“Getcha hansoff,” I growl, tryin’ ta push forward widout actual touchin’ no one; too many tribes in strange place an’ everyone be bristle.
Bes’ I figga, be thirty diff tribes in cave, ten or twenny joes from each. Musta take some trayfo, givin’ Sub hostages ta each tribe what come down unner fo’ meet.
Ol’ Changman sit next ta Halber, lookin’ wore. His eyes resign, like he waitin’ fo’ shout ta stop.
Allie nudge me ’gain. “There he be. Give ’im ya bag.”
I hiss ta warn backoff, an’ watch.
Easters ’n Rocks screamin’ at each otha, like ready fo’ rumb. Joes near be eggin’ ’em on.
Chang lean closer ta Halber. I can’ hear, but see his mouth move. “Can ya stop it ’fore everythin’ fall apart?”
Halber grimace, lunge ta his feet. Automatic, joeys in front pull back. A space open, an’ I dart through, duck unner Halber’s arm, drop on flo’ at Chang’s feet.
Ol’ man look at me with surprise. His mouth twitch, but he say nothin’.
“DIS BE SUB AND I BE HALBER!” Boss Sub’s voice shake with mad. “Stop ya yammer or I diss yas all!” He wave fist, an’ Easters scatter. “Ol’ man gonna talk, so lissen!”
Onna street, it wouldn’ a work. But no one ’xcept Subs feel home down unner; angry tribe joeys wanna rumb, but what if Subs turnoff rest a lights? Lotsa grumble, but soon quiet.
Chang stand. “Melio of Easters, ya righ’ ’bout Rocks tryin’ ta push ya out. Sho, it be yo’ turf. But think why Rocks wanna move. Prollem wid water.”
“Dat don’t give em—”
Chang spoke quiet, but somehow it cut across indignant Easter boss. “Same prollem alla yas got.” He look roun’.
Uneasy silence, joeys shiftin’ foot ta foot.
“C’mon, who be first ta admit pipes go rust, and can’ find water?” Again he look roun’. “Shez, tell ’em ’bout Harl. Rangie? Lotsa good water in Washhite, hah?” Changman stamp foot; I snatch away hand, try not ta yelp. “Okay okay, I go firs’. In Chang’s shop, water all rust, usually not enough. Who next?”
Long quiet. Den, from somewhere in crowd, “Won’ last. Water always come back.”
“Not this time.” Chang raised hands. “Befo’, govermen come ta fix. Now be govermen takin’ it ’way.”
Shez say, “Boolsheet. Think we don’ guard turf? No Unies been on Washhite street since—”
Mista Chang bang his chair, in frustrate. “Doncha unnerstan’? Water doesn’ start in pipe. Gotta come from somewhere, yah? Govermen shut off main pipes for all time.”
“Why?”
Changman spoke wid care. “Hudson Freshwater Project, dey call it. Means city gave up water from faraway riva called Delaware. But towahs keep buildin’. Need lotsa water for Uppies in towahs. So they take.”
Angry growls. “Frazzin’ Uppies think—”
“Yah, yah. Think they own the worl’. Well, maybe dey do. ’Less we stop ’em.”
“We get tourbus every week. Could trap bus, open like cansa, diss alla Uppies—”
“Nah. Jus’ bring down Unie troops. Then they clear out Washhites, put up more towahs.”
Rangie from Harls say, “Whatcha wan’ us do?”
Chang get look I know from shop, when he finally get angry joe ready ta trayfo. “I ain’ sure, exact. Firs’, talk ta Holoworl’ or otha zines. Tellem be trouble ’less we got water. But whateva we decide, gotta be togetha. Alla tribe.”
“Thassit?” Scorny. “Uppie zines don’ giva shit ’bout trannie—”
Ol’ man shout, “What else we got, hah? Doncha unnerstan’, tribes goin’ down!”
From back, ’notha voice. “I be Lach, of Morninghites.”
Chang nod, like, goahead.
“Killin’ bus fulla Uppies won’ fix water. If ya say true, prollem ain’ touriss. Prollem is towahs.”
Way Lach said it run chill down my back.
“I saw towah be build, long back, when we pushout. Start wid big hole way deep.”
“So?”
“Deep like Sub.” Lach pause, like tryin’ a think. “C’n we get inta towah from unner? ’Xplode the poles holdin’ it up, or burn? We get ridda towahs, dey won’ need our water.”
