by Mark Eller
Why, I'm doing better than she is, Joliet thought with surprise. I'll have to keep an eye on her if I can manage it. Maybe I can help her along.
Two minutes later the last of the officers were in place.
"Here's where it gets hairy," Walker said calmly. "There won't be much order in there. We're going to try to stick together and act as a team, but it will be almost impossible. At the least, keep me in sight. Don't separate even if you see one of them getting away. The most important thing is that you don't get hurt. Understand?"
Joliet nodded. She looked to the east moments before the captain's arm raised once again. It fell.
"Let's go," Walker said. She started out before the other officer got her charge moving. Joliet belatedly realized that the sergeant already held her nightstick in her hand. They were supposed to have had them out before taking their first step.
She fumbled hers free. Its heavy, lead-filled weight could do serious damage. If she were not careful, she could even break somebody's head. Gods, she hoped that would not happen.
They were six dozen paces into the warren when they sighted their first sewer rat. The young brat tumbled down the side of a wall and ran, her legs pumping so hard that dirt flew from her feet. Joliet's own legs wanted to run, but she held back because she was under orders to maintain their pace for as long as possible.
The other trainee visibly trembled, but she did her duty. She did not bolt for safety.
"A lookout," the other guard said to Walker.
"Looks like," Walker replied. "If so, we'll probably come up empty again. These organized ones are hard to pin down. They have ways over the roofs and crawl-ways that are too narrow for us to get through. The best we can do is continue right along and see what happens." Her pace was steady, and her eyes were shifting, searching out possible hiding places.
An alley cut to the right. "See you," the other guard said. She took the new opening, her charge in tow. Joliet felt their absence immediately. Their leaving removed a feeling of security she had not realized they provided.
Shouts sounded in the distance. Yells broke out. Crashings and bangs reverberated off the walls. Joliet's lips went dry, and her fingers trembled, but she kept her pace beside Walker.
CRACK BANG
A figure jumped from a doorway and darted ahead of them.
"There!" Joliet shouted. She started to leap after the figure, but Walker's hand held her back.
"Easy, girl. That one is heading into somebody else's territory. Besides, she looked like a decoy. Let's check out what's inside that doorway."
Nodding, Joliet gripped her nightstick with white-knuckled fingers and strode at Walker's side. They were not here to do battle, she reminded herself. Their mission was one of mercy.
Walker entered the doorway. Joliet followed closely behind.
Dark, but some light filtered through the broken windows. Downstairs was one large room--a tavern, Joliet guessed. The place had been a tavern or some other local gathering place when it was built more than two hundred years before. Now it was an eyesore and a hideout and a public hazard. Joliet nervously bit her lip. Here she would discover if she possessed that nebulous thing called courage.
They picked through the few items scattered around the main floor and saw nothing of interest. There were certainly no people, though Joliet saw signs of recent occupation.
Walker looked at the single set of steps. She shook her head. "They were here. I can feel it. Probably went out the upstairs windows and are running across the roofs right now." Her eyes squinted as she studied the broken set of stairs more thoroughly. "Still, we better check it out."
She led the way. Carefully, Joliet followed. Half the steps were broken, threatening to break free beneath her feet. The other half were not in much better shape. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Walker paused and turned quickly to her right. She dropped into a half crouch and Joliet, without knowing how it happened, found herself crouching right beside her sergeant.
More than half a dozen sewer rats, each holding a sharpened pipe, or a chain, or a knife, stood before them. The children were gathered closely together, blocking and hiding a group of smaller children.
Joliet swallowed. Hard. Answer time.
"Now, then," Walker said soothingly. "There's no need for any of this. You're just making trouble for yourselves; that you are. We only want to get you off the streets. Find you a home and make sure you get three meals every day."
"Three meals," one boy spat. "A home. I've seen what yer meals and yer homes do ta people. We'll have none o' that. None o' it! You won't starve and work us 'til we die for your profit. We choose ta die right here." He glared.
Not true, Joliet thought. She was the one who would die. These people were going to murder her, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from the doing of it.
People? No. They were children younger than she. They were frightened, and she was one of those they were frightened of, but needlessly. She wanted to help them.
Walker's stance was threatening and belligerent. That would not do--at all. These children were frightened. Before long they would attack like cornered rats.
Answer time.
She dropped her nightstick to the floor. The nightstick was useless anyway since her arms trembled too much to use it properly.
Walker started and almost jumped. "Not now!"
"Now," Joliet told her superior. Walker was her sergeant, her trainer. Walker had years of experience, but the older woman was limited because she had not been raised as a Random. One thing her family had forced into Joliet was that no matter how painful, Randoms always did the right thing.
"Stay here." Joliet stepped forward, amazed at herself. She did not feel frightened at all. Well, not very frightened. She felt calm and almost knew what she was doing. "Please," she said. "Let me see. I have to know what was done to them."
She reached the boy who had spoken. He was taller than she, but was younger and thinner, not yet filled out. A girl stood protectively by his side, her face a mix of scars and burns. She had warrior features, but Joliet could see the frightened and cornered child inside. Reaching out, she gently touched a length of sharpened pipe and pushed it to the side. It took almost no effort at all. "Please."
