As the days passed, Tally fell into the routines of the Smoke.
There was something comforting about the exhaustionof hard work. All her life, Tally had been troubled byinsomnia, lying awake most nights thinking about argumentsshe’d had, or wanted to have, or things she shouldhave done differently. But here in the Smoke her mind shutoff the moment her head hit the pillow, which wasn’t evena pillow, just her new sweater stuffed into a cotton bag.
Tally still didn’t know how long she was going to staythere. She hadn’t come to a decision about whether to activatethe pendant, but she knew that thinking about it all thetime would drive her crazy. So she decided to put it out ofher mind. One day she might wake up and realize that shecouldn’t stand to live her entire life as an ugly, no matterwho it hurt or what it cost . . . but for the moment, Dr.
Cable could wait.
Forgetting her troubles was easy in the Smoke. Life wasmuch more intense than in the city. She bathed in a river socold that she had to jump in screaming, and she ate foodpulled from the fire hot enough to burn her tongue, whichcity food never did. Of course, she missed shampoo thatdidn’t sting her eyes, and flush toilets (she’d learned to herhorror what “latrines” were), and mostly medspray. Buthowever blistered her hands became, Tally felt strongerthan ever before. She could work all day at the railroad site,then race David and Shay home on hoverboards, her backpackfull of more scrap metal than she could have lifted amonth before. She learned from David how to repair herclothes with a needle and thread, how to tell raptors fromtheir prey, and even how to clean fish, which turned out tobe not nearly as bad as cutting them up in bio class.
The physical beauty of the Smoke also cleared her mindof worries. Every day seemed to change the mountain, thesky, and the surrounding valleys, making them spectacularin a completely new way. Nature, at least, didn’t need anoperation to be beautiful. It just was.
One morning on the way to the railroad track, David pulledhis board up alongside Tally’s. He rode silently for a while,taking the familiar turns with his usual grace. Over the lasttwo weeks, she’d learned that his jacket was actually madeof leather, real dead animals, but she’d gradually gottenused to the idea. The Smokies hunted, but they were likethe rangers, killing only species that didn’t belong in thispart of the world or that had gotten out of control thanksto the Rusties’ meddling. With its random patches, the230 Scott Westerfeldjacket would probably look silly on anyone else. But itsuited David, somehow, as if growing up here in the wildallowed him to fuse with the animals that had donated theirskins to his clothes. And it probably didn’t hurt that he hadactually made the jacket himself.
He spoke up suddenly. “I’ve got a present for you.”
“A present? Really?”
By now, Tally understood that nothing in the Smokeever lost its value. Nothing was discarded or given awayjust because it was old or broken. Everything was repaired,refitted, and recycled, and if one Smokey couldn’t put it touse, it was traded to another. Few things were given awaylightly.
“Yeah, really.” David angled closer and handed her asmall bundle.
She unwrapped it, following the familiar route downthe stream almost without looking. It was a pair of gloves,handmade in light brown leather.
She shoved the bright, city-made wrapping paper intoher pocket, then pulled the gloves onto her blistered hands.
“Thanks! They fit perfectly.”
He nodded. “I made them when I was about your age.
They’re a little small for me these days.”
Tally smiled, wishing she could hug him. When theyspread their arms to take a hard turn, she held his hand fora second.
Flexing her fingers, Tally found that the gloves wereUGLIES 231soft and pliant, the palms worn pale from years of use.
White lines across the finger joints revealed how they hadfitted David’s hands. “They’re wonderful.”
“Come on,” David said. “It’s not like they’re magic oranything.”
“No, but they’ve got . . . something.” History, Tally realized.
In the city, she’d owned lots of things—practicallyanything she wanted came out of the wall. But city thingswere disposable and replaceable, as interchangeable as theT-shirt, jacket, and skirt combinations of dorm uniforms.
Here, in the Smoke, objects grew old, carrying their historieswith them in dings and scratches and tatters.
