JUMPING THE LINE, by Grania Davis

There was a sub audible rumbling far up ahead. It acted like a trigger to Bi, even in sound sleep. He had been sleeping, hadn’t he? Yes, the night was still deep, and he had been dreaming. He hadn’t been dreaming about anything. That was funny, lately he had been dreaming a lot, but the dreams didn’t have any content.

Others had also sensed the rumble of motion far up ahead and were awakening. Nothing would happen for a while yet, probably not until after dawn. But everyone wanted to be ready. Babies cried. Some cook fires were lit to boil tea. Others lay tense in their bedrolls, not wanting to face a long wait in the predawn chill, but not wanting to fall back to sleep, either.

Bi sat up. He didn’t want to leave his warm, cozy roll, but he had to relieve himself. “Hold my spot,” he muttered to nobody in particular.

It was just a pro forma request. Nobody jumped at night. He moved a little ways out, but not too far. You didn’t want to be out in the bush at night, big critters might come around.

Bi found his way back to his roll and crawled inside. He was too sleepy to light a cookfire, and he really wasn’t hungry or thirsty. Still, some hot bush tea would be warming. Maybe the family group up ahead would offer him some. But they never did, so why should they now? “Take care of your own.”

Bi had been solo for a while now. He’d left his own family group because he couldn’t stand the constant squabbles and fighting over ration. The family was too big, anyway, they didn’t mind if a few dependents drifted off. So Bi drifted, enjoying the silence and solitude, not enjoying the hunger and big critters, until he had a chance to jump. And here he was, among strangers, but still waiting for that same rumble up ahead.

It was getting pinkish in the east, now, and folks were getting ready. Bi lit a very small fire and heated up some tea and a little ration. He felt slightly queasy, not really awake. He ate, wrapped up his mess kit and tied up his roll and sat down upon it. There was a definite feeling of movement up ahead, but it would still be a while.

The sun had risen through the morning mists, illuminating the low rolling hills and the grey-green grasslands. There was a steady drone of critters.

Bi sat on his roll with his head in his hands. He looked up ahead. There was that Pretty again, part of the big family group. She always seemed to be laughing, with high pink cheeks and dark tangly hair. If there had been some pretties like that in his family group, he might have stuck around. But they were all double-uglies. The laughing girl became aware of Bi’s eyes upon her and pulled her faded quilted robe more tightly around her body. She was busy minding a baby, laughing and playing with it while its mother packed the kits and rolls.

But Bi had no more time to eyeball pretties. The feeling of motion was growing in the misty morning sun. The rumble became the sounds of individuals strapping up their belongings. It was happening just up ahead. Bi was ready to go when, like a single organism, a vast centipede, the long line began to move steadily forward.

How far would they move this time? No one could ever say. Sometimes they only moved a few yards, or a few feet, and then they came to a halt again. All the excitement and preparations for nothing. Sometimes they wound slowly ahead for half a day, through trampled grasslands and over the low rolling hills, until their seldom-used legs grew tired and their foreheads were covered with sweat.

But it didn’t matter whether the line moved just a little or a great long distance. You had to be ready to move with it, or you would lose your place.

* * * *

The afternoon fogs came up thick in the great, flat grasslands, muffling even the hum of critters. Bi was shaky with hunger and thirst by the time they stopped. This had been one of the longest moves he could remember, from dawn until the late afternoon. Slow, steady movement all day long. No chance to stop and rest, to cook tea and ration. Nothing but a few bites of gummy, raw ration and sips of tinny cold water to keep him going. Bi hated that. You were supposed to cook the ration to make it congeal into an edible form. And the tinned water was foul tasting unless strong bush was steeped in it to make tea. But now they were stopping at last. Like a long audible sigh, people settled down on the damp, flat ground, spread their bedrolls, and began to light cookfires.

Then came another, welcome sound from way up ahead, the rumble of the carts. Bi waited listlessly, staring at nothing in the mist. The sun was just setting over a low rise of ground. You could see it illuminating a patch of swirling fog. For a moment the fog parted and a shaft of sun shone through, making Bi’s eyes water. He rubbed them and looked again. He thought he could just make it out in the distance. Sometimes you could see it when the fog parted, though many folks said it was just a mirage. The Other Line, way off against the horizon. Another line, just like his own. Sometimes moving, mostly standing still. Another long line of people, briefly glimpsed against the horizon when the fog parted. Some people thought it was a curve or extension of their own line; other people thought it wasn’t real at all, just a trick of the eyes, a reflection against the fog. But Bi figured it was just another line. If there was one line, there could be two. Why not?

