Soul Music - Pit

The moon shone over the Klatchian desert, in the vicinity of the dotted line. Both sides of it got exactly the same amount of moonlight, although minds like Mr Clete's deplored this state of affairs. The sergeant strolled across the packed sand of the parade ground. He stopped, sat down, and produced a cheroot.

Then he pulled out a match, reached down and struck it on something sticking out of the sand, which said: GOOD EVENING.

 'I expect you've had enough, eh, soldier?' said the sergeant.

ENOUGH WHAT, SERGEANT?

'Two days in the sun, no food, no water . . . I expect you're delirious with thirst and are just begging to be dug out, eh?'

YES. IT IS CERTAINLY VERY DULL.

'Dull?'

I AM AFRAID SO.

'Dull? It's not meant to be dull! It's the Pit! It's meant to be a horrible physical and mental torture! After one day of it you're supposed to by a . . .' The sergeant glanced surreptitiously at some writing on his wrist, '. . . a raving madman! I've been watching you all day! You haven't even groaned! I can't sit in my . . . thing, you sit in it, there's papers and things . . .'

OFFICE.

'. . . working, with you outside like this! I can't bear it!' Beau Nidle glanced upwards. He felt it was time for a kindly gesture.

HELP, HELP. HELP, HELP, he said.

The sergeant sagged with relief.

THIS ASSISTS PEOPLE TO FORGET, DOES IT?

'Forget? People forget everything when they're given ...er...'

THE PIT.

'Yes! That's it!'

AH. DO YOU MIND IF I ASK A QUESTION? 'What?. DO YOU MIND IF PERHAPS I HAVE ANOTHER DAY?

The sergeant opened his mouth to reply, and the D'regs attacked over the nearest sand-dune.

***

Soul Music - p111