Miles Errant Read Free

liters of drinking water—you should be getting at least two IJC standard ration bars a day. Are they starving you?"
    "After a while," Suegar sighed, "you don't really care if you get yours or not." The animation that his interest in Miles as a new and hopeful object in his world had lent Suegar seemed to be falling away. His breathing had slowed, his posture slumped. He seemed about to lie down in the dirt. Miles wondered if Suegar's sleeping mat had suffered the same fate as his own. Quite some time ago, probably.
    "Look, Suegar—I think I may have a relative in this camp somewhere. A cousin of my mother's. D'you think you could help me find him?"
    "It might be good for you, to have a relative," Suegar agreed. "It's not good to be by yourself, here."
    "Yeah, I found that out. But how can you find anyone? It doesn't look too organized."
    "Oh, there's—there's groups and groups. Everyone pretty much stays in the same place after a while."
    "He was in the Fourteenth Commandos. Where are they?"
    "None of the old groups are left, much."
    "He was Colonel Tremont. Colonel Guy Tremont."
    "Oh, an officer." Suegar's forehead wrinkled in worry. "That makes it harder. You weren't an officer, were you? Better not let on, if you were—"
    "I was a clerk," repeated Miles.
    "—because there's groups here who don't like officers. A clerk. You're probably OK, then."
    "Were you an officer, Suegar?" asked Miles curiously.
    Suegar frowned at him, twisted his beard hairs. "Marilac Army's gone. If there's no army, it can't have officers, can it?"
    Miles wondered briefly if he might get farther faster by just walking away from Suegar and trying to strike up a conversation with the next random prisoner he came across. Groups and groups. And, presumably, groups, like the five burly surly brothers. He decided to stick with Suegar for a while longer. For one thing, he wouldn't feel quite so naked if he wasn't naked by himself.
    "Can you take me to anybody who used to be in the 14th?" Miles urged Suegar anew. "Anybody, who might know Tremont by sight."
    "You don't know him?"
    "We'd never met in person. I've seen vids of him. But I'm afraid his appearance may be . . . changed, by now."
    Suegar touched his own face pensively. "Yeah, probably."
    Miles clambered painfully to his feet. The temperature in the dome was just a little cool, without clothes. A voiceless draft raised the hairs on his arms. If he could just get one garment back, would he prefer his pants, to cover his genitals, or his shirt, to disguise his crooked back? Screw it.No time. He held out a hand to help Suegar up. "Come on."
    Suegar glanced up at him. "You can always tell a newcomer. You're still in a hurry. In here, you slow down. Your brain slows down. . . ."
    "Your scripture got anything to say on that?" inquired Miles impatiently.
    " ' . . . they therefore went up here with much agility and speed, through the foundation of the city . . .' " Twin verticals appeared between Suegar's eyebrows, as he frowned speculatively at Miles.
    Thank you, thought Miles. I'll take it. He pulled Suegar up. "Come on, then."
    Neither agility nor speed, but at least progress. Suegar led him on a shambling walk across a quarter of the camp, through some groups, in wide arcs around others. Miles saw the surly brothers again at a distance, sitting on their collection of mats. Miles upped his estimation of the size of the tribe from five to about fifteen. Some men sat in twos or threes or sixes, a few sat alone, as far as possible from any others, which still wasn't very far.
    The largest group by far consisted entirely of women. Miles studied them with electric interest as soon as his eye picked up the size of their unmarked boundary. There were several hundred of them at least. None were matless, although some shared. Their perimeter was actually patrolled, by groups of half a dozen or so strolling slowly about. They apparently defended two latrines for their exclusive use.
    "Tell me about the