Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  “I’m Father Ryson. Why do you disturb us?”

  “My name is Adam Tenere. This is Mr. Boland, a friend. Brother—Captain Seafort’s son has run off. We’ve come to tell him.”

  “We do not allow concerns of the world to intrude.”

  Adam leaned over the Abbot’s desk. “His son.”

  “What would you have him do?”

  Adam said, “As he wishes.”

  “What man is so free as that?” The Abbot shrugged. “I’ll consider it. Please wait in the anteroom.”

  Outside, I paced in mounting anger. “That was goofjuice. I’ll mount a speaker on the heli and shout the news to the whole priory! Sit there, don’t bother us, wait until he sees you—”

  “Be patient.” Adam sat with head down.

  I flared, “What about P.T.?”

  “And Jared.”

  I gulped. For a moment, I’d actually forgotten about his son. “Forgive me.” Yes, Adam made me feel inadequate, but only because I was inadequate.

  A sound. I looked up. Captain Nicholas Seafort stood framed in the oaken doorway, the hood of his brown robe thrown back, his fists knotted. “Is Arlene all right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Adam stood. “We thought you—” He pursed his lips, began again. “P.T.’s run away and can’t be found. Arlene and I thought you should know.”

  Seafort leaned against the doorframe, closed his eyes. A long, slow breath. Slowly, his hands unknotted. “When?”

  “Two days ago.”

  His lips moved in silent prayer. After a moment, his eyes opened. His expression was so bleak my breath caught. “Why?”

  I said, “We’re not sure, sir. Probably because of Jared. He’s gone too.”

  “Tell me all you know.” He crossed to a bench, listened intently.

  When we were done, he sighed. “I’ll need the Abbot’s leave.”

  He was gone a long while. When at last he returned, it was through a different door. He wore street clothes and carried a bag. “I presume you have a heli?”

  “Yes, sir.” Adam took the valise from his grip.

  In the heli, the Captain turned his face to the window. Adam, sharing the back seat, chose not to disturb him. In front with the pilot, I busied myself arranging our return flight.

  In London we had a brief wait while they made ready our suborbital. I came back from the caller booths, caught Adam’s eye, shook my head.

  The Captain faced the terminal’s bulkhead, hands in his pockets. I said, “Sir, Philip will come home. I’m sorry we had to break your retreat.”

  He sounded sad. “Don’t apologize. It was ... ordained.”

  “Sir?”

  “I was beginning to feel almost ... ah, well.” He peered out the window. “Is this flight to New York?”

  “Washington. I thought—”

  “Very well.” He turned. In his eyes, an unbearable sadness. At last, he looked away.

  While I searched for something to say, Adam nudged me, put a finger to his lips.

  Hours later, we set down on the sunlit compound pad. I woke Adam, stretched. The Captain ducked through the doorway, reached for his bag.

  Arlene Seafort strode across the helipad. “Nick!” Her welcoming arms enveloped his lean frame. I cleared my throat, looked away.

  The Captain asked, “Any news?”

  “Still nothing. He’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  “And Jared?”

  She shook her head. Adam’s mouth tightened.

  We settled in the kitchen, nibbled at cheese and crackers while coffee brewed. Over the spartan meal we explained to the Captain why we assumed P.T. had followed Jared.

  When we’d finished, Seafort said, “There’s no other explanation, unless he’s lost his mind. What else do we know?”

  Arlene said, “I searched P.T.’s room. He was using his puter, but that’s our only clue.”

  “Clue? Between his fractals and his stock speculation, he’s glued to the bloody thing. I ought to take it away.”

  I yawned.

  The Captain patted my hand. “Thanks for everything, Rob. Get some sleep. Adam, will you go with me?”

  “Where, sir?”

  “New York, of course.” He stood. “Jared’s hotel. In fact, we’ll stay the night, if we don’t find him.”

  Adam got to his feet. “I’ll—whatever you—I mean—”

  “If we hurry, we’ll still have much of the afternoon.” He bent over his wife, planted a kiss, picked up his bag. Arlene said not a word.

  I said reluctantly, “I could be of help.”

  “You’re exhausted, and you have work to—”

  “No more tired than you, and New York’s my district. My black book may come in handy.”

  His expression brightened, but he said, “Rob, it’s possible Jared was kidnapped. Or worse, he could be on the streets, though I’d think even he has more sense.” He paused. “It could be dangerous. Sure you want to come?”

