, and the richest.’