Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  “We’ll pick up our extra votes without the Captain.” Robbie sounded confident.

  “You think so?” The Senator studied his drink. “Rob, I don’t have a good feeling about this. Bad enough if he keeps quiet. What if he comes out against us?”

  “The Captain wouldn’t do that. You’ve been friends for twenty-five years.”

  I grinned. The Old Man would do any damn thing he wanted. He always had.

  Old Boland shook his head, agreeing with me. “Don’t you know him, Rob? If he decides it’s a moral issue, friendships mean nothing. Take the North American hulls question, when he was SecGen. He—”

  “That was years ago, and his Navy was involved. Don’t tell me you still hold a grudge!”

  “Eh? Don’t be silly. He’s like a force of nature; he does what he must. I might as well resent a hurricane.”

  For a few moments they were quiet. I shifted, easing a knot in my leg. If all I’d hear tonight was this blather—

  Old Boland spoke abruptly. “Son, this is ...” He hesitated, began again. “I know how much you think of him.”

  The Assemblyman snorted. “I doubt it.”

  “I do. He was a sort of God to you when you were a boy.”

  “Sort of?” Uncle Rob waved his hand helplessly. “Dad, when he took me on Trafalgar to get at the fish, I was ...” A long silence. “... ready to die for him. I was almost sorry I hadn’t.”

  I rubbed my aching leg. What goofjuice. Nothing’s worth dying for. I stood, backed away from the door. My leg would cramp if I didn’t—

  I blundered into the deck chair, fell with a thud.

  Christ damn it! I rolled to my feet. Had anyone heard me? I checked the curtain; the two men hadn’t moved. I ran to the rail, stood poised to swarm down the drainpipe if a door opened.

  Nothing. I waited a moment longer, decided it was safe to stay. I carefully set the deck chair out of the way. Again I focused the mike.

  “Rob, let me handle this one. I won’t make you take sides.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Senator Boland hesitated. “Understand, we’ve waited years for our chance. It won’t come again. With the tower interests supporting us we’ll sweep the party caucuses next spring, and I’ll have a full year to gear up for the general election.”

  A SecGen was elected by popular vote every six years, but could be tossed out of office earlier by a vote of no-confidence, as they’d done to the Old Man. I controlled my impatience, hoping to hear something worth my trouble.

  “Rob, if your Captain gets in our way, I can’t let him stop us. We ... I’ve got to discount his influence.”

  Robert Boland stared at the unlit fireplace, his tone somber. “How?”

  “You know how it’s done. Plant stories in the holos reminding folks how moody he gets. How he dropped from public affairs to devote himself to his family. How he’s aged.”

  “Dad, I—”

  “How his closest aides worry privately about his emotional health. We’d have to feed rumors—”

  “Dad!”

  The old Senator was silent. Then he shrugged. “I always said politics was a dirty game.”

  Uncle Rob muttered, “He’s our friend, and I don’t want him savaged. Let me have another try in the morning.”

  “Fine. I truly don’t want to destroy him. If you can’t bring him aboard, get a promise that he’ll stand aside.”

  “I’ll see what Adam says.”

  I snorted. Dad’s advice was glitched; it was an endless loop. Do your homework, make something of yourself, do your home—

  Robbie was getting up. “Night, Dad.”

  Time to go, before one of them stepped out for a breath of air. Not as good as old Reevis and his aide, but a few juicy tidbits.

  I stuffed the mike in my pocket, scampered to the rail. Would the Bolands pay me to keep quiet? Might be worth a try. Let them think I’d bugged their bedroom. I leaned across to the drainpipe, found my footing on the brick facing of the wall.

  Better yet, I could do it anonymously, through the puter. They’d never know who’d caught them. It was time I made my move, and the Bolands were a good place to start.

  On the other hand, the Old Man was our meal ticket. What if I alerted him to what the Bolands planned? I reached down with my foot, found the brick foothold. Another step, to the brace. One more. Then, the four-foot jump, down to the dark behind the bushes. I turned.

  A hand shot out of the dark, clamped my shoulder. “Hold it.”

  I screeched, backpedaling into the wall. My heart slammed as if it would burst through my chest.

  The Old Man yanked me into the light. I stood trembling, waiting for the rush of fear to subside.

  “What’s that?” He pulled the lasermike from my bulging pocket.

  My voice wouldn’t come. I clawed at his restraining hand.

  “You spy on my guests?” His voice held an edge I’d never heard. “In my house?”

  I couldn’t free myself from his iron grip.

  He propelled me toward his office. “Inside, boy.”

  “I didn’t mean—” I dug in, resisting.

