Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  “Here? Really?” He study Chang’s face. “Oh, God. Why—”

  “Came ta ask my help findin’ ya. To beg.” In Chang voice, no gloat. Sadness.

  Tentative, I edge away, but Peetee grab my collar. “I’ve had it with you, joeyboy!” His voice ain’ quite broke, but scare me, like Karlo at his wors’. “If you run ...” He shove me inta chair. “If I go to Hell for it, I’ll slice your throat!”

  “Cool jets, Uppie.” I slink small in chair. “I do whatcha say.” Chang smile.

  “Where’s Swee?” Peetee.

  “Outside,” say Chang. “I c’n only deal wid one rampage at a time.”

  “Please let him in, Mr. Chang. I won’ make trouble.”

  “Slicin’ Pook ain’ trouble?”

  “I didn’t hurt him. Yet.” Peetee glower at me. I try to look ’greeable.

  Crazy half hour. I can’ unnerstan’ why Chang don’ diss Uppie fo’ mess wid me. Chang start water boilin’ fo’ tea. He ask Peetee why he got me hostage. Peetee keep askin’ Changman where be his frien’ Jared. Chang say he dunno. And Swee, mos’ly quiet inna corna, figgerin’ how ta make me fadeout from dissin’ him afta.

  An’ mosta all, Peetee ask ova an’ ova if Fisherman really came ta Chang shop.

  “Las’ nigh’, I tolya,” ol’ man say. “With frien’.” I lissen, tryin’ ta figga Changman’s swind. Fisherman, inna street? Hah. Wouldn’ make it two blocks, specially at nigh’. Onotha man’, they both say Peetee be his joeykit. And Peetee toughest Uppie I eva seen.

  Teapot on Valdez perma boil and boil, ’til Chang finally notice. He hurry ova, turn it off. “Ain’ enough water ta waste,” he mutta.

  Philip Uppie think a while. “Lord God knows what Fath will do when he sees me.” A grimace. “But I think it’ll hurt.” He knot his fists. “When he finds me I’ll have to go with him, so I’ve absolutely got to find Jared first. Mr. Chang, please help—”

  “Ain’t seen him. How many times I gotta tell ya?” Chang sound annoy as he pour tea.

  “But Pook said you ...” Slowly, Peetee’s eyes turn to me. Chang’s too. I sit real still.

  Chang stand, hold table for min ’til his dizzy pass. I go worry; bad time for him to die, leave me ’lone wid Uppie. ’Took and I have ta talk,” he say. “Private.”

  “I’m not letting him out of—”

  “He won’ go nowhere, Philip Tyre. My word. Sit an’ drink tea.”

  Peetee study him. Finally, he nod.

  I get up, cautious cause a shiv. ’Fore I c’n take two steps, Chang grab ear, haul me protestin’ ta back room, an’ out side passage. I hope he show me secret door an’ lemme ’scape, but no; he plant hisself in fronta me. “Bran’ new Uppie boots ta trayfo, hah?” Stern. “Watcha done, Pook? Ya dissim?”

  “Please, Mista Chang, lemme go quick, ’fore he—”

  Holdin’ my ear, Chang slap me. My han’ dart ta shiv, but it ain’ in usual place. Uppie got it. Chang whomp ’gain, harder. “Ya dissim, Pook?”

  “Please, I—ow! He ain’ diss!”

  Slap. “Where, then?”

  I try ta break free, but can’ widout leave ear behin’. In coupla min, Chang got me blubberin’ like joeykit. “Stop, Mista Chang! Ayie! Don’!” Face stingin’, I claw at his han’. “Halber got him! No swind!”

  “Howya know?”

  “Was my capture.” Snivelin’ an’ cryin’, I tell ’im how I take Jared, and what I do afta.

  His look show admire, but mix wid disgus’. “Yagotyaself a Pooklair afta all, hah? Okay okay, couldn’ stay wid Karlo’s Mids. But what did Jared joeyboy do, make ya hurt him, cut Mid mark, treat him like animal? Ya socio, Pook? Ya be sociopath?”

  “He jus’ Uppie, Mista Chang!”

  “So what if—”

  “In Mid turf. Doncha unnerstan?” I cradle my achin’ ear, try in’ ta stop cry. “Joey wanda out of own turf, he belong ta whoeva catch.”

  “Fah.” He shove me towar’ shop.

  “Hide me, Mista Chang. Tell Uppiekit I run ’way. Or lemme go.”