When Bi drifted, he thought of going across the plain to check out the other line. But check it out for what? Why? And what about the critters? They get real big, way out in the bush, he’d heard. So he didn’t bother. He just drifted, hungry and silent until he could jump a spot in the line. But he sometimes wondered why were there two lines? Why was there any line at all?

The sound of the carts was quite loud now. Bi’s stomach grumbled eagerly. He could see them, just up ahead. Big yellow carts of glimmery metal, stopping to service every family group or solo. They rumbled up to the family group just ahead. That Pretty with the tangly hair held a big tin under the long tube that dispensed water, while a triple-ugly held another tin under the ration spout. The carts were pulled by drifters who couldn’t manage to jump and by misfits, troublemakers and ultra-uglies who couldn’t get along in their family group. They were pushed out of the line, and when they got lonely and hungry enough, they strapped themselves to the carts and helped to pull, in return for their share of ration. But they lost their place in line, forever.

The long line of filthy, bent cart pullers finally reached Bi. A lot of the uglies were real weird, with twisted, deformed limbs and vacant grins. Some of them mumbled or jabbered or laughed to themselves. A big, dark ultra-ugly woman sang a low, steady, complicated song, making it up as she went along. A hunched-over ugly jabbed a twisted palm at Bi, who promptly produced his ration card. The ugly examined the crumpled, torn document, then gestured at Bi’s tins. There was no one to help Bi manage the tins, and you had to be quick, before the carts went away. On the other hand; Bi’s solo portion of ration and water wasn’t very large. He held his two tins under the tubes, while the ugly pushed down the lever. The cart growled briefly in its metal insides and regurgitated a whitish, gummy substance into one tin and a brownish, slightly oily liquid into the other. The ugly stamped Bi’s ration card on the back, and the big carts moved on.

Lucky that Bi had managed to thieve his ration card from his Ma’s special pouch, while she was asleep. Some folks were foolish enough to drift without taking their card (or some had Ma’s who were lighter sleepers), and then they could never jump back into the line. They had to become cart pullers. Bi’s Ma always slept heavy, with her mouth hanging open and a thin snore. It wasn’t too hard to reach into her pouch and find his ration card, the familiar card which he’d handed to the cart pullers, so many times. Bi briefly wondered how Ma was doing. Did she ever wonder about him, or even remember him? It was such a big family group.

Family groups. Bi looked up ahead. That Pretty was spooning ration into a big cookpot. Bi wondered if he could steal her at night the way he stole his ration card. Why not? He was feeling gappy lusty lately, with no family girls to relieve himself on, and he had to do something. He figured plenty of her own kinsmen crawled into her roll at night. Who would know the difference? He could watch carefully as they settled down and see where she was sleeping, make sure that no one was actually sharing a roll with her. Then, when it got quite dark, he’d crawl into her roll, just like he belonged there. Wouldn’t say nothing, wouldn’t let on who he was, but really relieve her good, night after night, until he finally let on who he was, and maybe he’d join up with her and the whole family group. At least he wasn’t no ugly.

No, he didn’t want to join up with them, they were just as bickering and quarrelsome as his own people. He’d hook her and persuade her to join him, solo. That’d be the way, catch his own Pretty, and start his own family group. Then he’d be Pa, and everyone would mind him. Why not? And he was feeling fearful lusty.

Bi lit up his little cookfire and stirred some ration and tea. The family group was eating too. The tangle-haired Pretty had a good appetite, that was sure. Be sure to catch her ration card when you catch her! Now they were laying out their rolls. Good, her’s was near the edge, not too far from him. Easy!

Except now some double-ugly old man from her family is coming up to talk to her and grin and leer and pat her body under her robe. It’s clear he’s going to stick around for a while. And the Pretty doesn’t seem to mind, even though he’s an ugly! She’s grinning and leering back. Gap, they’re all like that. Well, let that ugly old grandpa try to warm her up, if he still can—must be in his third decade, at least. When he’s done, and crawled back to his own roll to sleep, Bi will sneak up and warm her good! Bi would keep watch all night, if necessary. Why not! He had eyes like a night critter. Bi crawled into his warm roll, and prepared to keep watch.

