Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  Best I find out, though, ’fore setup meeting alla bosses.

  Came night, I sat and rocked in the light of my perma. Sittin’ quiet made Pook nervous. All action, that joeykit.

  He didn’ understand.

  Not sure I did, neither. I needed to stop thinkin’ ’bout it, for while, ’til it came clearer in my mind.

  Meanwhile, water problem was gettin’ worse for alla tribes.

  I’d tried hard to talk Eddie into visitin’ his Cap’n one more time. He said no, and meant. I couldn’t push; jus’ lose ol’ friend. Still, Captain only Uppie we knew who gave shit ’bout trannies. Even him, not enough.

  I sat, rocked.

  Pookboy pestered, lemme go out, please. Can’ stan’ no mo’ dark room. Please, Mista Chang. I moved boxes like you say.

  I let him go, for peace an’ quiet. Sat with tea.

  Halber wantin’ trannie meet was long past time. Maybe someday we weld trannies into real tribe, stead of warring pieces. But, I doubted had time enough to stop Uppies ’fore tribes all gone. Soon or late, they send govermen to tear down, like with Mace. Then, more towers, high with hubris.

  Knockin’ down rotted builds not so bad. Problem was, what they do with trannies inside? No plans. Push ’em out, kill if they give trouble. Didn’ matter. No one cared. If they killed hundreds, maybe more, no one see story in holozines.

  How to stop?

  Pookboy came back, tired, happy. Ran around like joeykit he was. Why we lived in world he had to cany shiv to stay ’live?

  Trannie world. The way it is, Chang. Don’ fuss about it. Have more tea.

  Still.

  I couldn’t sip tea forever, ’til dozers push down shop. Meeting in Sub was good start, but needed another card. Jusincase.

  Pookboy perched on stool. “Think Bigman Eddie get home safe?”

  I laughed. “Don’ worry ’bout ol’ Eddie. Who gonna stop ’im?”

  He rested chin on my chair arm. “Why he so sad ’bout Fisherman?”

  I patted his head. “He took Captain’s woman, twice.”

  “Naw. Couldn’ be, or Fisherman dissim.”

  “Fisherman be ... different.” I went quiet, thinkin’ ’bout how twice I met Captain, once in shop, once in monastery.

  Do it again?

  Long way to travel for ol’ man used to city. But not first time outa New York. Once before, had to grit teeth, go into lifetime hoard of coin, use almost half, to pay ticket on suborbital. Made Eddie pay his own. No matter, Eddie had pension. Chang didn’.

  Mace problems had been Eddie’s, not mine. But he couldn’t face his Cap’n without Chang at his side, like he was still joeykit. So ol’ Chang dressed in jumpsuit, cut hair like suburb, went along.

  It worked. Could work again, if Eddie would try, but he too afraid. Of own guilt he saw in Cap’n’s face.

  Pook stirred. “Fisherman jus’ ’fraid of Eddieboss, cause Eddie too big.”

  “Fisherman ain’ ’fraid a nothin’. Dat’s his strength.”

  I sat, musing about what I’d said.

  And then I knew.

  Prolly never get to see him, but I hadda try. I looked at Pook. “Maybe I take you on ’nother trip.”

  Face lit up. “Sub? Okay, Mista Chang. I do whatchew say.”

  “Naw.” I chuckled. “More far.”

  Took me day or so, get ready. Firs’, find good threads for Pookboy. That be easy. Had lotsa, upstair.

  Next part harder. Hadda make Pookboy look like someone Hitrans would let on train. Trannies got stopped at gate. Tribes carried too many weapons. Wouldn’t let on.

  First, his hair. When I tried to cut, he carried on like Samson. Finally ran me out of patient; I whopped him couple, to calm. He felt better, knowin’ who boss, but Jesuchris’, he hated haircut. Kep’ lookin’ in mirror, stuck tongue out every time he saw self.

  Saved washing for last. Not pretend washing, like he tried few times. Made him clean hisself good, use lotsa soap. Lotsa Chang’s precious water, too, but no matter.

  Thought I’d lose him over that. Finally got desperate, kicked him outa shop, locked door. Only way to keep him. When finally I let him in, he settled down. Face grim, but held still mostly, while I help scrub. Time to time, when his curses got too violent, cuffed him a couple. Made both us feel better.

  At last, we ready. I closed shop, turned off permas, huffed an’ puffed to roof, checked security wires. All okay. Climbed back down, unlocked front door. “Come on, time wastin’.”

  “Ain’ goin’.” Pook sullen.