  I hadn’t been. “Yes, sir. If you’ll let me.”

  “I’m grateful.”

  Outside, we strode across the lawn to the heli. The Captain slowed, turned to his wife. “Arlene, keep in touch in case—”

  “Of course, Nick. From wherever I decide to stay.”

  “—because if he calls ... what?”

  Her eyes blazed. “You hypocritical son of a bitch!” With each word, she stalked closer. “Think I’ll be waiting here when you get back? Prong yourself! Who in God’s own Hell do you think I am, some helpless female to shut in the cave when danger looms?”

  Gaping, I backed out of the way.

  “Arlene—”

  She shoved him so hard he nearly fell. “Don’t ‘Arlene’ me, you frazball, you insect, you—” She paused to regroup.

  “What did I—”

  “Didn’t I make it clear? Leave me behind, come back to an empty house. P.T.’s my son. I’ve waited three days; when I find him I’ll hug him tight and then kill him. If you search, I go along. You might even need me!”

  He stammered. “Hon, I—we don’t know where Philip is, or Jared. A city like New York is brutal. You’ve no idea how vicious—”

  “Nick, I scored higher than you in every frazzing combat class. Marksmanship too, for that matter. Or don’t you remember the time I pinned you three times out of three, and Sarge said—”

  “That was thirty years ago! We’re no longer cad—”

  She shouted, “My child is out there!” Her voice dropped. “Once, you called on my courage, and I failed. Never again!”

  “I don’t think for a minute—”

  “I love you dearly, you stupid man, but shall I pack to go with you, or to leave? Your call!” Her eyes shone with anguished resolve.

  Nick Seafort regarded each of us in turn, his expression bewildered. I essayed a small smile, but his glance flicked past. “Please, Arlene, wait. He might contact us.”

  “No. It’s been too long.” She waited for his response, heard none. “I’ll pack my gear. If you’re gone when I come back, you’ve made your choice.” She turned on her heel and left.

  I studied the engine cowling.

  Adam coughed. “Sir ...”

  “We’ll wait.” Nick Seafort smiled weakly. “She’s had to bottle her feelings until I came home.”

  Adam said, “She’s half out of her mind with worry. Not the least of—” He stopped short. “I shouldn’t—” He hesitated. “It’s not my business to—”

  “Go on.” It was an order.

  “She’s been worried how you’ll take it,” Adam blurted. “So have we. Are you all right, sir?”

  “Of course.” The Captain thrust his hands into his pockets. “I’m concerned for my son; he’s too young to be wandering a big city. Too naive.” He let but a long, slow breath. “Adam, I’m terribly sorry about Jared.”

  “I—thank you.”

  “We won’t stop until we find them both. I promise.”

  “Sir, that’s not necessary. Jared could be anywhere,
and he’s my responsibility. Don’t commit yourself to—”

  “Until we find both boys. Adam, you stood by me through disaster and disgrace. I know three Senators made you offers when our Administration collapsed.”

  Five, actually. Dad among them.

  “I don’t know why you stayed with me, but I’m grateful. Finding your son is as—almost as important to me as my own.”

  “Thank you.” It was a whisper.

  A beam of light, as the front door opened. Arlene Sanders Seafort, dressed in a utility jumpsuit, carrying a duffel.

  She strode toward the heli.

  Chapter 20

  PEDRO

  I CAME BACK HOME, fast as old body let me.

  What else could I do?

  No help from Fisherman. Said he burned out. No ambition left. Done too much harm already.

  Bullsheet, that. Meant he didn’ care about my trannies.

  But why should he? Uppie he was, Uppie will be. So what if he wasn’t born in tower? Cardiff, Wales, Sheraton Skytel didn’ make no diff. Not city, not trannie streets.

  I sat and rocked alone in shop, sipping tea that cooled unnoticed.

  What to do? No one swind Pedro Telamon Chang, hah. ’Xcept time.

  No one swind my trannies. ’Xcept life.

  Soon, I die, troubles over.

  Soon Trannies die too. Nothin’ be left downtown but cold towers, an’ maybe Crypsnbloods in Bronx. Animals, they, feral eyes reflectin’ the high lights of towers from grassy streets below.

  With Pook gone, shop was too quiet. I hadn’t seen Midboy since day I left, him dancin’ across street shoutin’ curses at my back.