  “Move!” The word cracked like a whip. Like an automaton, I tottered into his office. He pulled out a chair, deposited me in it, crossed to his end of the desk.

  “Mr. Seafort—I—”

  “Shut your mouth.”

  I did. I wasn’t sure why.

  He keyed his caller. A pause. “Adam? Get to my office, flank.”

  I hunched in the chair, willing my heart to slow. My chest ached. For an endless minute we sat in silence.

  Footsteps, pounding. The door flung open. “Sir, are you all ri—” Dad’s eyes widened as he saw me.

  “I caught your boy on the portico, spying on Rob and Richard. He had this.” The Old Man tossed my mike onto his desk.

  Dad picked it up, puzzled at it as if he couldn’t fathom its purpose. “Lord God in heaven.” He flayed me with a look of contempt, swung back to the Old Man. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know what to—We’ll go, of course. My God, how could you, Jared! Sir, we can be packed as soon as—”

  “Adam.” The Old Man sounded tired. “Don’t be ridiculous; you’re not leaving. But we can’t have Jared skulking outside our windows. I called you because I’ve no right to discipline him myself, though I had a mind to. Spying on a guest is despicable.”

  I couldn’t stand their talking like I weren’t present. “Wait a minute. All I did was—”

  Dad crossed the room in three strides. He hauled me out of my chair, bunched my shirt with both fists. I expected him to shout, but his voice was strangely quiet. “Shut up, Jared.”

  He shook me like a puppy. Astonished, I fell silent. This wasn’t at all like Dad.

  “Adam, we ought to tell—”

  “Wait a moment, sir.” Dad stared through my eyes, into the back of my skull. “You.” A shake, that rattled my teeth. “To your room! Don’t even dream of disobeying me!” He let me loose.

  I smoothed my shirt, backed toward the door. “Hey, don’t jump your jets over—”

  Dad roared, “Yes, SIR! Say it RIGHT NOW!” He took a step closer.

  It was horrid, with the Old Man watching, but Dad seemed to have lost his mind. “Yes, sir!”

  I fled to my room.

  Chapter 8

  POOK

  I SIT AROUN’ OL’ Changman’s shop, gettin’ bore. Wanna go back ta lair, but can’ jus’ yet. Bigsis say she tell me when Karlo stop bein’ pissoff. Think she feel bad, gettin’ me kicked out. Meantime, I gotta do like Changman tell. Hate havin’ allatime say yes, Mista Chang, but ’ess I decide ta dissim, I gotta.

  Ain’ so bad ’xcept at nigh’, when he say turn off Valdez perma an’ sleep. Nigh’ be time ta prowl, but he warn if I go out, he no lemme in again.

  Otha times, he make me bring stuff upstair, or carry down. Say he gettin’ too ol’ fo’ lift. I grit teeth, say, yes Mista Chang, an’ carry. Upstair, he got lotsa trayfo I
neva seen befo’. Boxes a cansa, but otha stuff too. Wires an’ ol’ puters ’n nice plastic-mold chairs all cover up wid tarp.

  Coupla time, I tryta see if he merest shaggin’ me. Allatime he tellin’ me wash befo’ bed, so when he come inna room I peel off alla threads an’ stan’ bareass, preten’ wash, see if he look.

  He no interes. Stupid ol’ man.

  Dis nigh’, I walk aroun’ lookin’ at stuff while he sit wid book in fronta perma ligh’. He growl, Pook gotta piss or somethin’? No, I tellim, an’ he say siddown an’ fin’ somethin’ ta do steada botherin’ joey jus’ wanna read in peace.

  I yes Mista Chang, an’ siddown in corna wonderin’ what I c’n take back ta lair fo’ innifo, so Karlo stop be pissoff. All Chang’s fault, was him skinned me on boots Bigsis give me ta trayfo.

  Too quiet; I be bore. My min’ go empty, an’ I think ’bout few day back when I pushin’ cart while Changman go trayfo.

  Ol’ man and me, we brung cart pas’ Broad turf, to othaside.

  I don’ like places I neva been. “Where we goin’?”

  Chang shrug, but his eyes look round allatime, for safe. “Be ’nother Mid lair, den square.”

  “Be Mids othaside Broads?”

  “Yah.” He point to corner.

  I walk proud. “Won’ need innifo for me, Mista Chang. Not fo’ Mids.”

  He chuckle. “We see.”

  Three Mid joeys come out, stop us. It daytime, so they ain’ come on fo’ rumb. “Whatchew wan’?”

  Chang say, “Passby.”

  “Innifo?”

  Chang pull out cansa. I say, “Not fo’ me. I be Mid Three Five.”

