The Engineer of Beasts

Scott Russell Sanders

Description

After decades of abuse transforms the world into a toxic wasteland, people flee into the safety of a global network of domed cities. Within these safe, orderly spaces, the only animals allowed are machines in the new world's mechanized zoos, called disneys. Orlando Spinks prides himself on keeping his father's disney spotless and orderly, until 13-year-old Mooch explodes into his life and down the throat of a mechanized lion.

Mooch quickly wriggles her way into Orlando's heart with her creative mechanical genius, fiery spirit, and passion for real animals. As her rebellious spark spreads to Orlando, they restore the wild spirit to the mechanical beasts, but catch the eye and ire of the Overseers.

Beautifully written, The Engineer of Beasts brings together the best of Scott Russell Sanders's environmental wisdom with skilled world-building and beloved characters.

Part One
Part Two
Afterword

Sujets

• Science & Nature
• General officer
• Environment
• Science fiction
• General
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Indiana University Press
• Date de parution: 01 septembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780253045881
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

THE ENGINEER OF BEASTS
ALSO BY SCOTT RUSSELL SANDERS
FICTION
Divine Animal
The Invisible Company
Dancing in Dreamtime
Bad Man Ballad
Terrarium
Wonders Hidden
Fetching the Dead
Hear the Wind Blow
Wilderness Plots
NONFICTION
Earth Works: Selected Essays
A Conservationist Manifesto
A Private History of Awe
The Force of Spirit
The Country of Language
Hunting for Hope
Writing from the Center
Staying Put
Secrets of the Universe
The Paradise of Bombs
Stone Country
FOR YOUNG READERS
Crawdad Creek
Meeting Trees
The ENGINEER of BEASTS
SCOTT RUSSELL SANDERS
INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESS
This book is a publication of
Indiana University Press
Office of Scholarly Publishing
Herman B Wells Library 350
1320 East 10th Street
Bloomington, Indiana 47405 USA
iupress.indiana.edu
First Indiana University Press edition 2019.
Text Copyright 1988 by Scott Russell Sanders
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences-Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992.
Manufactured in the United States of America
Cataloging information is available from the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-0-253-04587-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-253-04589-8 (ebook)
1 2 3 4 5 23 22 21 20 19
For seven of the next generation:
CHRISTOPHER AND LAURA
MAHADA AND ADRIAN AND NOAH
DAVID AND BETH
CONTENTS
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Afterword
THE ENGINEER OF BEASTS
Fooling around, the clown is really
performing a spiritual ceremony .
-Lame Deer