Silence all roun’. Can see trannies lookin each otha like never befo’.
Chang was righ’. History.
But ol’ man shook his head. “Maybe, all else fail, we try.”
“Do it now!”
Chang say, “Soon as we attack towah, streets fulla Unie troops, more ’n ya eva seen. An’ they won’ stop ’til trannies gone.”
Someone spit. Othas laugh. “Can’ pushout alla tribes at once. Too many lair, too many tunnel—”
Big dark joey say, “We kill jerries fas’ as dey land.”
Chang shift in chair. His face gray, but he make voice strong. “Armor troop carriers. Robotanks and helis. We ain’ talkin’ jerries, we talkin’ Unie troops what defeat fish, back when. Now they even got lasers high on Earthport. Could blast trannie streets an’ never touch a towah.”
“We could—”
“’Sides, soon as we knock down one or two towahs, they make othas harda ta hurt. And they jus’ rebuild.”
“What then?”
“Dunno. Way ta get at Uppies ain’ through towahs. It’s puters that keep Uppies on toppa worl’. If we could disrup’ nets, threaten ta bring down finance, crash taxes like Hacker League did, longtime back ...”
Ol’ man so intent, he don’ realize he lose ’em. Can’ talk puters ta trannie tribes; we got none. Finance means bank, but trannies don’ trayfo wid banks, nohow. Banks wan’ coin, not cansa. Anyway, banks too strong ta break inta, too high in towahs.
Halber shrug. “I’d like ta take down towah or two.” He wave away Chang protes’. “I know whatcha say ’bout puters. Alla Uppies use ’em. Even jerry helis got puter maps. Holoworld an’ otha newschips be made for Uppie puters. If we was educate’ like Uppie, maybe chance. But looka us! Hardes’ job in world jus’ gettin’ us togetha fo’ meet.”
Chang ask as if defeat, “Whatcha wanna do?”
Halber’s ansa surprise. “Think. And ’notha’ meet, three days.”
Tribes don’ like. “What good be comin—”
“Took four hour, hadda passby alla turf—”
Halber’s voice ride ova. “But leas’ we know we all got same prollem. Afta three days, maybe new ideas. Maybe somethin’ change.”
Chang look up sharp, but he stay quiet. Face sad.
More bitchanmoan, of course. Can’ even get coupla joeys passby corna widout argue. But afta while, meetin’ ova.
Alla time, I sit thinkin’. No water, end a trannie worl? Can’ be. And what dis mean fo’ Pook? Got his lair, got his—
Back go cold.
Pook got his capture.
What was it Jared Uppie Washinton say? If I tell, could lose chance ta sell ’im. On otha hand, gotta be lotsa innifo if Pook solve trannie water prollem.
I tug at sleeve. “Mista Chang—”
He shook off. “Not now, Pookboy. Come see me in shop, afta I rest.”
“Stupit ol’ man!” Couldn’ help myself, when he go scorny in fronta all.
Steada growlin’ at me, he look pain, an’ call ta coupla Subs; they help him stand.
Tribe joeys stream out to Up, with Subs showin’ way. No one pay no tention ta Pook ’xcept Allie. I stan’ up, look roun’, see Halber. Wait for sec when he ain’ talkin.
“Halber Sub Boss—”
Widout even lookin’ his han’ go whop, practical knock me down. “Allie, getcha scrawny joeykit ’way from—”
Dunno wha come ova Pook. Come down unner in Sub like he his own tribe. Sit in meet with bosses. Could get hisself diss, ’specially now.
I say loud, “Ya talk ’bout puters. Think I know way.”
His head come roun’ real slow, and corna of eye go up. Pook maybe dead. But can’ stop now. “Gotta talk private,” I say. “I know joey c’n work putahs, do anythin’ he wan’
. Bring down alla towahs inna minute.”
Hold breath.
Halber point ’cross hall ta empty room. Den his finga swing back ta me. An’ beckon.
Chapter 24
ROBERT
I SAT BETWEEN ADAM and the pilot, glad to be clear of the crackling tension of the back seat. Arlene seethed, while the Captain brooded, unable or unwilling to calm her.