* * * *

But he must’ve been tired from the long move, because it was nearly dawn when he awoke. He could tell from the way the dark stood deep and dense on the grasslands. Both moons had already set. But no matter, there was still time, they were all still asleep. He crawled out of his roll and inched silently along the ground to the Pretty’s roll. He remembered just where it was, and his eyes were good enough to see that there was only one body in the roll. Good. Bi reached his hands in and began to rub and fondle the body inside the roll. The flesh felt warm, smooth and slightly moist. Bi felt almost dizzy with lust.

The Pretty jumped, startled awake. But just like Bi figured, she was used to it. “You again?” she murmured. Bi grunted and crawled inside her roll. Her body, under the robe, felt so good. Warm and soft, with bony parts and fleshy parts, and sticky, hairy places where Bi could finally relieve himself and her too. Over and over again, not thinking about anything else, like one of his dreams, deep, but with no content.

The Pretty was used to it, but she wasn’t used to Bi, that was sure. She was rumbling and heaving like a cart spitting ration. Until suddenly, Bi felt a sharp pain in his back. He looked up, startled, and realized it was already dawn, and that double-ugly old man was standing above them, full of hate and aiming another kick at Bi’s back! Gap, the old man was kicking him and kicking him. Sharp stabs of pain in his back and legs and head.

Bi scrambled out of the roll, trying to protect himself from the kicks with one arm and reaching for his knife with the other hand. The knife had been a gift from his Pa. A secret forbidden gift that Pa kept hidden in his pouch. The ugly raised a big yell, when he saw it, and left off kicking. Bi went after him with the knife, but now the other men in the family had jumped up and were heading towards him. There were a lot of them, big and tough and mean. Bi broke into a run. He couldn’t fight them all, that was sure, even with the forbidden knife. But as he ran, he looked back at the Pretty. She was staring at him, and when she caught his eye, she gave him one of her big, laughing grins.

Bi ran out into the bush, far enough from the line that no one would come after him. Folks who’d never drifted were powerful afraid of the bush, but Bi had faced the critters and solitude before. He sat down on a flat place, as the morning sun rose up through the mist, and tied his battered robe back around his short, muscular body. Well, he had relieved himself, that was sure.

But he had also lost his place in line.

No matter, he could sneak back at night to get his roll and kit, and then he could drift ahead and jump again—and maybe he could persuade the tangle-haired Pretty to drift and jump with him.

* * * *

Bi hovered near the line until the next night, foggy and dark, when everyone was asleep. Then he crawled back to grab his things. But he got a surprise. Someone was waiting, in a roll nearby. At first he got scared, thinking it was a double-ugly waiting to grab him. But the eyes that gleamed out were friendly, and that tangle of hair was unmistakable. It was her.

“You wanna drift and jump with me?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

“You got your ration card?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.”

They silently packed up their rolls and his mess kit and tins and crawled back into the bush. It was still dark, nothing for a drifter to do but snooze and keep watch for critters. But with her along, there was plenty to do. They spread out her roll in a clearing in the bush, and both crawled inside. This time was even bouncier than before.

* * * *

Dawn. Time to start drifting and watching for a chance to jump. Lucky the carts had just been along, so Bi’s tins were nearly full. Enough water and ration to last near a week, if they were careful. Of course, it was pretty bad, raw ration and no tea, but you couldn’t risk the smoke of a cookfire out in the bush. If drifters get caught, they’re dead critters, fair game for any of the men in the line, looking for a little fun and excitement.

So drifting is a sneaky job, moving rapidly up along the line, moving ahead, always ahead. No one would be crazy enough to drift back. You could move fast that way, plenty fast. Much faster than the line, even when it’s moving, with kids and old people, and all. Always careful not to make noise. Always staying at a distance so you can see the line, but they can’t see you. Always crouching behind clumps of brush to eat or sleep or relieve yourself and scurrying across bare grasslands, hoping that the mist and fog would hide you from sight. And always, always looking for that chance to jump.