  Maybe I shouldn’ a whopped him. Still, couldn’ let Midboy tell me prong myself in my own shop, or next he hurl shiv stead of insult. Hadda stay ahead of that joeykit.

  Ah, Fisherman, I thought you’d help once more, for old time sake. For wife Annie, for old friend Eddie. For Sub tribe you once said you joined.

  Foolish old Chang.

  Water in pipes down to trickle. It rained hard, so my cistern was near full. Onna street, tribes restless. Heat hung over city like dark brooding spirit. Tides lapped round stumps of old Trade Center. What we done to our planet, hah? Ozone layer fragmented, poles half melt. Bowery near disappeared under filthy riv. Wall Street dike still held good, though.

  Only two days I be gone. Seemed like year.

  I opened shop, did few trays with Mids. Coupla Easters came through with innifo for passby. Wanted to trayfo water jugs-Time, Pedro, to make choice. You could stay ol’ Neut, by yoself, or throw in lot with Sub. Halber wasn’t great leader-boss, not like some, but he what you got.

  So, go along, I would. Halb already agreed to Sub meet with tribe bosses, even to sending Sub joeys to tribes as hostages for safe conduct. I passed word to Easters, Rocks, Unies that meet was comin’ soon. Courtlands agreed to come down, an’ Washhites too. I’d ask Halber if he’d set meet for tomorrow. Do it fast, I’d say, so ornery tribes didn’ have time to plan trouble.

  Evening, I locked shop, scrawled eye with chalk on door, tramped through trannietown to Sub.

  Halber crossed his arms, stubborn look on face. “Nex’ week.” We sat across fro’ each other, two old chairs, in smoky Sub lair.

  I fussed, for his benefit. “Dunno wha’s so importan’, ya gotta put off meet afta I sen’ word ta alla tribe.”

  “Ya don’, hah?” He regard me with skepticism. “Changman knows more ’bout Sub business ’n Subs?”

  I put on innocent look. “Halber be Boss Sub, and Sub is mos’ important tribe. Who don’ know dat?”

  “Now who try ta swind, hah?” But he mollify, I could tell. “Whuffo alla hurry?”

  “Causa water,” I said.

  “That, again?” He shrug. “Always less water in summer. It vaporate from hot.”

  “Hah. Tell me Sub pipes don’ run brown wid sludge. Tell me Sub joeykits don’ complain.”

  Halber’s mood changed, abrupt. He leaned close, eyes full of menace. “Whatcha know ’bout it, ol’ man? Pay innifo ta some bigmouth Subboy?”

  Life in balance, here. Din’ know if could pull off. I said easy, “Don’ need no Sub spy tell me obvious. Ya ain’ got good water same reason no trannies got. Govermen turn off, like I tolya. Summer, winter, don’ matta. Clean water be gone fo’ always.”

  “Bah.” He waved away. “Water fine.” But too late. By askin’ if I pay innifo to learn about, he already told me opposite. In a min he realized.

  I sat very still, hopin’ he din’ decide best way to keep secret was diss Chang.

  “Anyway, what c’n a tribe meet do ’bout water? We gonna trayfo water togetha?” He laughed harsh.

  My bones relaxed at his laugh. “What c’n any tribe, even Sub, do by itself? Maybe, togetha, thinka somethin’.” Then what, Pedro Chang? Tribe gonna negotiate with govermen? Without Fisherman to help, who gonna listen?

  Nevermin’. Worry ’bout that later. First step was get tribes talkin’. Had to hurry, before water critical. Time to bribe. I said, cautious, “I foun’ a hundred permas, if ya still need.”

  His breath hissed. “When?”

  A hundred permas be heavy load. Pook woulda been useful, but he gone. Inside, I sighed. “Day afta morra, if I get help movin’.”

  “That soon?”

  I wondered why he so anxious, and suddenly knew his plan.

  Clever, he. Good general, would make.

  His ambition was pushout Parkas, take Park an’ middle of city for Sub. He thought Chang didn’ know, but why else open tunnels near Park side, and get sub cars rollin’ again?

  Halber didn’t understand was no point to it. If I tol’ him, anger would be at me.

  I went proud. “Ya gonna get permas. Set meet, sameday.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t, so soon. Ya don’ unnastan’. Once we got permas ...” He pressed shut his mouth, to say no more.

  Once Halber got permas, he’d rumb. Then Mids and Parkas and Broads be upheave, and what chance would an old Neut have pullin’ tribes togetha?