"Let 'er pass," somebody urged. "Let 'er see."
They parted, and Joliet got her first true sight of the darker side of life.
They were ugly. They were shapeless heaps of skin over bone, canvasses for weeping sores and lash-drawn lines. Their eyes were listless and almost lifeless. They were corpses not yet dead. They were helpless and hapless and bound to die--and yet the street rats had enough honor and pride and dignity to risk their own freedom to protect these poor wretches.
Joliet did not care what popular opinion said; children like these were worth saving.
"I took the worst ones with me," a girl said. Joliet turned toward her. Thin and ragged, she did not look well herself. A red whiplash weal marked the side of her face. "I took the ones that I thought could make it, only they just kept getting sicker. I think they need something that was put in the food. I only ate it the one time, and it tasted bad so I never tried it again, but my stomach hurt for two days after."
Walker was by Joliet's side. "Where?" Walker insisted. "Where did you take them from?" Her voice twisted with sharp emotion.
The girl shook her head. "Don't know. It was dark, and I didn't know the area. I just got us out, and we ran as best we could until I found someplace that looked familiar. Don't know where it was. Not even sure what the place looked like."
"Come with us," Joliet heard herself say.
The boy suddenly loomed over her, his length of sharpened pipe raised. "Yer not doing this ta my people!"
"No," Joliet answered. "I'm not. I swear to you that I'm not. Upon my honor, each and every one of you will have a family to live with. Those," she pointed at the six near-corpses, "will get the best medical help money can buy. I swear it. On my honor, I swear it."
> "And who be ya ta make such promises?" the ragged girl demanded. Her eyes searched, dug. They belonged in a much older face.
"I am Joliet Von Helsin Op Random," Joliet replied.
"Heard the family name," the boy said.
"It's honorable," the young-old girl told him. "The Op Randoms have always been honorable. It's the one thing that's held them back. If not for their honor they'd own most of Isabella by now."
Joliet knew this was no time for false modesty. "True. We gave up a lot, but we are still very well off. I pledge that if no one else in my family will support my promise, I will use my own money to see that you are all treated well." She allowed iron to creep into her voice. "You will have homes. Good homes. I will personally see to it."
"Let 'er go," the young man gestured toward the ragged girl. "Ya let 'er go free, an' the rest o' us will come with ya."
"All or none," Walker said. "It can't be any other way." She cast a glance at Joliet. "Sorry, Trainee, but I know this one. She's one I have to pull in. We've been after her for a while--for a good long while."
"I don't understand."
"Has a Talent Stone, she does. Looks to be eleven or twelve, but we think she might be pushing sixty or eighty. Been a thorn in our side for decades. Had her in juvie 'bout ten years back, but we didn't know it. Thought she was somebody else so she was let go after a few months." Walker frowned. "Won't happen again."
"Celine goes free," the young man insisted. "There're enough o' us ta ensure it."
"Sure there are," Walker agreed. "You lot can kill us before we have time to open our mouths. Only thing is," she pointed at the dying six, "they don't get no help. You lot don't get no homes, don't get off the street, or get a chance at a decent life." Walker shook her head sadly. "Way these things go, if you stay on the street, most of you will be dead in five years anyway."
This was not going the way she had wanted. "I only want to help," Joliet begged. "That's all."
Celine looked at her strangely. "She isn't lying. She isn't even thinking of lying. Do what they say."
"But--."
"Do it, Makky! I'm only one person. There are six lives at stake here--and nine other futures. I'm only one person." Her voice took on quieter tones. "Makky, do it."
Her face was young, not yet solidly formed into its mature visage. She was small-boned, malnourished, and whip-marked. She was also the noblest person Joliet had ever met. This Celine had a strength and dignity that was awesome, inspiring--humbling. When Joliet looked at Celine she saw the mold she wished to fill. She also gained the answer to her question.
Why was she here? Why was she wearing the uniform of the N'Ark Guard?
Because it allowed her to help. Like this woman-child Celine, Joliet desired to make a difference. She had asked a question of the Two Gods.
Celine's example was her answer.
Chapter 15
Amanda leaned back in her chair, looked at the papers piled on her desk, and decided it was time to get some serious help. The smallest stack was four inches high, the tallest more than six. She couldn't handle all of this. Too much was going on, too many deals being struck, papers being filed, and lawsuits being considered and pursued. Then there was the investigation of Aaron's attempted kidnapping. That by itself was enough to require her complete attention. The actual amount of work involved might not be so great during these early stages, but the time she spent in just worrying was phenomenal. Her livelihood was at stake. Her future. She had attached herself to the ship that was Aaron Turner, and that ship was floundering. All the vast wealth she had accumulated for him no longer trickled away---it ran downhill in torrents. The fees involved in all the filings and the court dates and the title searches, and the money invested in new ventures and partnerships promising great returns-- all of that was emptying the coffers. Matters had become so bad that she had even cut her salary to something close to reasonable.