The chance to jump could come anytime the line was moving, and you had to be ready for it, ready to swoop in whenever there was a gap in the line. Like suddenly an old man would stumble, and his family group would stop to help him, and a gap would open up in the line, just for a minute or so, just big enough for one drifter and one pretty. Then you jumped into that gap, and no one could touch you, cause everyone knew that the line must always move at an even pace, with no gaps. Gaps cause confusion, cause the line to become disorderly. No gaps are allowed, therefore drifters could jump to close a gap.

But gaps didn’t happen often. The line, itself, didn’t move often, maybe once or twice a week. And Bi and the Pretty only had ration for a week, at most. And when the line did move, most folk were very careful to keep a slow, steady pace to prevent gaps. Old folks were helped, little folks were carried. No one wanted a gap. No one wanted a strange, dirty drifter jumping in between you and your neighbors in the line, that you’ve known all your life, and maybe even shared family doings.

When you jumped, the families behind and in front felt real mean about it, that was sure. They couldn’t touch you, but they didn’t like having you in their midst. That’s why that double-ugly was glad for an excuse to start kicking at Bi. But now he had to find a place to jump, and find it fast, before the ration was gone and they had to turn in their cards and become cart pullers. So they waited and watched.

On the fourth day, they knew the line was gonna start moving, because of the rumble up ahead, and so they snuck up close. But the line moved ahead, fast and smooth, with no gaps at all. Bi and the Pretty broke into a run, trying to outrace the line, before it stopped again, trying, trying to find that essential gap.

“Bi, look up there!” the Pretty whispered, panting. “Looks like some old Ma fell.”

Bi squinted into the misty sun. Yeah, perfect. Some old Ma was breathing her last, that was sure, clutching at her bosom, with her family checking it out and trying to grab hold of her pouch. Good, the old Ma’s had the pouch with all the card in it. They couldn’t move on until they got the pouch, and the old Ma was clutching at it, cause she didn’t want to be left behind to die by herself.

Bi and the Pretty moved in closer. The family group ahead looked back uneasily, then began to move ahead. And there it was, the precious, beautiful gap! While the family was still fussing with the old Ma, a gap opened, big enough for two or more. With triumphant yelps, Bi and the Pretty swooped in from the bush and jumped a place in the line.

“We jumped ahead four days!” cried Bi, hugging her.

The Pretty was laughing and clapping with excitement. The family group ahead looked back at them, meanly. They hated jumpers, but no question, there was a gap, so nothing they could do. The family group in back finally got the pouch away from the wheezing, sobbing old Ma and came rushing back up, to fill their place in line.

* * * *

Then some nice, quiet time in the line. Fine, fun, lovey time, playing with the Pretty, using his fingers to comb out the tangles in her rich, thick hair. Not much movement in the line. But Bi could see that, every week, the Pretty’s stomach was getting bigger. He was gonna be a Pa, that was sure. Bi felt a little bit uneasy. He wasn’t solo anymore. The Pretty was lots of fun, but now a noisy baby to look out for, too. His dreams began to be filled with critters.

But luck was like a morning fog, it comes and goes, like his Ma used to say. One day, there was the Pretty, laying out on her roll, with her legs spread out, her stomach like a big mound, her hair more tangled than usual, and whining and crying and sweating, trying to give birth. Then came a rumble up ahead, the sound of the line getting ready to move.

“The line is gonna move!” said Bi, excitedly. It hadn’t moved much in weeks, so this could be a long one. Maybe it would get the Pretty’s mind off her birthing. She was taking too long at it, anyway.

“Come on and get ready,” said Bi, poking at the spread-eagled body with his foot, “sounds like it’s gonna move soon, we got to pack up your roll.”

The Pretty stared at him, glassy eyed, sweat running down her face, even though it was a chilly, foggy day.

“What’s the matter,” Bi said, “can’t you hear the line moving? You can do your birthing later. Get up, and I’ll help you with your roll.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“What do you mean, can’t! You got legs, don’t you?”

“It hurts too much.”

“But you gotta! We’ll never get a good place like this, so far up the line, with ration and water so fresh and all. We can’t stay here and lose it!”

“I can’t,” she repeated. “You go with the line. Don’t leave any gap. Keep my spot, and I’ll catch up when I’m done birthing.”

“Yeah, well, I guess so,” said Bi, uneasily. “But I heard folks need help with birthing. Don’t you need help?”