  “Nah. I gave word.”

  “So? You no Uppie.”

  “And so did you, joeykit. Took showy. Swear.’ Ain’ that what you said?”

  “How c’n I take Peetee ta Halber? Boss Sub’ll diss us both.”

  Chang cuff me hard, when I don’ expec’; I blink, hold sob in back a throat. “Shoulda thought of that ’fore ya swore!”

  “Mista Chang ...” I make nice face, ta show him I ain’ lookin fo ’rumb. “Swearin’ be Uppie thing, not trannie. Whassit mattah what I tol’ Peetee?”

  He look at me long time. ’Ventual, I realize he lookin’ through me ta somethin’ else.

  Final, he say, “Uppies gotta unnerstan’ trannies have own ways. We ain’ animals to capture inna street an’ send to far planet, like they did to Eddieboss. We ain’ prey to hunt, like Unies do. We be people.”

  I wait.

  “An’ trannie joeys gotta learn Uppie ways ain’ all wrong. If Uppie give his word, everyone know he’ll do what he say. Allatime. Even if no shiv pokin’ his back.”

  I go red.

  “Long time, Pook, I thought trannies couldn’ afford honor; too hard jus’ tryin’ ta survive. Well, in months, year maybe, we be gone. So nothin’ in our way; now we afford honor.” His eyes wet. “I gave word to Philip not to let you escape. So I won’. And you gave word to show him where Jared gone. So you take him to Sub. Why in name a God you give Uppiekit to Halber, anyhow?”

  I start to answer, but he wave it away. “No time. Gotta bring Peetee back here ’fore nigh’, Pook. Halber startin’ rumb wid Parkas. No time fo’ Uppiekit to be in way. Take Philip to Sub quick.”

  Chang be glitch fo’ sure. But ’fore I say so, I stop ta think. Why I botha swind Peetee take me ta Chang, if I won’ follow ol’ man’s advice? Beside, if I tell Chang he glitch, he jus’ whomp me mo’. Between Swee, Uppie, and Changman, Pook be whomp enough fo’ rest a life.

  “What about Fisherman, Mista Chang?”

  Chang frown. “I could keep Philip in shop, hopin’

  Fisherman will come back like he promised. But his joeyboy got shiv; dunno if I could hold him without hurtin’ him.

  Anyway, Fisherman may be dead. He spent night onna street.”

  My brain whirl wid too many ideas. First Chang slappin’ me, now explainin’ hisself like nevah did ’fore. Fisherman, Halber, Rumb. Peetee. Jared Washinton Uppie.

  I take in long shudderin’ breath. “Pook do whatcha say, Mista Chang. I take Peetee ta Subs.”

  He nod approval, but I ain’ done. I rememba knigh’s an’ cassels.

  “I take Mm. I swear.”

  Chapter 29

  ROBERT

  ARLENE PACED MY BEDROOM in the Sheraton Skytel. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said again. “But Nick’s so obstinate I could—” She muttered something I didn’t quite catch.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What can anyone do when he—” Abruptly she loosed a string of oaths that would make a sailor’s hair curl. I listened with interest. I hadn’t heard the like since my middy days, when Sarnia’s Captain tripped over Seaman Ead’s smuggled cat.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Stifling a yawn, I glanced at the clock. Six in the morning. I’d have liked another hour, but ... “It’s getting light. We’ll go after them.”

  She brushed aside the curtain, peered at the dawn. “Do you have any idea where this Chang joey lives?”

  “No. Did you call Nick?”

  “His caller’s off.”

  “Then wait.”

  “How long?” A pause, before she added, “He may be dead too—er, I mean ... dead.” She bit her lip. “I’ve had it with waiting, Rob. We have to call the SecGen.”

  “You heard how the Captain feels about—”

  “Do you know how I feel? P.T. is my child. I can’t abandon him. Do it. Make the call.”

  My heart leaped. “If you’d like.” Retaking the streets would clear the way for Dad�
�s bid for office, and my own campaign to follow. But at what cost to Arlene, when the Captain learned?

  Worse, at what cost to me? It would cast away Nick Seafort’s friendship.

  Perhaps, as Arlene feared, the Captain was already killed. The thought made it easier not to think of betrayal. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go to breakfast. It’s too early to reach anyone who counts.”

  “I can’t eat.”

  “You have to.” Like a benevolent uncle, I shepherded her to the door.

