Truckers by Terry Pratchett Read Free Book Online

woodwork, and a distant gleam of very bright light. He edged toward it and stuck his eye to the crack.
    â€œOh,” he said weakly.
    â€œWhat is it?” Grimma called out.
    â€œIt’s humans. More humans than you’ve ever seen before.”
    The crack was where the ceiling joined the wall of a room nearly as big as the truck nest and it was, indeed, full of humans. The Store had opened.
    The nomes had always known that humans lived very slowly. Masklin had almost walked into humans once or twice, when he was hunting, and knew that even before one of their huge stupid faces could swivel its eyes, he could be off the path and hiding behind a clump of something.
    The space below was crowded with them, walking their great slow clumping walk and booming at each other in their vague, deep voices.
    The nomes watched, fascinated, for some time.
    â€œWhat are those things they’re holding?” said Grimma. “They look a bit like the Thing.”
    â€œDunno,” said Masklin.
    â€œLook, they pick them up and then give something to the other human, and then it’s put in a bag, and they go away. They almost look, well, as if they mean what they’re doing.”
    â€œNo, it’s like ants,” said Torrit authoritatively. “They seems intelligent, I’ll grant you, but when you looks closely, there’s nothing really clever about them.”
    â€œThey build things,” said Masklin vaguely.
    â€œSo do birds, my lad.”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œHumans are a bit like magpies, I’ve always said. They just want things that glitter.”
    â€œHmm.” Masklin decided not to argue. You couldn’t argue with old Torrit, unless you were Granny Morkie, of course. He had room only for a certain number of ideas in his head, and once one had taken root, you couldn’t budge it. But Masklin wanted to say: If they’re so stupid, why isn’t it them hiding from us ?
    An idea struck him. He lifted up the Thing.
    â€œThing?” he said.
    There was a pause. Then the tinny little voice said: “Operations on main task suspended. What is it that you require?”
    â€œDo you know what humans are?” said Masklin.
    â€œYes. Resuming main task.”
    Masklin looked blankly at the others.
    â€œThing?” he said.
    â€œOperations on main task suspended. What is it that you require?”
    â€œI asked you to tell me about humans,” said Masklin.
    â€œThis is not the case. You said: Do you know what humans are? My answer was correct in every respect.”
    â€œWell, tell me what humans are!”
    â€œHumans are the indigenous inhabitants of the world you now call Thestore. Resuming main task.”
    â€œThere!” said Torrit, nodding wisely. “Told you, didn’t I? They’re indigenous. Clever, yes, but basically just indigenous. Just a lot of indigenouses.” He hesitated. “Indigenice,” he corrected himself.
    â€œAre we indigenous?” said Masklin.
    â€œMain task interrupted. No. Main task resumed.”
    â€œCourse not,” said Torrit witheringly. “We’ve got a bit of pride.”
    Masklin opened his mouth to ask what indigenous meant. He knew he didn’t know, and he was certain that Torrit didn’t. And after that, he wanted to ask a lot more questions, and before he asked them, he’d have to think about the words he used.
    I don’t know enough words, he thought. Some things you can’t think unless you know the right words.
    But he didn’t get around to it, because a voice behind him said, “Powerful strange things, ain’t they? And very busy just lately. I wonder what’s got into them?”
    It was an elderly, rather stocky nome. And drably dressed, which was unusual in the Store. Most of his clothing was a huge apron, its pockets bulging mysteriously.
    â€œHave you been spying on us?” said Granny Morkie.
    The stranger gave a