Streetlethal

by Steven Barnes

  Aubry scratched his head. "They don't take up as much space as books, I guess."

  "Yes, that's true enough—but as far as I'm concerned, the difference is that they all require an external power source." He cocked his head sideways, until he looked absurdly like a bird examining a piece of fruit. "Do you understand that that makes you dependent upon others?"

  Promise ran her hand over the spines of a nearby stack, then shook her head. "Not cubes. There are plenty of solar-powered cube-readers. One sunny day a week, and you're set."

  "True enough, but you are still dependent upon others to repair your viewer if it breaks down ... the more advanced a technology, the more fragilely inter-dependent it is."

  "So what?"

  Warrick shrugged. "It just seems to me that the most valuable thing that any human has is the ability to educate himself, to find out about the world around him, to program his primary organ of perception—his brain. And that basic, inalienable right should be as independent of external factors as possible. Once a book is printed and acquired, it's yours. Nothing else is needed except a pair of eyes and daylight. Individual books have lasted for hundreds of years—do you really think that you can say the same of your little viewers, or computers, or whatever? If you have a hundred libraries stored on cube, and your viewer breaks down, you have nothing. Give me an encyclopedia, and if it isn't totally destroyed by fire, I can dig it out, dry it off, piece it together, and still have something of value." His gaze became direct, and piercing. "There is nothing more important than directing the flow of information into your mind. It determines all—your attitudes, your actions, your life. You can rely upon the visual and audible media all you want— but they should be in addition to reading, not in place of it. If other forms replace reading, then your input is restricted, and much more dependent upon other people, who may or may not have your best interests at heart."

  "So, that's the most important thing that you can think of in life? Reading?"

  Warrick sighed. "You are being obstinate, my friend. You learn if you learn."

  Aubry felt a tickle of anger and quashed it, pleased that he had recognized the symptom before the accompanying flash of nausea.

  The first room had been enormous, and stacked with books. The second was smaller, but Aubry suddenly realized that it had once contained the racks and stacks now in the larger room. Much of the floor was still covered with shelves, but the books were water-logged, ruined. The walls were caked three meters high with filth and mud.

  "What happened here?"

  "Ruptured sewage pipes flooded the lower levels." Warrick led them to an old, mottled hallway that connected the room with further chambers. There were makeshift lights strung up along the ceiling and walls, and they provided a steady, frail illumination. "We've been reclaiming as much of this area as possible," he said as they walked. "This was the downtown branch of the public library. The top levels were destroyed, of course. We still need to clear out some of the connective tunnels, so that we can move the goods freely."

  "Why in the world don't you just travel on the surface? Don't tell me you can't protect your people against the Spiders or the Maze gangs. A couple of guns..."

  "You don't understand. We're not as helpless as you think— we've dealt with them before, and harshly, when necessary.

  You haven't seen our defenses. The Alpha-Alpha tunnels "

  He shrugged at Aubry's blank expression. "At any rate, fear isn't the reason."

  "Then, why?" Aubry was genuinely puzzled.

  "It's sort of an 'Out of sight, out of mind' situation."

  "What in the world are you talking about?"

  They exited through a wall, and after passing through a jerry-rigged tunnel shorn up by metal planks and wire, they were back in one of the storm drains.

  "We won our franchise by default. Nobody else wants to work down here. The area is structurally unstable, and filled with memories of death. No one is interested in investing enough money to rebuild the area. So, the powers that be see us as hoboes scratching at a trash heap. If we keep a low enough profile, they'll ignore us a little longer. As soon as they realize we're making a decent profit working down here, the party is over."

  "So you keep your head down."

  "Exactly."

  Promise ducked to avoid a hanging twist of pipe. "But you know that if you build anything worth having, they're going to take it away from you—doesn't that kill your urge to try?"

  Warrick grinned at her. "Maybe it should ... but it doesn't."

  There was more sound up ahead, human sounds, the sounds of work and laughter.

  And children. Promise realized with a start that she hadn't heard the high, sweet sound of a child's voice since she had awakened in the Scavenger hospital.

  "Not all of our people work in the tunnels—" Warrick said. They passed through a set of firedoors.

  It was like crossing the line between night and day. On the other side there was light, and warmth, and even the sound of music.

  A low whistle of amazement escaped Aubry's lips as he walked to the edge of a railing and looked down.

  There were three levels of an incredible complex that seemed to have been almost completely restored. The electric lights were not makeshift—they were mounted smartly, and fed with continuous power.

  There were trees—real trees—grown in artificial light, one rising three stories high. Aubry was looking down a central well of some kind, and could see what looked like shop doors and pedestrian walkways on the lower levels.

  Promise looked around, mystified. "Where in the world are we?"

  "This was the PanAngeles Multiplex," Mira said. She had slipped up next to her brother quietly. Warrick was staring down the central well, lost in his thoughts. "Twenty years ago, when it was first planned, it would have been the largest underground living complex in the western hemisphere. Schools, hospitals, shopping centers, entertainment, and a self-sustained air circulation system were all part of it."

  "And then the Quake."