  It would have been useless to call the SecGen without laying the proper groundwork; he’d have been cordial and carefully noncommittal. One doesn’t pluck the strings of power; they must be coaxed to resonate to the frequency of the instrument.

  With Van’s concerted assistance, we began calling in favors, reaching ever deeper into the Rotunda to attune the SecGen’s advisors to the personal appeal Arlene was to deliver.

  It was a game I knew well, and one I played to perfection.

  Political opponents though we were, at times the Supranationalists and the Territorials who controlled the General Assembly needed the other’s favors. And I also knew that if we could prompt the SecGen to act, clearing the streets would benefit us all. And trannies didn’t vote.

  By midmorning all was ready; it was time to seek the SecGen’s direct approval. Arlene made the call, while I listened from the couch in her suite. I’d coached her as thoroughly as I could. She managed to convey her urgency without seeming obsequious.

  “If he’s alive, Mr. Kahn, we have to find him ... find them both.” She listened. “I don’t know. He stopped at the shop of an old trader, but I doubt he’s still there. Robert, where did you set them down?”

  “Two blocks south of the Sheraton.”

  She told Kahn, “They covered that area, so you ought to start elsewhere ...If you send in the police while you’re mobilizing troops ...” A pause. “No, my first worry is Philip. He’s only twelve, and the boy he followed is fifteen. When Nick went out he took Adam Tenere—his adjutant. Adam has a laser.” She frowned. “Of course he’s licensed!” She covered the caller. “What a question!”

  A pause. “No, I’m not asking you to clear the whole district ...”

  I flinched.

  “... just find the former Secretary-General and his son. Certainly that’s a reasonable request, regardless of party.”

  Again she listened. “Mr. Kahn, it’s been three days; they have to move sooner! Damn it, have you any children?”

  I stood, waving a warning finger, but she paid no heed.

  “Two days is ridiculous.” From the caller, a tinny protest, but she shook her head. “Now. Today.” Her voice hardened. “As much as I appreciate Robbie Boland’s efforts to reach you, he isn’t my only resource. If I tell Holoworld you refused ... well, that’s a matter of opinion; I consider two days a refusal. Tomorrow? You’re saying you want them dead? Put me in widow’s weeds, and so help me, I’ll crucify you in the press!”

  I groaned.

  “Mr. Kahn, when my husband sat in the Rotunda we had control of the apparatus; are you saying you don’t? If Nicky ordered the police onto the streets—any streets—they’d have been on the move in hours, if not minutes.”

  Weakly, I said, “Arlene ...” She was trampling my carefully laid plans.

  She waved me aside. “In return? You’d have me make promises for Nick Seafort? Don’t you understand him in the least? In return you get my public gratitude. No, I have no idea who he’ll endorse for the nomination.”

  She listened, her foot tapping impatiently. “Yes, I’ve heard that drivel before. I thought better of you. You have—what time is it?—until noon to decide. Then I call Holoworld. Very well. Good-bye.”

  She rang off.

  “Jesus, Arlene.”

  She stood quiet a moment, before flinging the caller across the room. “The devious son of a bitch. He was expressing his sympathy, and suddenly we were discussing the election.”

  “That’s politics.”

  Her lip curled. “I know. I’ve lived politics.” She pointed vaguely at the corner in which the caller lay. “That’s why Nicky wouldn’t dream again of seeking office. He told me he couldn’t imagine what had come over him, wading deliberately into that cesspool.”

  I said carefully, “I wish you hadn’t antagonized Kahn ...”

  “Faugh. Did you know him as Senator from Greater Austria? He fawned over Nicky, and SecGen Anjour and De Vala ...If he has any principles, I’ve yet to see them. All he respects is power.”

  I sighed. Her way might be best after all, and ultimately, SecGen Kahn’s ire didn’t affect me, or Dad. We were his opponents, and he knew it. I knew Dad would agree.

  Her shoulders slumped. “If only Nicky would let us know ...”

  I blinked. “Arlene, did P.T. by any chance take along his caller?”

  For a moment she only stared. Then her face went gray.

  I leaped to her side and eased her to a chair. “I’m sorry; I only meant—”

  “How could I be so stupid? Oh, God! Where’s the caller?” Frantically, she looked about.

  I retrieved the machine from the corner, where she’d hurled it. “What’s his personal—”

  She punched in a code. “I never thought to ring him! Robbie, I’m glitched. I’m an idiot.”

  “Easy, Arlene.”

  I leaned close, while it rang.