“What kind of help?”

“I don’t know, I never done it before. Gap. I wish my old Ma was here! Come on and try. Maybe the line won’t move far. You can stop birthing now, and do it later. I can’t carry you, ’cause you’re too heavy, but I’ll carry all the kits and rolls this time. If you stay here by yourself, the critters might get you!”

“Then stay here with me!” The Pretty started to cry.

“No, I can’t do that, we’ll lose our place for good. I’ll do like you said, if you really can’t get up, but you should try, you know. I’ll keep our place in line, and you can catch up later. Maybe the line won’t move far. Maybe the birthing is almost finished. Maybe… Anyway, I’ll leave you some ration. When you’re done, just run along the line until you find me. I’ll keep your spot. But stay hidden, so they don’t think you’re a drifter. When you find me, yell loud, and I’ll tell everyone I held your spot while you were birthing.” Bi looked at her anxiously. “That sounds good, don’t it?”

“Yeah, okay,” whispered the sad, sweaty Pretty.

The line was nearly ready to move now. Bi hastily packed up his roll and tins, leaving her with the cookpot full of ration and water.

“See, I’m leaving the cookpot. Don’t forget it, and hurry up, ’cause I’ll be hungry with no pot. And don’t forget your roll, neither.”

“I won’t,” she grimaced, clutching at her belly.

“You sure you can’t get up?” asked Bi.

She didn’t bother to answer.

“That jumping Pretty is gonna give birth real soon, that’s for sure. Serves her right,” cackled an old Ma in the family group up ahead.

“See, it’s gonna be soon,” said Bi, “then you can catch up.”

Sweat and crying were running down the Pretty’s face. She still didn’t answer.

The line was actually starting to move now. Bi picked up his roll and kit and patted her stomach. “I’ll watch for you,” he said.

The Pretty clutched her stomach and didn’t pay any attention. Bi shrugged his shoulders, kind of miffed at her indifference to him and the moving line. Then he began to walk slowly and steadily ahead, so as not to create a gap. He looked back a few times, but soon her body was lost in the fog. After a while he stopped fussing about her, figuring she’d be okay, until she caught up. And it was hard work, because the line was moving slightly uphill and the sun was warm now and the line moved all day, far into the night.

“That was a real long move,” said Bi, as he finally threw down his roll and dropped, exhausted. It wasn’t until later that he realized that there was no longer anyone to talk to. He missed that, but he missed his cookpot real bad, ’cause he was very hungry and cold ration and water taste awful.

* * * *

He got a whole lot hungrier soon, ’cause something was wrong with the carts. Everybody’s ration and water tins were almost empty. Every day, folks peered up the line for the carts, but no carts came. Bi was getting desperate. No cookpot, no Pretty, and now no carts!

“Gap, I’m getting hungry,” he said to no one in particular. He’d been talking to himself a lot, lately, now that the Pretty was gone. Why didn’t she hurry up with her birthing and catch up so he could have the cookpot and some fun again? Where were them gappy carts? Bi spread out his roll and got ready for the night. It was cold, with no way to cook tea.

Both moons were up tonight, and nearly full. They shone through the thin fog, lighting up the flat plane. The fog was so thin and the moons so bright that Bi thought he could actually see the Other Line, way off in the distance. Did they have carts? Nobody knew.

Bi was thinking like that and drifting into sleep, while absently relieving himself, when he heard a tiny noise. Was it her? He looked up startled. No, it was some triple-ugly kid from the family group up ahead, messing with Bi’s ration tin!

Bi got the knife out of his pouch and jumped up and grabbed the kid by the hair, shaking him and threatening with the knife. “Gappy thief!” he bellowed.

The kid screamed, and his family group woke up and began to threaten and fuss, but Bi had the knife pointed right at the kid. So they didn’t dare come close.

“This kid tried to thieve my ration,” yelled Bi. “I have the right to kill him, that’s for sure. Kill him and eat his eyeballs, if I want, and you can’t touch me, ’cause I caught him thieving. I’ll tell you what, though,” said Bi, with a very shrewd grin, “I’m not an ugly. I can see the kid is hungry like everyone else. I don’t want bad feeling with my neighbors. I’ll let the kid go, if he promises not to thieve again and if you’ll give me a little cookpot full of ration and water. I lost my cookpot a ways back, when my Pretty was birthing. I’ll let this thieving kid go, in return for a cookpot full of ration and water. How about it? Otherwise I’ll kill him and eat his balls.”