  “Okay okay, I be allri’ widout ya.” Took bag. Heavy. Knew I needed Pook to carry, and help other ways.

  “Ain’ goin’, said!”

  “Okay okay, I tolya. Watchew wan’ now?” Boy was impossible.

  “Won’ wear no jumpsuit. Look like stupid Broad.” He pawed at new threads.

  I crossed room, glimmer in eye. “Chang patient man. Gotta be; allatime dealin’ wid tribes. C’n even deal wid Pook, mosl’y. Very patient man. ’Xcept now. Pick up frazzin’ bag! Getcha ass onna street, ’fore Chang kick it out. We late. Move!” I shoved. “Stupid Midboy c’n make a statue weep! Out!”

  He went, mostly from surprise. Forgot he had on jumpsuit ’til door locked, and then too late.

  Mid joeykits didn’ help none, whistlin’ at Pook, laughin’ ’bout haircut. Boy gave me look, like, pay ya back someday, ol’ man.

  But he decided to ignore Midboys. Took bag, walked proud like always wore shiny new jumpsuit in street. After while, could see him relax. Think maybe he liked it.

  Towers always closed, at bottom. Steel alloy doors locked shut; Uppies and freight came by heli. If Uppies went touris, they used Graybus. So no way we could get in, take heli to train.

  Only couple of places, could mix with Uppies.

  We headed for one of them. My heavy bag had lots of inni-fo, for passby now and later, back in. Negotiated past Broads and Mids to Four Two, started east. More Mids, then Easters. Bag got lighter. Pook got quieter, in strange turf. Good. Why I be cursed with Pook, stead of Eddie? Course, Eddie wasn’ easy neither, when he young. Lotsa headache for ol’ Pedro. My fate in life: trannie headaches.

  “Where we goin, ol’ man?”

  I watched shops. Couple were open on Four Two, but no time to trayfo.

  “Tell me!”

  Puter stuff in one. Already had lotsa. Trannies got no use for.

  Boy sigh. “Please, Mista Chang. Tell me where we goin’. I ask nice.”

  Better. I pointed. “Unie.”

  “Huh? Tribe?”

  “Build.”

  Long time back, govermen decided, matter of principle, anyone allowed in public parts of U.N. build, even trannies. Last I knew, still did. Uppies didn’ like it much. Few trannies wanted to go, anyway, even if brung innifo for passby. Jerries at gate make ’em feel unwelc.

  “Whyfo?”

  I shrugged. “Pook don’ wan’ see where govermen be? Learn somethin’?”

  For once, boy use his head. “Din’ make me mess wid hair, wear frazzin’ jumpsuit jus’ fo’ dat. If ya don’ wan’ tell, okay wid me.” Lip go out, pouting. “No need ta swind.”

  Proud a him. Seem he learning at last. “Okay okay, we goin’ on Hitrans.”

  Boy’s voice dripped with scorn. “No Hitrans heah, Changman. Wish I know ya be glitch ’fore I come widya.”

  “Where be Hitrans, hah?”

  “Suburb turf. Seen holo, once.”

  “That’s where we go.”

  He considered it as we walked. Cautious. “How?”

  “Visit Unie. Then heli, ta Hitrans.”

  He relaxed, full of unconcern. “Ain’ gonna happen. I protec’ ya, if ya get too glitch.”

  Long walk, crosstown over. Maybe shoulda talked to Halber, got him ta ride me in undercar. But he don’ know I knew ’bout, and would make trouble.

  Hadda pass through nomanslan’ every coupla block. More innifo. Talk. Kept eye on Pook, case he decide to pull shiv. Never know with that boy.


  Finally, afta couple hours, we passed last nomanslan’. Up ahead, tall steel Unie builds, surround by big fence, guards. Govermen offices, Rotunda, Senate, Assembly, all there. Flags waved colorful.

  I took Pook’s arm tight, told him what I’d do if he didn’ follow where I walked an’ keep hands to self. Made sure he looked me in eye an’ believed. I took his shiv, which he didn’ like at all. I waited ’til Graybus parked ’longside gate, mixed best we could at end of line goin’ through.

  Metal detector lit, like I ’xpect. Guards looked bored, but careful. “Open the bag, please.”

  I took from Pook. Man looked at cansa, snorted with contempt. “Trannies.” Closed bag. Patted down Pook, whose teeth bared like trapped wolf. I caught eye, shook no, extra stern. Boy transferred his mad to me, which I didn’ mind.

  Finally we in. Soon as I could, found quiet place, opened bag, found shiv in hiding place under cansa, gave back to Pook. He’d need it more ’n me.