David chuckled at her and sped up, joining Shay at thefront of the pack.
When they got to the railroad site, David announced thatthey had to clear more track, using vibrasaws to cut throughthe vegetation that had grown up around the metal rails.
“What about the trees?” Croy asked.
“What about them?”
“Do we have to chop them down?” Tally asked.
David shrugged. “Scrub trees like this aren’t good formuch. But we won’t waste them. We’ll take them back tothe Smoke for burning.”
“Burning?” Tally said. The Smokies usually only cutdown trees from the valley, not the rest of the mountain.
These trees had been growing there for decades, and David232 Scott Westerfeldwanted to use them just to cook a meal? She looked at Shayfor support, but her friend’s expression was carefully neutral.
She probably agreed, but didn’t want to argue withDavid in front of everyone about how to run his project.
“Yes, burning,” he said. “And after we’ve salvaged thetrack, we’ll replant. Put a row of useful trees where the railroadused to be.”
The five others looked at him silently. He spun a saw inhis hand, anxious to get started, but aware he didn’t havetheir full support yet.
“You know, David,” Croy said. “These trees aren’t useless.
They protect the underbrush from sunlight, whichkeeps the soil from eroding.”
“Okay, you win. Instead of planting some other kind oftree, we’ll let the forest take back the land. All the crappyscrub and underbrush you want.”
“But do we have to clear-cut them?” Astrix asked.
David took a slow breath. “Clear-cutting” was the wordfor what the Rusties had done to the old forests: fellingevery tree, killing every living thing, turning entire countriesinto grazing land. Whole rain forests had been consumed,reduced from millions of interlocking species to abunch of cows eating grass, a vast web of life traded forcheap hamburgers.
“Look, we’re not clear-cutting. All we’re doing is pullingout the garbage that the Rusties left behind,” David said. “Itjust takes a little surgery to do it.”
UGLIES 233“We could chop around the trees,” Tally said. “Only cutinto them where we need to. Like you said: surgery.”
“Okay, fine.” He chuckled. “Let’s see what you thinkof these trees after you’ve had to hack a few out of theground.”
He was right.
The vibrasaw purred through heavy vines, parted tangledunderbrush like a comb through wet hair, and sliced cleanlythrough metal when the odd misstroke brought the cuttingedge down onto the track. But when its teeth met the gnarledroots and twisted branches of the scrub trees, it was a differentstory.
Tally grimaced as her saw bounced across the hardwood again, spitting bits of bark at her face, its low humtransformed into a protesting howl. She struggled to forcethe edge down into the tough old branch. One more cutand this section of track would be clear.
“Going good. You almost got it, Tally.”
She noticed that Croy stood well back, poised to jumpif the saw somehow slipped from her hands. She could seenow why David had wanted to chop the scrub trees intopieces. It would have been a lot easier than reachingthrough the tangle of roots and branches, trying to bringthe vibrasaw to bear against a precise spot.
“Stupid trees,” Tally muttered, gritting her teeth as sheplunged the blade down again.
234 Scott WesterfeldFinally, the saw found purchase in the wood, letting outa high-pitched scream as it bit into the branch. Then itslipped through, free for a second before it thrust, spittingand screeching, into the dirt below.
“Yeah!” Tally stepped back, lifting her goggles, the sawpowering down in her hands.
Croy stepped forward and kicked the section of branchaway from the track. “Perfect surgical slice, Doctor,” he said.
“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Tally said, wipingher brow.
It was almost noon, and the sun was beating down intothe clearing mercilessly. She pulled off her sweater, realizingthat the morning chill was long gone. “You were rightabout the trees giving shade.”
“You said it,” Croy said. “Nice sweater, by the way.”
She smiled. Along with her new gloves, it was herprized possession. “Thanks.”
“What did it cost you?”
“Six SpagBols.”
“A little pricey. Pretty, though.” Croy caught her eye.
“Tally, remember that first day you got here? When I kindof grabbed ............