I called ahead to the New York Sheraton Skytel, booked rooms for our party. After, I made desultory conversation with Adam, and was thoroughly glad when at last the rooftop heliport floated into view. I jumped out while the blades still spun, held the door for the others.
A smoothly dressed joey with a thin moustache ducked under the slowing blades. “Assemblyman, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Arwin Fenner, the Sheraton manager. Mr. SecGen, we’re honored. My staff will do their best to—”
“Is our room ready?” The Captain made no effort to hide his impatience.
“Yes, sir. We’ve put you and Ms. Seafort in the Presi—”
“Where?”
“This way, sir.” A snap of his fingers. “Their bags!” He led us to our penthouse suites.
The Captain waited, hands in pockets, while manager and bellman fussed with lamps, bedcovers, and a huge complimentary basket of fruit. When it was done, Seafort waved the bellman out, nodded to me, glanced at Fenner.
I recognized my cue. “We’d appreciate your help finding a young man.”
Fenner nodded. “Anything we can do ...”
“This is Mr. Tenere, of the SecGen’s staff. We’re looking for his son.”
Perhaps Fenner’s eyelid flickered. Nothing more.
“We traced Jared to this skytel.”
“He had a room?”
“We’re not sure,” I admitted. “Three days ago he ate in your restaurant—”
Fenner’s voice was smooth. “Sir, ours is a large establishment. I have no knowledge of the joey, but we’ll search our records. If there’s any trace ...”
Arlene said, “Another boy was with him, or looking for him.”
“I really don’t know—”
“It’s quite important. Could you check—”
Adam Tenere stirred. “Fenner.” His eyes held an expression I’d seen only once, when he’d found a cadet cheating on an exam.
“—we’ll be happy to—yes, sir?”
“I want my son. So if you withhold information ...” He drifted closer. “I have influential friends. Mr. Boland, and his father the Senator. I work for SecGen Seafort, who isn’t without influence.”
The manager licked his lips. The Captain watched, expressionless.
Adam said, “I knew a hotel in Washington. The health, fire, and building inspectors came through. It closed. Then tax auditors looked at their employment records. The owners found a new manager before trying to reopen. By the way, your regional Unemployment Payments Trustee is a Seafort appointee. Consider the difficulties a lost file would cause should you apply for unemployment—”
“Sir, I assure you—”
“And if a crime were involved ...” Adam’s feral grin raised my hackles. “The Regional Prosecutor is a Seafort nominee. My ship docked at a penal colony once. Not a pleasant sight.”
“Please!” Fenner’s handkerchief dabbed at his forehead.
“The truth.”
“All right!” A cry of surrender. “We had no idea he was ill when he checked in. Though in retrospect, his use of a false name, the concealment of his age—”
Adam growled, “Ill?”
“The rebalancing problem. I assure you it wasn’t evident. He merely—”
“What are you saying?”
The manager glanced to Captain Seafort as if for comfort, found none. He addressed his plea to me. “The boy checked in as Jer Adamson. He only used the card later, in the restaurant.”
“Go on.”
“Mr. Boland, is your purpose to find the lad, or to investigate—”
“Tell them, man!” I fought disgust. “They want the boy, not revenge.”
Adam listened stone-faced as the story of Jared’s escapade emerged. The night auditor caught an alert on the Terrex card; hotel security visited the boy’s room. A chase through the corridors ensued. The boy escaped to the street.
Adam and the Captain exchanged glances before Seafort turned to the window. I recalled how, years ago, Adam helped him search New York for Annie Wells”, who in her illness had reverted to her trannie past.
The manager blurted, “If we’d had any idea he wasn’t in his right mind, we’d have taken immediate custody and—”
“You’re saying my son is glitched?” Adam’s tone was acid.
“I understood from the other joeykid that rebalancing was sched—”
“Who?” Seafort swung to face him.
“The youngster who came searching—”
“Philip!” Arlene’s eyes lit.
“Yes. Mr. Tyre, a very self-assured young man. He said—”
“Where is he?”
“Ma’am, I had no idea he knew you when—”
With a guttural sound, Arlene sprang across the room, shoved Fenner against a wall. “God damn you, where?” Her forearm pressed against his carotid.
“Out!” It was a squawk.
Momentarily, her pressure eased.
He babbled, “Tyre insisted on following his friend. I begged him to call the jerries, but he insisted on looking in the streets. He was to call me at dusk to open—”
“When!”