  Made boy feel better, but he hung close without my asking. Too many Uppies, in their own place. Pook was outsider, and knew. I waited in line at elevate. Watched door close on full car going up. While later, door opened, car empty. Pook grabbed my hand. “Ain’ goin’ in, Mista Chang!”

  “Jus’ elevate, Pook. You seen lotsa.”

  “Not wid door open by itself, eatin’ joeys what in!”

  “Jus’ gave ’em ride. Showya. This how elevate spose ta work.” I shuffled in with others. Boy had to follow, or be left alone. Almos’ felt sorry for him, but I recalled fuss over wash and dress.

  On roof, we waited for helicab. Pook shifted back an’ forth, like wanted to say somethin’, but didn’. Cab came, I shoved him in. “Hitrans Term.”

  Driver hit autolock. “Okay.” He liftoff. I watched meter, make sure driver didn’ swind. I had enough coin for trip, but wanted to bring some home, at end.

  Cabbie looked back in mirror. “Whassamatter with boy?”

  Pook hangin’ to strap, face green. I tapped his knee; he didn’ move. Below, roofs flashed past. “Gets nervous,” I grumbled, Uppieing my talk. “Was in crash, once. He’ll be allri’... all right.”

  “Better be.” Driver’s tone was sour. “Don’t need no joeykit upchuckin’ here.”

  Pook shot me look of despair, groaned. “Wan’ go home.”

  “Soon.” I pointed. “There, look quick! Centralpark.”

  He looked down, shuddered. “Jus’ buncha trees.”

  “Jus’?” My voice low, so driver wouldn’ hear. “How many you seen ’fore, joey, hah?” Inna street, tree good for burn, nothin’ else.

  Boy swallowed, still pale. Clutched strap. “Mista Chang, back in Unie ... why elevate, steada stair?”

  “Unie build is too big for use stair. Joeykit, maybe could. Not ol’ man.”

  “Mid lair got elevate.” He contemplated. “Not like Unie. Stay still. It go upandown, once?”

  “All elevate wen’ upandown, usetabe.”

  “Naw. Builds broke. How could—” His eyes widened with awe. “Ain’ always broke?”

  I held breath. High concept, for ignorant trannieboy.

  “If elevate worked, usetabe Uppie build? Ligh’ work too? Pipes good?”

  “Once,” I said soft. “Longtime back.”

  He think a while. Put his hand on my leg for steady, look careful outa window. Watch builds go past. Roofs, many rotted, falling in.

  We veered around a skytel, huge against backdrop of shattered city. He hugged self, waited ’til we flew straight, looked down again. Looked back at skytel.

  “Was big ol’ city, Mista Chang.” Again, he looked at skytel. “Towahs musta ate it.”

  No point describin’ HiTrans ride with Pookboy. Enough to say, don’t try widout patience of Job, maybe also leg cuffs. Dunno who was gladder to get off when bullet train pulled into Washington; me, Pook, or other passengers.

  I looked for groundtrans signs while Pook danced round, excited, still a bit pissoff ’bout how I stop his idea of fun, in train. Old man’s burden.

  We were safe, long as stay in terminal. Lots of security joes in uniform an’ without. But we had to go outside, take taxi or bus to Seafort compound. I’d studied maps before startin’; knew where we needed to go. Gettin’ there was the prollem.

  I had Unibucks for taxi, but couldn’t see reason to waste, if bus drop me there only couple hours later. I took Pook outside Station, looked for bus sign. Around us, groundcars picked up families, taxis waited in line. Bunch of joes slouched ’gainst wall, predatory eyes watchin’ bag I clutched tight. Watchin’ Pook. Sizin’ us up. Pook glared at all, me included.

  Found busline. Headed for it.

  “Hey ol’ man, want help wid bag?” Joey had buddy who hung back. Could be tribe, but I didn’ know for sure, outa my own turf.

  I ignored, not lookin’ for trouble. Pook kept step with me, quiet.

  “Watcha got, ol’ man?”

  I said to Pook, loud an’ clear, “Dissim, he come one step closa.”

  Pook yanked out his shiv. “Yes, Mista Chang. I do whatchew say.” Never heard him say with so much enthuse. Joeys backed off quick. I signed Pook put away shiv, ’fore jerry come by.

  Was reason I brought Pook. Usetabe, I use shiv, machete, whateva it take. Neut gotta earn respect, or can’ survive. Now, I was gettin’ old. One day I’d climb stair over shop, fall down, not get up. Soon, prolly. Filmatleven.