  Mid joey turn, looka me sharp. Move like cat. Befo’ I stop, he grab my shirt, pullup high.

  “Leggo!”

  “You no Mid.” He push, an’ I fall in street.

  I jump up mad. “So I ain’ had upbringin’! I Mid as you!”

  He turn his back, say ta Chang, “Got innifo fo’ joeykit?”

  My hand feel for shiv, but Changman’s eyes lock on mine. No, they warn, so I don’. Three Mids a lot ta takedown, anyhow.

  “Yah,” he grumble, pull out ’notha can. His coat gotta be all pockets, hide so much innifo.

  We go on. I try ta tell Chang he shouldn’t a paid, an’ he cuff me easy, like pay no ’tention. I wan’ tell him, keep ya hands ta yaself, but I figga better not. He be mean ol’ man; maybe change min’ ’bout lettin’ me sleep in shop.

  Afta Mid turf, we fin’ open place. In middle be a tall build, all broke. “Whazzis?”

  He start walkin’ ta big hole in groun’. No choice; I follow wid cart. I don’ wan’ be lef alone inna bad place.

  He reach stair; I stop. “I ain’ goin’ down.”

  “Allri’.” He push cart ta wall, leave it. “Wai’ here, Pook, look afta cart. I be back.”

  “Where ya goin’?” My voice be alarm.

  “Jus’ wait.” He start down.

  I watch ’im go, six, seven step, inna dark. “Mista Chang?” I look roun’. Broke builds all quiet. Prolly be eyes in windows, wonnerin’ Pookboy taste good.

  Pook don’ got upbringin’, but he ain’ dumbass. “Wait fo’ me!” Run down stair, catch up wid Changman. Dark place. His hand be on rail. I take it, hol’ onta, tight case he fall or somethin’.

  Chang make soun’; I look his face, suspicious, maybe he laugh. Don’ see it.

  Ol’ man slap at my han’, fussin’ ’til I leggo. Still goin’ down stair, he put han’ in pocket, take out, put to mouth. He whistle, two time. Soun’ real loud inna hole, I put hans to ear. He wait.

  “Watchadoon?” I tug at arm, he pat my head, absent min’, blow whistle two time mo’, put back in pocket, wait real patient.

  We in lotta dark, can’ see. “Changman, why we—”

  “All ri’, we here!” Close behin’.

  I yelp.

  Hans grab. I twis’ free, stumble back inta Chang. His arm go roun my shoulder, hol’ me. I wan’ pull out shiv, but don’ do it. Legs all tremble.

  “Who ya brung, traytaman?”

  “My helpa.”

  “Tribe?”

  “Trannie. Neut. Whassit matta?” Chang soun’ tired. I worry he pick nowtime ta die, leave me wid dark voices.

  “Whassis name?”

  Gotta be proud. “Pook,” I say, but it comeout squeak. Feel face go red inna dark.

  Chang say, “I gotta cart wid trayfo, up.”

  “Bring inna Sub, traytaman.”

  Ol’ man gimme nudge, like, go get, Pookboy. Ri’. Noway. He sigh. “Subs help?”

  “Innifo?”

  “Cansa. One.”

  A snicker. “’Nuf, ’cause we knowya. Chaco, Kard, go get!” Feet scampa, up.

  A click, an’ ligh’ come. Flashligh’, wid Valdez perma. I hang onta Chang.

  Dark was betta.

  We be in tunnel place, real wide. Six trannie be near, lotsa otha eyes behin’, watchin’.

  They threads all glitch. Too lotta colors. Hair too long; joey could grab it inna rumb. Hair tie with bands. Some got chains roun’ neck. Lotsa earring.

  I looka Chang. “Wha’ tribe?”

  Han’ squeeze my mouth, turn it sharp, make me look. “Talka me, joeykit. Halber, be I. Tribe be mine.”

  He big; I look up. Funny bands on his arm, threads way too Color, more’n resta joes. Pook try ta be proud. “Wha’ tribe,” I say again.

  Halber answer, “We be Sub.”

  I ’fraida dat.

  They take us deep inna tunnel. Afta while, don’ need perma, cause ligh’ hangin’ on string high up. Lotsa joeys. Chairs, some broke, an’ tables. Stewpot. Sub lair, I guess.

  Chang put me sit inna corna ’gainst wall, an’ tell me wait while he talk.

  “Noway, not widout ya!”

  His eye go up. “Yes, Mista Chang, I do whatchew say. Forget so fas’?”

  “But noway I—”

  “Pook.”

  He say real sof’, but I go a little scare. Dunno why. “I do whatchew say, Mista Chang!”

