The Lights of Skaro

The Lights of Skaro Read Free Page A

Book: The Lights of Skaro Read Free
Author: David Dodge
Tags: Crime, OCR-Finished
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of pickled vine leaves when I pushed my dirty fingers into the brine and took a handful. She scolded me for it automatically, without anger. I held up four fingers at the koftes on the grill, then counted out her price with a wordless grumble in my throat, picked up the koftes by their skewers and walked away. She didn’t give me a second look.
    We ate by the fountain, licking our greasy fingers afterwards and drinking side by side with the goats, now sucking at their second load of water. I stood in front of Cora when she dropped her yashmak to drink, ready to glare like a belligerent husband at any man who wandered near enough to look at her exposed face. Nobody was interested. We had the fountain to ourselves. We monopolized it long enough to sit with our backs to the well-curb and listen to the loudspeaker for a few minutes.
    There was no news of a couple of American press correspondents fleeing from justice. Only a regular alternation of stirring music, a short pep talk urging increased productivity on the farms and touting the blessings of collectivization, music again, another pep talk about the enormous strides the Republic was making in building roads, more music. The blare never stopped for a moment.
    I hadn’t expected any news about ourselves. Security worked in the dark as a matter of principle, because announced fugitives from justice could count on at least the tacit support of a large part of the peasant population, bitterly opposed to the government, the Party, collectivization, the rokos, and all other manifestations of the Great Liberation. But there was no news of any kind, even loaded news. That was unusual.
    The loudspeaker system was one of the Party’s strongest weapons. It blanketed the whole country. Private radios, of which there had never been many in the Republic, had been either confiscated or taxed out of existence. They were too easy to tune to foreign broadcasting stations, too easy to shut off from domestic broadcasts. The newspapers were all controlled, printing only releases from the government news agency, but no city worker could be forced to read them if he chose not to, and the majority of the peasant population was illiterate as well as antagonistic. To overcome this, the loudspeakers functioned nineteen hours a day, interspersing the Party’s version of current events with its din of propaganda, political indoctrination, and music. The speakers could be shut off only by direct sabotage, by the local Party authorities, or by the control center at the Ministry of Internal Affairs in the capital. From this center the citizens of the Republic were wakened at dawn by the loud roll of the Red Army march, stimulated during the day with stirring music, put to sleep at midnight with a lullaby that was never necessary after the long hours of uninterrupted noise. Ordinarily some of the noise qualified as news, or a variety of news. Now there was none.
    Cora said, “The shake-up must be a big one, to create a complete blackout. It’s a good sign.”
    “Why is it a good sign?”
    “Because the shake-up could extend even as far as Security. They may be too busy cleaning out their own stables to concentrate on us. For a while, at least.”
    “I wouldn’t count on it.”
    “I’m not counting on it. I’m hopeful.” She added bitterly, “There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful, is there?”
    “Not if you can manage it.”
    “I can manage it as easily as I can manage sour pessimism!”
    “I’m not pessimistic. I’m realistic. Realistic enough to know that we’ve stayed here as long as we can, safely.” I stood up, feeling my joints creak. “Let’s go.”
    She made no move to get up. She said, “I’m tired,” and put her head back against the well-curb, closing her eyes.”We can’t go on forever without rest. An hour or two here in the shade can’t be dangerous.”
    It was worse even than panic. A few miles without challenge, a bite of

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