The family wailed and fussed, but pretty soon they handed over the filled pot. The kid got a real thrashing from his Ma, for trying to thieve, and Bi had the best, biggest meal of hot ration and bush tea. That night he slept warm and comfortable, and full, with no dreams at all.

It was his last good meal for a long, long time. The carts disappeared like a morning fog. Folks were lying along the line, too weak to move, their lips cracked and dry, their faces bony like skeletons, their eyes staring blankly in front of them. Lots of folks, especially the little babies, just didn’t make it. They just didn’t get up anymore.

It was the water part that was worst for Bi. His body was young and sturdy and could go without much ration for a long time. But water was different. His tongue felt like a dry flap of robe inside his mouth. There was just a little bit of scummy water inside his tin. Bi took a sip every now and then, but it didn’t really help. He felt weak and dizzy, shivering even during the warm daytime. He began to forage at night for the little critters. Sometimes he could catch one with his knife. That helped some, even though they tasted real bad, but it didn’t relieve his thirst. If water didn’t come soon, he’d be one of the folks who didn’t get up.

He figured it was time to drift and jump ahead. The ration got better, the further you went up the line, that was sure. Maybe the carts were stuck somewhere up ahead. Maybe he could keep going up the line until he could find the carts, or someone who knew about the carts, or something. He couldn’t stay there, that was sure.

Lucky, just as he was making this plan, there was a half day of water falling from the sky. This happened once in a while, that Bi could remember. The fog would get real thick and dark and rumbly, and water would actually fall from the sky in thick drops. Good, sweet water. This perked everyone up for a while, and Bi managed to get half a tin full of water and drink his fill for the first time in weeks. But then the dark water fog went away, and the light fog and sunshine returned. Still no carts. Bi was feeling stronger now and ready to get started on another drift up the line.

The line was a sorry sight. No big, strong family groups, waiting to grab and kill a drifter. Nobody even cared about drifters anymore, or their place in line, or anything. Groups of bodies just lying there in their rolls, staring vacantly into the fog. Bi moved steadily and weakly ahead, living off an occasional sip of his precious water and an occasional little critter, feeling sick and weak and wanting to lie down on his roll, like the others, but knowing it would be the end.

The line went on and on. He never knew how long it was! The land changed a little. Instead of flat bush, there were some low, scrubby trees, and the critters sounded a little different. Then, all of a sudden, there they were, the carts! But something was wrong, really wrong, because the cart pullers were just lying around, too. And there was no familiar rumble from inside the carts. The carts were dead. Bi walked boldly up and pressed one of the ration levers. Nothing happened. No one tried to stop him, they were all too weak, and the carts were dead, anyway.

With a frustrated yell, Bi lunged at the cart with his hand and fists and knees and feet. There must be ration and water in there, somewhere, there must! Sobbing and panting, he tore at the old rusty side of the cart, and, all of a sudden, he felt something give. A great piece of metal came away in his hands, leaving a jagged, bloody tear in his palm. But Bi didn’t care. He was deep in the innards of the cart, tearing and pushing and poking and kicking. He pulled on a big, fleshy pipe, which gave way, and suddenly, old, smelly, rotten ration was pouring down on his face, foul and inedible. He pulled at another pipe and found what he needed. Water. Warm, scummy, tinny, foul-tasting, but still drinkable water. Bi drank and drank, and filled his tin and drank some more. The cart pullers and others nearby were also rousing themselves to drink from the broken pipe, until the cart finally ran dry. Other folks, catching the idea, broke into the other carts until they finally found one with ration that hadn’t gone putrid.

Bi pushed his way through the crowd to suck at the pipe and fill his tin, until other desperate bodies forced him away. Then he took his newly filled stomach and tins a little ways from the line, and clutching at the tins, he fell into an almost comatose sleep.

* * * *

When he awoke, he realized that he just had to keep going up the line, no reason to try to jump a place, with the carts dead and all. But this trip up the line was a real short one. Carefully hoarding his precious water and ration, he walked for about three days, and suddenly he came to the prettiest sight he ever saw.