  He pat me. “Chaco watchin’ ya for safe. I be ri’ ovadere, where silly Midboy c’n see me. Need ta fin’ out what Subs wan’. Filmatleven.”

  I curl up, preten’ buncha Sub joes ain’ starin’. See Changman in corna eye. He sit in ol’ chair, real wood one; I wunner why Sub don’ burn it for cook. Halber Sub sit widim.

  If real quiet, I c’n hear some a talk.

  “How many c’n ya get?”

  Changman shrug. “Brung twenny. How many Subs wan’?”

  “Dunno.” Halber look away. “All ya c’n get.”

  Chang lean forward, pat Halber knee like big Sub be scare joeykit. “Okay ta tell, I ain’ gonna skinya. How many permas ya need?” I tense, figga Sub ’bout ta smash Chang fo’ put nan’ on leg.

  Halber voice go low; I can’ hear all. “... diff it make? Tolya we wan’. Yo’ jus’ ...”

  Chang shake his head. “Subs can’ trus’ ol’ Chang, okay okay, fin’ ’notha traytaman. Mids an’ Broads bring enough trayfo so Chang c’n eat.” He stan’. Now I sure da ol’ man be glitch. Hope I don’ get diss widim. “Loadup cart,” he say. “We goin’ home.”

  “Don’ go pissoff,” Halber grumble, crossin’ legs an’ uncross like nervous. He beck Chang siddown. “Don’ wan’ otha tribes fin’ out.”

  Chang sit, don’ say nothin’.

  “Two hunner’,” Halber say, real low. He whisper somethin’ else.

  Chang don’ look suprise. He nod. I wunner, where he gonna fin’ couple hunner permas? I been ova shop; he don’ got.

  “Neva min’ jumpsuits,” he say. He stop, consider. “Okay okay, a few jumpsuits. But Chang mos’ly trayfo help instead.”

  Halber roll his eyes. “Still same ol’ idea? Already tolya, won’ work, Changman.”

  Chang look sad. “Gotta try. Water goin’.”

  “Too late. Our way bes’. Govermen won’ know what ta do, afta—” he look roun’, drop voice.

  Han’ shake me. I jump.
Joeygirl be real close, grinnin’. “Tribe?” She keep voice low, so not bother growed Subs.

  “G’way!” I pushback her han’; don’ wan’ be touch by Sub. My motha use Subs for scaretale, longtime back.

  “Wha’ tribe, joey?” Her red jumpsuit not hardly tore. Yellow ban’ round’ head.

  I thinkin’, middle a chest be ri’ place fo’ shiv if she come any closa. But she won’ go ’way ’less I tell. “Mid Three Five.” I make voice proud.

  “Dunno no Three Five,” she say. Her face go frown. “Mids Four One, allasame?”

  “Naw!” Three Five lair bes’ in worl’. Stupe Sub.

  “I be Allie.” She hol’ up han’, like showin’ me fingas. Dunno wha’ she wan’. “Who be Midboy?”

  I wan’ lissen ta Chang, so don’ ansa.

  Afta a minute, her han’ come down. “Asshole Midboy,” she say scorny. “Can’ rememba name. Glitch.” She turn, call ta otha joey. “Looka glitchy Midboy! Don’ got name!”

  I go anger, say, “Outa heah, bitchgirl, befo’ Pook go pissoff.”

  “Yah, ri’. Think us gonna—”

  A clap. Growed Sub standin’ close. Scrawny, long hair wid curl. He look at Halber, back ta us, put finger ta lip. Allie nod, sit back. “’Kay, Chaco,” she say quiet.

  Otha joeyboy wait ’til Chaco go ’way. He lean close ta whispa. Took? Dat be name?”

  “Yah.” Sorry I let slip.

  “Talk shush. Chaco cool, don’ pissim off.” He hol’ up han’ five fingers, close. “Krand.”

  I looka han’. No ring. Wha’ he showin’ me?

  Allie whispa, “Frazzin’ Mids.”

  I go hot. “Why ya comedown on Pook, huh? Din’ do nothing”

  “Midboy think he too good ta touch wid Sub!”

  I swallow. Din’ know. Put up han’, real careful, case maybe a swind.

  Allie put hand next, touch palm an’ fingas. “Cool meet.”

  She wait, poke me in rib. “Say cool!”

  “Cool meet,” I mumble, feelin’ glitch.

  Krand put up hand. We touch. “Cool.”

  He be small, maybe ’leven. But Allie’s tits be growed. I look wid admire.

  Once, Bigsis lemme do it her, fo’ try. I held onta tits all while, an’ she laugh. I din’ like laugh, but glad she lemme, so din’ say nothin’. Gotta know how, now I growed.