Read Truckers for Free Online

turned back imperiously and waved her hand at Angalo.
    â€œGo away, young man,” she said. “Masklin, stand up straight. Now . . . forward.”
    â€œWho’re you, saying forward?” said Torrit. “I’m the leader, I am. It’s my job, givin’ orders.”
    â€œAll right,” said Granny Morkie. “Give ’em, then.”
    Torrit’s mouth worked soundlessly. “Right,” he managed. “Forward.”
    Masklin’s jaw dropped.
    â€œWhere to?” he asked, as the old woman shooed them along the dim space.
    â€œWe will find somewhere. I lived through the Great Winter of 1999, I did,” said Granny Morkie haughtily. “The cheek of that silly old Duke man! I nearly spoke up. He wouldn’t of lasted long in the Great Winter, I can tell you.”
    â€œNo ’arm can befall us if we obey the Thing,” said Torrit, patting it carefully.
    Masklin stopped. He had, he decided, had enough.
    â€œWhat does the Thing say, then?” he said sharply. “Exactly? What does it actually tell us to do now? Come on, tell me what it says we should do now!”
    Torrit looked a bit desperate.
    â€œEr,” he began, “it, er, is clear that if we pulls together and maintains a proper—”
    â€œYou’re just making it up as you go along!”
    â€œHow dare you speak to him like that—” Grimma began. Masklin flung down his spear.
    â€œWell, I’m fed up with it!” he muttered. “The Thing says this, the Thing says that, the Thing says every blessed thing except anything that might be useful!”
    â€œThe Thing has been handed down from nome to nome for hundreds of years,” said Grimma. “It’s very important.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Grimma looked at Torrit. He licked his lips.
    â€œIt shows us—” he began, white-faced.
    â€œMove me closer to the electricity.”
    â€œThe Thing seems to be more important than . . . what are you all looking like that for?” said Masklin.
    â€œCloser to the electricity.”
    Torrit, his hands shaking, looked down at the Thing.
    Where there had been smooth black surfaces there were now little dancing lights. Hundreds of them. In fact, Masklin thought, feeling slightly proud of knowing what the word meant, there were probably thousands of them.
    â€œWho said that?” said Masklin.
    The Thing dropped out of Torrit’s grasp and landed on the floor, where its lights glittered like a thousand highways at night. The nomes watched it in horror.
    â€œThe Thing does tell you things . . .” said Masklin. “Gosh!”
    Torrit waved his hands frantically. “Not like that! Not like that! It ain’t supposed to talk out loud! It’s ain’t done that before!”
    â€œCloser to the electricity !”
    â€œIt wants the electricity,” said Masklin.
    â€œWell, I’m not going to touch it!”
    Masklin shrugged and then, using his spear gingerly, pushed the Thing across the floor until it was under the wires.
    â€œHow does it speak? It hasn’t got a mouth,” said Grimma.
    The Thing whirred. Colored shapes flickered across its surfaces faster than Masklin’s eyes could follow. Most of them were red.
    Torrit sank to his knees. “It is angry,” he moaned. “We shouldn’t have eaten rat, we shouldn’t have come here, we shouldn’t—”
    Masklin also knelt down. He touched the bright areas, gingerly at first, but they weren’t hot.
    He felt that strange feeling again, of his mind wanting to think certain thoughts without having the right words.
    â€œWhen the Thing has told you things before,” he said slowly, “you know, how we should live proper lives—”
    Torrit gave him an agonized expression.
    â€œIt never has,” he said.
    â€œBut you said—”
    â€œIt used to, it used to,” moaned Torrit. “When old Voozel passed it on to me he