Now she might have to cut it even further, because she needed at least one more lawyer and a couple of research assistants if she was going to keep this boat afloat. She needed a larger office suite to house her new employees, and she needed a great deal of money to pay for it all. The quarterly profits from the two companies marketing magic writers were coming up, but that would only be a little more than half of what she needed now. A few other small contributions would soon arrive. In total, the amount might have covered her expenses if not for the Turner Houses.
And then there was Aaron's new pet project. For all she knew, he expected her to find money to pay for the engineering project. Those engineers were becoming a pain in her butt.
Ball bearings, Aaron had asked for ball bearings. Amanda admitted to herself that she did not know exactly why he wanted ball bearings, but she was positive he did want them. The engineering students he hired knew he wanted ball bearings. The instructors knew he wanted ball bearings, So why, she wondered, were they experimenting with everything except how to manufacture ball bearings? And why did they bring their ideas to her? This was not her project. She already had too much on her agenda.
Earlier that day, while receiving a detailed rundown from Miss Trunkle, Amanda had interrupted by wondering out loud as to why she was being bothered with these details since Mister Turner was entirely responsible for this engineering fiasco.
Which was when she'd been informed that Aaron was not to be found. He had taken off after writing them a letter saying he would be gone for a few weeks --or even months.
Amanda had suffered one long moment of panic at that news. She envisioned ransom or a dead body or any of a dozen other scenarios. After rushing Miss Trunkle from her office, Amanda headed out the door, hailed a cab, and made it to Aaron's home in less than an hour. She used the key Aaron did not know she possessed to let herself in. Nothing inside the room was untoward, except for four letters and a set of damp clothes lying on the floor. The clothes told her Aaron had recently been in the apartment. The unopened letters told her he was ignoring his duties again, which was obvious since he had not bothered informing her of his absence.
Going on the assumption that Aaron had no need to hold anything private from her, Amanda perused the letters as best she could without opening them. One letter was easy---it was from her and related to another hearing at the Assembly Building slated for a week later. The floral and the blue envelopes were from the engineering group, and the last letter was from Mister Dan Norbright, Director of the N'Ark Turner Houses. Curious, she almost opened the letter to see what Mister Norbright had to say, but then had second thoughts. Aaron would probably be offended by her opening it without permission.
She set the letter down on top of Aaron's other mail and left.
That visit to Aaron's apartment was a week past. He was still missing; her work was still piling up, and the meeting with the assembly was in only a few hours.
Amanda angrily shoved her chair back from the desk. Rising, she took a moment to brush the wrinkles out of her clothes and set a small red hat with a black brim on her head. She had too many things to do. The meeting was not for several hours. All the worrying in the world would not affect the outcome, so she might as well get busy. She needed to place ads in the daily and a couple trade journals. Maybe she could find some people eager to start a new job who owned low enough self-esteem that they would wait a while before insisting on a good salary. After that, she needed to visit a few banks to see what the chances were that Turner Enterprises could float a few massive loans for a couple years. If that did not work, she would have to incorporate and open up Turner stock to investors. That was the last thing she wanted to do. Multiple investors would entail spreading the profits. The more the money was spread, the less it would be available for Miss Amanda Bivins' share. All in all, she wanted a lot of money to be left over for Miss Bivins. After all, she had big plans and only the one lifetime to complete them in.
* * *
"Your business?"
The speaker was a different door watcher from the rude fellow who ha
d been there before.
"I have an appointment with the assembly in an half an hour. The name is Amanda Bivins. My client is Aaron Turner."
The woman flipped open her clipboard and leafed through the pages. "I'm sorry, miss, but I don't see where the assembly is sitting today. Are you sure you have the correct day?"
"Reasonably sure," Amanda replied dryly. "I was delivered a summons ten days ago. If it helps, this session is closed to the general public."
"Ohhh. That explains why I don't have it on my list. Closed sessions are supposed to be kept a secret from everyone not involved. It works out that way sometimes, but we usually know about them three or four days in advance. The way it normally works is that the people involved are placed on a guest list for a specific assemblyperson who is attending the meeting. Is there anyone in particular you are seeing?"
"I suppose," Amanda said, "that I will see the Minister of the Interior. It usually works out that way."
The woman once more flipped through her pages. "Oh, yes. Here it is. You're on the guest list of Mistress Catlow. Unfortunately, she is not in the building. She was sent out of the country to negotiate with our neighbors to the north. Mistress Bestrow, her under-minister, will see to you and Mister Turner today."
"Mister Turner is not available to attend," Amanda said.
"No problem. I'll have a page inform Mistress Bestrow of the fact. If you'll wait just a few minutes an escort should arrive."
"I can wait," Amanda said. She allowed herself to be directed to one of the plush chairs set out for people like her. There were twenty seats. Six were occupied. She counted.
Sitting was a welcome relief for her aching feet. The day had entailed far too much walking for uncertain results. Her ads had been placed, but she had no luck at finding a bank that would float a loan for Turner Enterprises. She had been surprised by this until the branch manager of the N'Ark Bank and Trust confided to her that word had been spread that Turner Enterprises was about to go bust. The manager could not enlighten her on where this rumor had originated, but was able to tell her that his orders were to NOT, under any circumstances, extend a loan to Aaron Turner.
