Immobility

you’ve been exposed to today, our circulation would be damaged and our hearts would fail.”

“Why hasn’t that happened to me?”

Qanik shrugged. “You are okay,” he said. “You always have been. You are not in any trouble.”

“We are the ones that are in trouble,” said Qatik.

“That’s why you’re wearing the suits,” said Horkai.

“They are not enough,” said Qatik.

“Not enough?”

“No need to talk about it,” said Qanik.

“But I want to talk about it,” said Horkai.

“You do not want to hear about it,” said Qatik.

“Both of you be quiet and eat,” said Qanik.

Horkai looked at the tin in front of him. The water had softened the hardtack, making it a little more flexible. He took a bite, found it tasteless, but managed to choke it down. He took a sip of water, another bite of the biscuit.

“I want to hear about it,” he said, chewing. “I want you to tell me.”

“Not a good idea,” said Qanik.

“He has a right to know,” said Qatik. As he spoke he ate, breaking off a corner of damp hardtack and chewing it. Both the mules, Horkai realized, were eating much more than he was, and eating much quicker.

Qanik shrugged.

Qatik turned to Horkai. Horkai watched his mouth moving just below the edge of the hood, the rest of his face hidden behind the shiny black fabric.

“These suits keep out only so much,” said Qatik. “They do not protect us completely.”

“So this will damage you?” asked Horkai.

“Not damage,” said Qatik. “Kill.”

“Kill? Then why are you doing it?”

“We are the mules,” said Qanik. “This is our purpose. This is what we were made to do.”

“Who told you that?”

“That is how it is,” said Qanik.

“But who told you?”

“Rasmus,” said Qatik.

Rasmus, thought Horkai. Always Rasmus.

“Can’t you do something?” he asked them. “Can’t you make better suits for yourself? Can’t we stop it?”

Qanik shook his head.

“What if we turned back now?”

“We are the mules,” said Qanik firmly. “This is what we do.”

“But—”

“What Qanik means,” said Qatik, interrupting him, “is that we are already dead. We have already been out too long. If we turn back, we still die, just not as quickly.”

“Don’t you care about that?”

Qanik shrugged. “We all have to die sometime,” he said. “Better to die doing what you are meant to do.”

“As mules,” said Horkai.

“As mules,” said Qanik, nodding.

Below them the fusee was sputtering, the shadows leaping more erratically. “Enough talk,” said Qatik. “Back in the hood, Qanik. Time to go.”

* * *

LATER, WALKING AGAIN but riding on Qatik’s shoulders this time, moving upslope and coming closer to the point of the mountain, the sun now threatening to set, he tried to raise the issue with them again. At first he tried to ease into it gently, tapping on Qatik’s hood to attract his attention.

“If you’re going to die anyway,” he asked, “why wear suits at all?”

Qatik’s response was muffled. Horkai leaned forward and swiveled one ear and then asked him to repeat it.

Qatik tapped his speaker to clear it. “If we did not wear our suits, we would already be dead,” he said. “We would not be able to achieve our purpose.”

“Why trade your lives for a purpose?” asked Horkai. “What makes that a worthwhile trade?”

Qatik slowed, briefly came to a stop. Qanik, to one side, turned slightly, raised an eyebrow behind the faceplate. “Why are you trying to make me doubt?” Qatik asked. “Why now, when it is already too late, when I am already dead, when my purpose is all that is left to me?”

He started up again, slow at first. Qanik fell into step beside them.

“And what if you convince us?” asked Qatik. “The best that can happen is for us to decide there is no point carrying you and leave you here, on the side of this roadway, to die.”

He had, Horkai had to admit, a point. Quickly, he changed the subject.

“If you’ve never been outside, how do you know what things are?”

“We had been as far as the founder,” said Qatik.

“Still,” said Horkai. “That’s not very far.”

“Pictures,” said Qatik. “We’ve been given instruction. We have seen maps. We were given scenarios and made to solve them.”

“But it was not always perfect instruction,” said Qanik. “You had, for instance, to help us to open the hatch on the cylinder.”

“The silo,” said Horkai.

“Silo,” they said in unison.

“Farming related, then,” added Qatik. “We saw many pictures and we memorized many things.”

“And among those pictures were images of farms?”

“No,” Qatik admitted. “Among those pictures were images of farming-related buildings.”

“Do you know what a farm is?”

Qatik didn’t respond.

“A farm,” said Horkai, “is a stretch of land used to grow agriculture and livestock.”

“What is agriculture?” asked Qatik.

“Plants grown for food. You know what plants are.”

“There are plants near the founder,” said Qanik. “But they are dead. If you touch them, they break and sometimes fall into dust.”

“There are no longer living plants,” said Qatik. “There are fungus and mushrooms, and that is what we eat. Agriculture is no longer an important word. This is why we were not taught it. It is not important we know it. What is livestock?”

“Animals grown for food,” said Horkai.

“There are no longer animals,” said Qatik. “This is no longer an important word. It serves no purpose.”

“How do you know there are no animals?”

“Rasmus told us,” said Qatik.

“How does Rasmus know?”

But Qatik refused to answer the question. They walked on in silence awhile.

“Where do your names come from?” Horkai asked. And when Qatik said nothing, he asked again, louder this time, hoping to draw Qanik in.

“They were given to us,” said Qanik.

“What do they mean?”

“They do not mean anything,” said Qanik. “They are names.”

“No,” said Horkai. “That’s not what I mean. I mean where do they come from? Are they family names? Are they something from your ancestors’ culture?”

“I do not know,” said Qanik.

“You don’t know?”