  On bus I paid whole Unibuck for each of us, but still a lot less than taxi or heli. Maybe shoulda taken taxi. Dunno. Bus smelled like build Mids was done with. Bugs crawled outa holes in seats. Driver in bulletproof cage, passengers on their own.

  I almost got off, but instead, had Pook hold shiv in lap, kept tellin’ him loud, try not to get excited, I’d give him his medicine soon as we got home. Musta worked; no one bothered us.

  Bus let us off near compound; I made Pook put away shiv. Walked together to compound gate.

  Big trouble.

  Guards said Fisherman gone.

  Chapter 16

  PHILIP

  I TOLD MYSELF I was fine. Almost, I believed it.

  Lying awake at night I knew better. Walter Cranston, in Abnormal Psychology, Vol 3, Prentice Hall, 2134, says guilt is a consuming force. Unwarranted guilt is a disorder, he says in another chapter. But mine was deserved.

  Mr. Skeer, my psych, said he’d have to call Mom. I explained that he had that choice—I was only a child, and powerless to stop him—but if he did, I’d never trust him with a confidence again, as Lord God was my witness.

  We practiced my calming exercises for nearly the whole hour. At the end, he agreed not to tell Mom, but made me promise I wouldn’t do anything rash until I talked to him again.

  I promised. I wasn’t rash.

  It was all my fault. I’d panicked when Jared wrestled with me, and I did bad things to his mind. He ran away because of me. Father said a man is responsible for what he does. An attempt to evade blame is an affront to Lord God, and to truth.

  Father had wisdom. I’d have liked to knock at his study, talk to him about my dilemma, but I couldn’t. He wouldn’t be back from the monastery for days, and even then, he had too much on his mind, and I mustn’t add to his burden. As Mom said, he’d been through Hell and found his way back to us, but the memories lingered.

  Poor Jared. For a brief moment he let his urges get the better of him, and I savaged him because I couldn’t deal with it. Kicking him in the balls wasn’t the problem; he’d probably experienced it before, in school. But I’d let him see my contempt.

  Jared couldn’t handle my contempt. He had too much of his own.

  Perhaps I’d even exaggerated a bit. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t know why. Mr. Skeer said I was in sexual panic, but I doubted it. I was too young for sexual feelings. But when Jared touched me ... it was good to sit in the corner, my back to the wall, knees up. If I stayed quiet, breathed slowly, I knew that nothing in my comfortable room could hurt me.

  Mr. Tener
e had been fretting since Jar disappeared. Still, he went to work in the outer office, and sometimes Mom sat with him.

  Jared had been missing two days. The police hadn’t found him. They didn’t know where to look.

  The jerries came the first night, while Mom and I were at dinner. They went to Mr. Tenere’s bungalow. I assume they looked around; they’re supposed to do things like that.

  After Mom brought me back from the Rodin exhibit, I walked the compound alone. The walls had familiar spots, thinking places where I could run my hands along the whitewash, perhaps pick a few small leaves off the azaleas.

  The bungalow seemed very quiet.

  Mr. Tenere was at the house, but I knew he wouldn’t mind when I went to Jared’s room, closed the door. I sat on the bed, pushed down a sharp unpleasant memory. I was beyond that.

  I hoped the jerries would find him. Jar wasn’t old enough to be on his own, and he was too impetuous, objectively speaking.

  I opened his closet door. The floor was littered with the usual mess; dirty clothes, parts from abandoned games, old shoes. I really should respect Jar’s privacy. Father said respect for oneself begins with respect for others. He was usually right.

  I pawed through a shelf. If I saw enough of Jared’s clothes, by process of elimination I could figure what he was wearing. That might indicate where he’d gone.

  The door opened. “Jared?” Mr. Tenere, his voice eager.

  I turned.

  “Oh.” So sad, the one word by itself. I had an urge to hug him.

  “I was looking for clues, Mr. Tenere.”

  A fleeting smile. “Do that. Let me know what you deduce.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He left me.

  I felt better, with Mr. Tenere’s permission. I turned on the puter, accessed Jared’s nets.

  A cluster of coded files that I didn’t have time to break. Not much else.

  Disconsolate, I wandered back outside, followed the wall around the compound to the gatepath.

  Every week hundreds of people came to the compound hoping to see Fath. Some were deranged. Some of them brought letters, others tried to leave gifts. Most were just gawkers. Mom said I should keep away from the entrance; it was dangerous. When I argued she got her drill sergeant voice, and I knew she meant it.