All of a sudden, there was a big wall, running along the plain, as far as you could see. It was brightly colored, with wonderful pictures all over it, of bush flowers and folks and big suns and moons and stars. Behind the wall you could see trees, big ones, not just scrubby bush. And there were big, fleshy fruits, red and orange and yellow hanging from the trees. And under the trees, you could see tents, nice ones with bright stripes all over them. And you could hear loud, wonderful music, nicer than the sound of sky-critters. The smell of fresh-cooked ration filled the air and made Bi’s mouth water, hungrily.

In the middle, behind the wall was a great round tent top, and, underneath, Bi could see different kinds of critters, all with beautiful bright colors, going round and round, under the tent top, and going up and down, in time to the music. Bi could see happy, laughing folks, in shiny new robes, riding on these colorful critters, going round and round, up and down, and chewing great gobs of crispy hot ration, while the music played so sweet.

The line went right up to an opening in the wall, where a man sat, dressed in a bright red robe, with a big white beard. Bi never saw anything like this in his whole life! He didn’t have near enough words to describe the wondrous things that could be glimpsed inside that wall.

The folks in the line were all staring in wonderment. They never saw anything like this, neither. Old Ma’s were fishing into their pouches for little bits of metal, which they gave to the man in the red robe. He looked at the bits of metal carefully, counted them, and counted the folks in the family group, then looked at them, very carefully, wrote something down in a great big book, said something to the Ma and the family group, and finally, when that was all done, he opened the wall for them, and they went inside, dazed and smiling at the luck and wonder of it all.

Bi quickly jumped a place, a little ways down the line. He was real used to doing it now, and the folks at this end were too excited to fuss about a solo jumper. In a few hours, he was standing in front of the man, who had smiling, friendly blue eyes, near hidden by his bushy white beard.

“Welcome!” smiled the man, “just let me have your token, and you can go right in.”

“My what?”

“Your token for admission.”

“I don’t have none. Nobody ever told be about it.”

“Where’s your Ma?”

“Down the line. I’m solo now.”

“Didn’t your Ma give you your ration card when you went solo?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

“And didn’t she give you the token? Your Ma is supposed to keep everybody’s token in her pouch.”

“Gap, no, she must’ve forgot!”

“Ho, ho, that sure is a pity. You came all the way up the line and don’t have no token to get in. I can’t let no one in without a token. You’ll have to get one.”

“Where?”

“In the Other Line. You ever see that other line, way off thataway? That’s the line where folks get their tokens. You gotta go to the end of the Other Line and wait your turn. They’ll let you use your same ration card there, and that line moves pretty fast. Then you can get back in this line and wait your turn to get in.”

“But that’ll take a real long time, and it’s dangerous!”

“Yeah, lucky you’re so young.”

“And there’s no more ration carts along the line.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. Sure is a pity, folks coming in real hungry and weak. Heading straight for the eats, don’t even care about having no fun. But I heard that the Other Line still has carts. So you don’t have to worry. By the time you’re back in this line, the carts will most likely be fixed.”

“I guess that’s how it is,” said Bi.

“Yep, that’s how it is. Go along now and get that token.”

Bi wandered away from the opening in the wall and thought about what to do. The wall was too high and smooth to climb over, that was sure, and there was no way he could get past that man in the red robe, ’cause he kept watch all the time. Bi knew he didn’t want to cross the bush to get his token in the Other Line. It would take so long, and he didn’t have near enough ration.

Somehow, he wanted to get inside that wall—soon as possible. It looked so pretty inside, prettiest thing he ever saw, except for his own Pretty. That place and that girl both filled him with the same sort of wantin’ feeling. Funny, he hadn’t thought about her for a while, he’d been so busy drifting. He liked pretty things a whole lot, that was sure.

So he figured the best thing to do would be to go back along the line and find his Pretty. Then him and her could go back along the line to find their old Mas and thieve their tokens. Then they’d drift back up to the wall and get inside and stay there, eating hot crisp ration every day and riding on them brightly colored critters under the tent—round and round, up and down, listening to the music and munching ration, every day! Wait till she saw it, her eyes would gleam, for sure.

Yeah, that’s what Bi would do. He’d find his Pretty, get his token, and get inside that wall. And, for sure, she must be done birthing, by now.