  My mouth suddenly dry. Big risk, but I hadda take. I leaned forward. “Halber, lissen. You want permas bad. Chang want meet, even more. No meet, no permas.”

  “But, soon as we got—”

  I struggled outa chair, steelin’ self fo’ maybe his shiv, but desperate. “Tribe meet first. Then permas. Else none.”

  “Sumbitch! Frazball!” His chair went fly in’. “I skin ya, like ol’ days!” At his shoutin’, tribe gathered quick, joeykits too. “Chaco! Raulie! Call Sub, fo’ watch! Grabbim!”

  “I be Neut!”

  It didn’ help.

  As they came at me, time for only one more say. I hollered, “G’wan, diss Sub dream! No permas! I be only Neut in trannie worl’ who c’n get so many! Take ya twenny years fin’ a hunner’ permas widout me!” Was even true, mostly.

  Hands grab. I went down. Couldn’t breathe, from press.

  “Hol’ it!”

  Shiv was sharp at my throat.

  Harsh steps. Boot prodded my side. Arms hauled me up.

  Halber’s eyes full of hate. “Worth dyin’ fo’, this meet?”

  I panted. “Prolly.” We was all dyin’, without.

  “Worth makin’ enemy of Sub?”

  “Prolly not.” I shrugged again, trembling with tired. With Subs as enemy, no way to join tribes together. “What choice I got? Gotta meet ’fore ya pushout Parkas an’—”

  Halber made sound deep in throat.

  I stopped, too late. Oh, dumb, foolish Neut. Ya haddim. Now ya be walkin’ dead.

  His voice was hoarse. “Howya know? Who tell?” He whirled. “Mer, be it you? Chaco?” They shrank from his fury.

  “No one.” I groped for chair, ’fore legs gave way.

  “Den how?”

  With an effort, I reached for bluster. “Think ya c’n swind Pedro Telamon Chang, hah? Was obvious. Why else ya wan’ permas?”

  His face ugly. “G’wan.”

  I try to loo
k smug. They was gonna diss me anyways, so might as well impress. “Halber Boss Sub, maybe he don’ read, don’ know history, but he be great general noneless. Sub turf go allaroun’ Park; what more natural ’n Subs want to take mid-city too? But too many Parkas inna bush for Subs to root out. An Park too big. Sub tribe not so large it c’n surround Park. Unless ...”

  My heart pounded; I had to stop for breath.

  “... Unless Halber c’n outflank Parkas. But he gotta move Subs fast, side to side, top to bottom, cause Parkas hold middle. Ya can’t run back an’ forth around Park an’ still have energy to rumb. But ya could, if Subs been fixin’ unnercars. Ridin’ in unnercars, ya come up to fight where ain’ expected.”

  All silence.

  “Howya know?”

  I squinted eyes, made signs at Halber, same hex that I used ta make Mids ’n Broads uneasy ’bout breakin’ into shop.

  He flinched. “Don’ witch me, Neut.”

  I spat. “I witch who I choose. My sign jus’ made ya war harder. Thirty mo’ Sub gonna die, tryin’.”

  He growled. No matta, if I already dead.

  I said louder, “Dat ain’ nothin’, compare ta sign I made fo’ afta ya diss me. G’wan, do it, an’ see. Jus’ remember ol’ Chang, afta tribe rot and Sub tunnels crumble. When Sub babies born widout fingers, and Easters walk Sub turf. Remember it was dead Chang did it!” My voice gathered strong. “Ya won’ have no permas, so can’t take Park. But all that be forget, in general weep.”

  Chest tight with pain, I managed somehow to get on feet, my voice risin’ to a howl. “When Sub is flood and unnercars smash, when joeykits blind and Mids eat Halber’s bones—”

  “STOPPIT!”

  I gazed unflinch at his horror.

  “Chang, don’ ...” A croak. “Please.”

  I blinked. So they gonna let me live. What good it do, with my chest all constrict?

  Heart pills in medkit back at shop, if I could get to.

  “Take me home,” I said, with dignity. “Chang too old fo’ manhandle. Can’t walk.”

  “What ’bout witchsign?”

  “If I live ’til morra, sign be off. Too late fo’ today. Can’t do nothin’ about.”

  Halber’s face was pasty. He made a speeding gesture. “Chaco, Mer, Barth! Allayas goin’ Up! Take Changman home fas’. Bring innifo fo’ passby.”