I could barely hear his answer. “Two days ago.”
“ARLENE, NO!” The Captain’s tone was a lash.
Slowly, she relaxed the rigid fingers that hovered over Fenner’s neck. “He sent Philip onto the street!”
“Not sent. Allowed.” The Captain’s tone was mild. “P.T. can be ... persuasive.”
The manager rubbed his throat. “Who is the Tyre boy?”
“Our son.”
Fenner went pale. “Oh, my God.”
Arlene said, “Pray we find him, or ...”
I coughed diplomatically. “Easy, now. Mr. Fenner, we’ll call when we need you. Ms. Seafort is overwrought. I mean, ah, in a high state of tension. You’ve cooperated, so we’ll disregard your liquor violation; fair is fair. Thank you.” I held the door; he dived through it.
Arlene growled, “Overwrought?” She strode to the window.
The Captain muttered, “Let it pass.”
She stared at the devastation below. “Philip’s out there, utterly helpless.” She chewed her lip. “Rob, call the Police Commissioner. We’ll need every jerry he can put on the streets.”
Seafort shook his head. “The streets aren’t in their hands.”
“You told me in daytime—”
“Armored tour buses, an occasional heli. From above, the jerries wouldn’t spot P.T. unless he were standing in plain sight, and in that case the transpops would have him first.”
Adam nodded.
I knew Seafort was right, but the glimmerings of an idea stirred. What a coup, if I could bring it off. I said cautiously, “Captain, you intend to go after him?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“I’ll ask the streeters. Adam, remember how Eddie brought a sack of trading goods, when we went after Annie? We’ll want—”
“Listen,” I said. My knees were shaky. “You’re right about the jerries, they’ve lost the streets.” A dramatic pause. “But it’s time we took them back.” And cleared the way for the towers, and Dad’s hopes.
“How?”
“Granted, SecGen Kahn is your political opponent, but if you ask his help as a former SecGen ...” I waited for him to see.
“Get on with it.” The Captain’s voice was testy.
“He’d send in the Unies. Regiments, if need be. We’d take back our city once and for all. Within a day or so you’d be free to search all of midtown. And every trooper could carry a holo of P.T. to compare—”
“To the
other corpses?” His voice was acid. “You’d start a war, and hope to find Philip in the rubble?”
I said quickly, “Not a war, a police action. After all, we already intend to move in. Next month we’ll be ground-clearing a few blocks south. There’ll be riots, if not worse.”
I glowed in the genius of my plan. If the Captain himself called in the Unies, he’d be committed to the Supranationalist water project. No need for Dad to discredit him; I’d spare the SecGen that humiliation. And with the Captain on board, our bills would sail through the Senate with votes to spare.
Arlene said, “Make your call, Rob. Set up a meeting, or whatever it takes.”
I nodded.
“Arlene—”
“He’s our son, Nick!”
I reached for the caller. Seafort turned away, as if in pain.
Though the U.N. was but a few blocks distant, my best entry was through Van and our network of contacts. I placed the call. The Captain paced in agitation. Adam watched, us both, saying nothing.
“Van, this is Rob.” I turned to the window. “I need SecGen Kahn, flank. Try Marion Leeson, she’ll know how to find him.”
Waiting for Van’s callback, I chafed.
The Captain caressed Arlene’s shoulder. “Hon, have you ever been on the streets? Do you know how dangerous they are? The transpops are desperate. Sending troops will start a war, and make it worse for Philip.”
“It can’t get worse!” Her eyes filled with tears. “He may already be dead. Without help, we’ll never find him.”
Van came back on the line. SecGen Kahn was at his residence in the U.N. compound, enjoying a working rest day.
I said, “Make the call. Patch me through as soon as—”
“No.” From behind, a firm hand took the caller from my grasp, switched it off. I looked with astonishment at the Captain’s grim resolve. “Rob, I entered politics to stop SecGen Anjour from sending troops onto the streets. You’d have me come full circle and demand them. Well, I won’t.”
“Nick.” Arlene’s voice was ominous. “Think of P.T., not your transpops.”
“We can’t wipe out a culture to save Philip.”
“I can, if that’s what it takes. He’s our son.”
Seafort sat heavily. “Wait a moment.” He stared at the thick luxuriant brocade of the carpet.
She said, “Nick—”
Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5) Page 22