  "The Quake. Downtown Los Angeles covered some of the most expensive real estate in the world, and in the 1960's and '70's it had become run-down. Property values were slipping. There was a major effort to clean the area up, to bring in investors—"

  She led them to a clear glass tube set in one of the walls, where an elevator platform awaited them. "And the effort was working—this would have been a centerpiece, an attempt to dig down with special 'quake-proof' construction techniques and materials."

  One of the levels slid by as they talked, and Promise could see the workers, sanding, and cleaning, and painting, the most polished restoration she had yet seen in the world beneath Los Angeles. And still, from somewhere far away, the sound of children laughing... singing?

  "This area looks like it survived the Quake pretty well ..." she began.

  "Two hundred workers were trapped down here the day of the Quake. It wasn't the crumbling walls that killed them, as it was in so many of the other areas—"

  "Then, what was it?" The level they were passing seemed to have been intended for offices, the rooms more like cubicles than stores or apartments. The giant trunk of the central tree was rising past them. Seen closer, she realized that it wasn't real at all but a sculpture, a tremendously complex wire-frame-and-plaster construct, and an unfinished one at that. Toward the bottom, whole sections of the tree were still bare wire, worn and dusty hollow innards exposed to her sight in the cavernous interior.

  Still, it was magnificent, and she could only hold her breath in awe as they passed it.

  "A fitting monument, don't you think?" Warrick said idly.

  "Monument? To what?"

  "To the man who built her. Was building her. Whatever." He shook his head, lost again.

  "The designer was one of the men who suffocated here after the Quake," Mira said, stepping into the gap. She noted Aubry 's skeptical expression. "The Firestorm, Aubry. When the surface burned, it sucked the air right out of the lower levels.
They never stood a chance. The few of them who had oxygen equipment were killed by the heat. We scraped up bones that were welded to the floor."

  The elevator came to a halt, and the plastic door slid open.

  "You're wondering about our power, aren't you?" Warrick asked.

  Aubry glared at him. "Well, yeah. It can't be City."

  Warrick seemed energized as he led them along a pathway at the base of the tree sculpture. The sound of young voices was stronger, and the sound of work tools was far above and behind them.

  "There are tanks of emergency fuel oil. We trade scavenged items for gasoline. And really—" He pointed to the lights, many of which were little more than sheets of glowing plastic. "—most of our lighting is extremely efficient. It doesn't take as much energy as you think, Aubry. We don't use it anywhere or anytime it isn't needed."

  The first clean Scavengers that they had seen greeted Warrick and Mira, opening a pair of doors for the Scavenger leaders and their guests. They entered something that looked like an auditorium, through a lobby which still bore twisted and peeling posters featuring long-dead actors and actresses in romantic or heroic postures. Promise examined them carefully. When she turned, there was a crooked sort of semi-smile lighting up her face.

  "I thought that you might like this place," Mira said. "This is where you two will be working for a while—as soon as the children are through."

  "Children?"

  "And the Others, yes. Go on in." She held another set of double doors for them, kissed her brother on the cheek, and walked off purposefully.

  The auditorium had once held a three-hundred-sixty-degree holo stage, a circular central platform that might have spawned fantasies and tales of faroff lands, or stories of romance. Now there was only a small crowd attending, and the presentation they were absorbed in was live, rather than filmed or taped.

  It was a school of some kind, and most of the audience was between the ages of eight and fifteen, listening to a lecture on the underground transportation system beneath Los Angeles. The speaker was a small man, very pale and thin, who spoke with boundless enthusiasm for his subject.

  It was Peedja, and he gestured broadly as he spoke, pointing to a blackboard which was covered with branching scribbles.

  "—and petroleum are the most valuable items. Petroleum is scarce enough now that almost nobody uses it for fuel, only for manufacturing of plastics and medicines."

  Peedja traced a line of the makeshift map set up on the stage. "This is section A, at Los Angeles and Third street. It shows a section of the storm drains used to ferry fuel to our dump. As you can see, the drainage system is ideal for travel in the dry months. During the rainy season, the branching tunnels have to be blocked off, sometimes totally. There have been a few times when that wasn't enough, and our quarters have been flooded, and that's when we pack everyone off to the outlands." The children were seated in one section of the circular theater, like a wedge of pie on a plate. They seemed to be moderately well dressed, even though it was easy to tell that much of their clothing was makeshift. They seemed bright and alert. One of them, a girl with her hair cut very short, raised her hand, and Peedja called on her.

  "Yes, Daphnie?"

  "Last year, we didn't have time to store all of our things before we had to move, and when we got back, a lot of my stuff was all yuckie. Isn't there any way to stop that?"

  "We're working on it now. There's reconstruction going on, and we're re-routing some of the sewer pipes to carry the water to prearranged dumps. It can be reprocessed during the dry season. That way it will save us the trouble of trading for it, or trying to have it pumped in—"

  Aubry motioned Warrick back outside. "Does everyone here have more than one job?"

  "Most. Peedja loves to teach—he used to be a teacher before he lost his job, a low-status profession to begin with—he didn't have a lot of options. He got into debt, and couldn't get work. It would have been the Farms for him if we hadn't taken him in."