  A click, and the circuit light went green. Her eyes widened, and she clutched my wrist. She said eagerly, “Philip, it’s Mom. Where are you?”

  A giggle, and random tones, as if someone were dialing.

  “Answer me, P.T.”

  “Heya, Uppie bitch. Comin’ outa ya towah?”

  “Oh, Lord God!”

  I pried the caller from her frozen fingers. “Who are you? Where’s the boy who had this—”

  Another click.

  Silence, and the light blinked red.

  The two hours that followed were grim. Arlene paced, as years ago I’d seen her husband pace, on Trafalgar’s bridge in the time of the fish armada.

  I thought I knew her well, but never had I seen such emotion. Between bouts of silence or tears she berated herself with savage scorn for failing to remember P.T.’s caller.

  “I could have saved him.” She thrust her hands into her pockets, strode back to the window before turning anew. “He wanted to be rescued; I’m sure of it.”

  “You can’t know—”

  “Why else did he take along his caller? He wanted us to stop him. Are you as stupid as I? Christ.” She opened the door, peered for a moment into the hall, for what purpose I didn’t know. “Sorry, Robbie, I don’t mean that. But how could I be so foolish as to forget ...”

  “Sit down.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t—”

  “Now.” My voice held a note that surprised even me.

  Startled, she sank slowly into a chair.

  “Arlene, get control of yourself, or I’ll call a doctor and have you sedated.”

  She gaped.

  “I mean it. You do neither yourself nor P.T. any good in this state. I knew he had a caller. So did the Captain and Adam, and none of us thought to ring his number. Why are you alone responsible?”

  “I’m his mother!”

  “But you’re not Lord God.” I stood. “We’ll get something to eat. You didn’t touch your breakfast, and—”

  The caller rang.

  She dived for it, listened, covered the speaker. “It’s Kahn. Talk to him. I’m in no mood for diplomacy.”

  I took the caller, listened. “No earlier? Very well. Yes, we agree. And I give my word the Supras won’t sandbag you on this. Oh, one other thing.” I glided toward my own suite, shut the interconnecting door. “It would be best for all concerned if this ... affair appeared to have nothing to do with the Seaforts. Announce it as a general crackdown.”

  From the SecGen, silence.

  I said, “As you heard, Arlene Seafort is ... volatil
e. And the Captain is a wild card I think neither of us cares to play. Do you agree?”

  He did. I worked out a few of the pressing details, and rang off, well satisfied. After, I went back to her quarters.

  “Well?”

  “At seven this evening every jerry in the city moves in. We have until then to search.”

  “Just the police?”

  “I imagine they’ll have troops as backup,” I said smoothly, knowing better than to reveal the deal I’d struck with Kahn.

  Unie troops would assemble this afternoon, and go in at dawn, after the jerries. In force. I knew that for the sake of the tower projects, it was necessary. I’d guaranteed Kahn no criticism from the Supranationalists, and promised help with the Vegan resettlement bill.

  Arlene strode to the closet. “Will you drop me off in the heli?” She thrust on her jacket.

  “Where?”

  “To search for my son, of course.”

  “Last night you promised—”

  “To wait until morning. And Nick didn’t call. If there’s a chance I can spot P.T. before any disruption ...”

  I couldn’t let Arlene risk herself on the streets. She had no idea of the turmoil our conversation had set in motion. There’d likely be house-to-house fighting, and scores of ruined buildings. If she were caught in it, or worse, killed ... political repercussions would be dreadful.

  Aghast, I realized I’d considered Arlene’s death from a partisan perspective. She was my friend. Her loss would be a personal tragedy. And it would utterly destroy the Captain. I swallowed. “I doubt I can hire one at such short—”

  “Bullshit. You rented your heli for two days, and it’s waiting for Nicky’s call. If you’re afraid, I’ll have a joey from the hotel run me down to street level.”

  I sighed. My ambition had gotten me into this; if we succeeded, my ambition would be well served. And if Arlene died, I’d rather be with her than face the Captain’s rage. “We’ll go on foot; I’ll have someone pick us up before seven. By then, we must be off the streets.”

  “On foot? How far can we—”

  “It’s the way P.T. went. And Jared.”

  That silenced her.

  Every U.N. legislator was licensed to carry a laser. I rarely wore mine, but always had it near. Today, but for its reassuring presence in my jacket holster, I don’t think I’d have had the courage to walk out the streetside door. Arlene brought little but her caller and her son’s holo.