It is the business of the future to be
dangerous .
-Alfred North Whitehead
PART ONE
1
C all me Mooch, were the girl s first words upon emerging from the lion s jaws.
Before he could make out these words, Orlando Spinks had to pry her loose from the lion s rubber teeth. Before he could do any prying, Orlando had to wake up. At the age of seventy-one, plagued by a tricky back, he no longer slept well at night, but he made up for his insomnia by napping at work. Thus Orlando was dozing in the control room of the New Boston Disney, from which he reigned over his menagerie of robot animals, when a hooting siren jerked him awake. He clapped the pith helmet on his bald head, surveyed the monitors, then rushed to the cat house, where he found a bunch of school kids swarming around the lion s cage and yelling bloody murder.
About as many of the schoolies were cheering for the king of beasts as for the victim, whose lower half protruded from the grinning lips. Some were yelling, Save her! or words to that effect, while others hollered, She s dead meat! Instead of hanging slack or jerking about in terror, the girl s legs-clad in baggy, purple trousers-stood firmly planted on the floor of the cage. She had jammed the mechanism by thrusting her head and shoulders into the gaping mouth when it was in the midst of a speech about the vanished jungles of Africa. In place of the lion s voice, there now issued from the cavernous throat a child s bemused humming.
Meddlesome kids! Always poking their noses into things. How s a man supposed to run a disney? Orlando muttered as he climbed into the cage, switched off the lion, and levered the jaws apart. Now come on out of there, you.
The girl, still contentedly humming, went on tinkering with the lion s innards. She only had a few more switches to set. In any case, she was not one to jump whenever a grown-up said boo.
Come out of there! Orlando insisted.
More humming. With a grunt, he seized her by the waist and dragged her out. What emerged for inspection was a girl of thirteen, her grease-covered hands clenched in boxing position, a screwdriver gripped in one fist and a circuit probe in the other. Between her teeth she held a flashlight. The front of her purple shimmy-shirt warned in neon letters OUT OF MY WAY , and the back proclaimed EAT MY DIRT . A pile of incandescent red hair rose above her foxy face. Her eyes, glaring from deep sockets, were the inky green of new dollar bills. She removed the flashlight and bared her teeth in a worrisome grin, as though she had not yet decided whether to smile or bite. Afterward, during his brief stay in jail, Orlando was to recall this first impression of the girl as a fair warning of the troubles to come.
Who the devil do you think you are? he said.
Call me Mooch, she answered without lowering her fists.
Outside the cage the schoolies murmured and swayed, gawking at her for any sign of injuries. The boys admired the swell of her new breasts through the shimmy-shirt. The girls wondered why she didn t cover her freckles with makeup and her snarled hair with a wig. Mooch the pooch! one of the children hooted.
Go recycle your brain! the girl shot back. Turning on Orlando, she demanded, And who re you?
He stiffened, drawing his short frame to its maximum height. He touched the brim of his pith helmet and smoothed the creases of his khaki safari suit. I m the chief engineer, he said.
The one who makes all these boffo beasties?
I build and repair the animals, yes. Now, see here-
Then you re just the guy I wanted to meet. Transferring the screwdriver and flashlight to her left hand, she thrust her right one toward him.
Polite even when irked, Orlando gingerly squeezed the girl s hand, feeling the pickpocket nimbleness of her fingers. What she felt was an old claw bumpy with scars and toughened at the tips with calluses. What she saw was a tiny, bow-legged, fidgety leprechaun of a man with a face like a worn-out boot. The jungle helmet bulging over his white fringe of hair made her think of a fried egg.
How do you do, said Orlando in some confusion, pumping the mouse-quick hand.
When the schoolies detected no sign of blood around the girl s middle where the lion had clamped its teeth, they lost interest in the scene and shuffled away down the aisle of the cat house, some heading toward the panther and leopard, some toward the griffin and sphinx. Everyone departed, that is, except for a gangly boy who skulked near the cage and pretended to be cleaning his fingernails with a toothpick, all the while casting sidelong glances in the direction of Mooch.
Dropping the girl s hand as though scorched, Orlando snapped, Can t you read? To dramatize his point, he read the warnings aloud, in capital letters: DANGER ! KEEP OUT ! WILD BEASTS !
You call this wild ? This juiced-up pussycat? Mooch patted the lion s mane, which had the stringy texture of frayed nylon rope. There s more wildness in my left little toe than in your whole kitchy-koo zoo.
This was a sore point with Orlando. Why, you cheeky brat! he sputtered. Where s your teacher?
I didn t come with a teacher.
Your juvenile officer, then?
I didn t come with any juvee, either.
Your parents?
Mooch put on a sadsack frown. I don t have any parents. I m just a poor little orphink. Boo hoo.
This provoked a snigger from the tall, knobby boy who had stayed behind to spy on her. Noticing him for the first time, Mooch hollered, Ratbone, you utter creep! If you don t quit sneaking around after me, I ll tie your ears across your nose and blindfold you!
Nature had indeed afflicted the boy with huge ears, twin scoops of pink, translucent flesh, which now turned rosy from embarrassment. Quit calling me Ratbone, he mumbled, then slunk away behind a talkie-feelie booth that was shaped like a giant panda. His face loomed above the panda s shoulder, giving the impression-thanks to those remarkable ears-of a swiveling radar screen.
Maybe you came here on your own, Orlando told the girl, but so help me God you re going to leave with an Overseer, just as soon as I can put in a call. He lifted the wristphone to his lips.
Hey, come on, mister. Why make a stink? I didn t break anything. In fact, your pussycat here is running better than before. I fixed him so he won t be making any more whacko speeches. Nothing but natural sounds. Once again Mooch patted the lion s ropy mane, whereupon the beast yawned, shuddered, and let out a prodigious belch.
Since Orlando never programmed such rude noises into his robots, this brought him up short. He dropped his arm, leaving the call to the juvenile officer unmade. How did you do that? he asked wonderingly.
Easy as pie, she answered, then proceeded to sketch a diagram with her finger on the dusty floor of the cage to show how she had altered the sound-loop on the lion. This dazzling explanation was only the first of many surprises she would spring on Orlando. She had taken courses in cybertronics at Get-a-Job Tech, but had learned even more about machines through tinkering with the security devices at the orphanage. Videos, computers, light-gates, locks-you name it, she had taken every gismo apart and put it back together again.
Orlando narrowed his eyes to wary slits. How come you re monkeying with all that security stuff?
So I can skip out of that orphanage whenever I feel like it.
Then you really are an orphan?
Would I lie? Her gaze took on the velvety innocence of moss. Come on, let s take a load off our feet, and I ll tell you all the gory details.

A LWAYS a sucker for a story, Orlando followed her