  "What about you, Warrick?" Promise didn't seem challenging this time. "How in the world did you end up down here?"

  "Long story," he said and turned away.

  Aubry's large, calloused hand caught his arm. "Wait a minute. I've answered all of the questions you had about me— how about a few answers from you? You've built a hidden city down here, even though you know it can't last. You're proud of this family you have, even though you know they can be taken from you at any time. Just where are you coming from, man?"

  Warrick's eyes shifted from one of them to the other. "You haven't answered all of my questions, 'Shields.' I haven't asked any." Warrick was perspiring, and Aubry could feel it under the cloth of the Scavenger leader's shirt, cold and sticky. "I have to go now. Wait for Peedja to finish—he'll give you your assignment." Then he walked away.

  The class ended, and the children filed out. Some weren't children at all. There were teenagers, and even a pair of adults.

  Peedja hailed them as he walked out. "Good to see you, Aubry. Is this your lady?"

  Promise bristled. "I'm nobody's lady."

  Peedja looked at both of them, and smiled. "Fine. Is this your woman?"

  "This is Promise. She belongs to herself."

  Peedja gave her an exaggerated bow. "I hope you're happy together."

  Aubry choked back a snicker. "Listen. I'm getting pretty damned curious about Warrick. What is it with him?"

  "Doesn't like to talk about himself, really. I got a little out of Mira, once."

  "And what was that?"

  "Warrick was one of the Mercenary Police before the Quake. Real hard bastard. Day of the Quake, he was chasing a suspect into the storm drain system. Quake hit, drain collapsed, trapped him. Scavengers found him, almost a week later. He should have been dead."

  "Scavengers? I thought that Warrick started all of this."

  "No. Scavengers have existed for ... I don't know... maybe a century. They move into ruined neighborhoods, slums, anywhere nobody else wants to live or work, and reclaim. People have been doing it forever, but I guess they just started organizing during the Second Depression, in the eighties. Only real rule is that nobody who wants to work is turned away. Nobody."

  "And Warrick wanted to work?"

  Peedja nodded, but looked away as he did.

  Despite herself, Promise had become interested. "There's more, isn't there?"

  "Yes, there's more. Warrick has brain damage. Oxygen deprivation, trauma... whatever. Something's wrong with his time sense. His body temperature is haywire." He shook his head. "There's more, but Mira won't talk about it."

  "That's all you know?"

  "Except that he came out of that experience totally different. Wouldn't go back to work for the M.P. Obsessed with the Quake, the sewers. I don't know, Aubry. I can't claim to understand him. But he's a leader, and a good man, and he's made homes for a lot of people who wouldn't have them otherwise." He smiled regretfully. "And that's everything I know."

  "O.K., Peedja. I guess that's enough for now. Maybe it's more than I need."

  "Why did you want to know? I get the feeling it's more than just curiosity."

  "It's called 'knowing your enemy.'"

  "He's not your enemy, Aubry."

  "I like to be prepared."

  The small man measured Aubry with his eyes. "If he's your enemy, Aubry, so am I. So are we all."

  "That's the way it is?"

  Peedja nodded.

  "All right, then, forget it. Really—-it was just habit, man."

  Peedja seemed to hold his breath for a moment, then relaxed with a sigh. "All right, big fella."

  "Thanks, Peedja. Now. What's this job he has for us?"

  13. Invitation to the Dance

  Promise humphed and got down on her knees again, scraping at the specks that marred the surface of the stage. She liked the work—it was much better than the tunnels, although it was no easier on her back. Perhaps Warrick had sensed that she was happy to be anywhere near a stage—that it brought b
ack warm memories and made her feel more human.

  It was easy to forget that her Plastiskin was ruined. She could still beckon the colors, still make die left side of her face blossom into light. No one would know, unless they saw her naked. And no one was going to see that—

  She raised her head, watching Aubry climbing back up into the rafters to install another light. He seemed almost as content as she, and that made her happy—there was less friction between them, and as long as Warrick insisted on the two of them working together, that was all for the best.

  And he was happy—though she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was that the work allowed him to be in one of the few truly spacious areas in the Scavenger world, allowing him to use his body more fully. Just in the past six days she had noticed a marked improvement in flexibility and balance as the amazing physical machine that was Aubry Knight took any opportunity to twist and turn, to leap and somersault, to stretch and stress his muscles in every conceivable direction.

  On the other hand...

  There was die way she caught him smiling at her sometimes, although he had never tried to press his point. The way his dark massive body radiated intensity at her. Whenever they happened to touch, he was gentle with her, and that very gentleness was disturbing because she knew that behind it was an urge to crush her to him, to cover her face with kisses, to...

  She shook her head angrily. He was just a brutal, violent man to whom fate had joined her, and whom she no longer needed. Soon, she would find a way to get back to Oregon, and safety.

  The light suddenly grew bright enough to be painful. "All right, Promise," Aubry called, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I want to loosen up this joint. Would you mind moving for me?"

  She stood unsteadily, shielding her eyes, looking up into the rafters in an attempt to find him. She could only see the vaguest of outlines hanging there, bleached white by the glare of die lights. "What do you want?"

  "Move for me. You know."