The Fly-By-Nights Read Free

only to inform Ned but also the clan in general: which was, of course, my main reason for calling you from your very important work. So speak now, Andrew, and let us all know how things are come to such a pass.”
    While Big Jon was speaking, Singer had returned to his previous position central in the crowd, between Garth Slattery and a girl called Layla Morgan. Layla, a seamstress in animal-hides and a teacher to the clan’s younger children, was barely a year Garth’s senior; her mother was a long time dead—of radiation induced cancer—and her father had died just six months ago in a rockfall where new habitats were being excavated. While Garth had only rarely come into contact with her, he had always found Layla disarmingly attractive…
    And meanwhile Andrew Fielding had begun to speak his piece:
    “I can only report what happened, telling it as it was and as it is…” But the little man had no sooner started to reply to Big Jon’s request, nervously addressing the clan in general, than he stopped short to clear his throat, from which his initial sentence had emerged as little more than a croak. At which:
    “Aye, go on, choke on your words—you little weasel!” Ned Singer muttered low under his breath, so that only those in his immediate vicinity could hear him. “Bone-idle tech that you are, with your ancient instruments and sputtering radios, your pills and powders whose strength was already on the wane five or more decades ago! Your only real work lies in servicing the generators! Other than that, what earthly use is a scrawny thing such as you? You should come out with me and my scavs one night, see what real work is!” With which Singer had elbowed Garth, almost as tall as himself, in the ribs, growling: “What say you, ’prentice Slattery?”
    Garth had shrugged. “It seems to me that keeping the generators working is very important,” he replied, reasonably enough. “The refuge is vast and we have need of the light; down here in the dark no one could work without it! Also, Andrew Fielding is small, not sturdy enough to be a scav. So it’s probably as well that he’s a tech, with knowledge of radios and motors, instruments and…and other such things.” Feeling that he’d finished lamely Garth shrugged again—and noticed Layla frowning at him from Singer’s far side. Now why was that, he wondered? Probably because she considered his answer weak—or maybe she believed he shouldn’t have answered at all? Garth couldn’t say, and meanwhile Ned Singer had turned him a scowling, narrow-eyed glance.
    “Huh!” The man gave a snort, then muttered half to himself: “A lesson learned, Ned lad: ask a pup for his opinion, expect a hesitant, wishy-washy answer…”
    “Pup?” Garth bristled, but mainly from the tense atmosphere in the huge cavern, which was getting to him. “I’m sixteen pushing seventeen—which is old enough to go out with your scavs!”
    “True,” Singer nodded, elbowing Garth again but harder this time. “You’re old enough to go out with us, but only as my apprentice—so watch your lip ‘pup!’ Damn me, but every time you open your mouth, it’s like I’m listening to your gimpy father!”
    Garth drew a breath that swelled his broad chest…but on the far side of Ned Singer Layla Morgan had once again moved to the fore, from where she stared at Garth and shaped her expressive mouth into a silent warning unseen by Singer: “ No! ”
    Good and timely advice, Garth supposed. And saying nothing, relaxing as best he was able, he kept the peace.
    Meanwhile Andrew Fielding had been speakingfor some little while, much of which had now been lost to Garth. Still angry at Singer’s insults—more especially the reference to his father—he nevertheless succeeded in ignoring his bruised feelings in order to concentrate on the head tech’s comments. By which time Fielding was midway into a sentence:
    “…background radiation has ever fluctuated; by day it increases