Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  I pointed south.

  “Why?”

  “That’s where I took Adam and the Captain.”

  “So we’ll go north. No point in covering the same ground.” Without waiting for an answer, she strode on her way.

  I scurried to keep up. “Slow down. See those joeys at the corner? And across the street, they’re moving—”

  She cupped her hands. “P.T.!” Her shout echoed. “Philip!”

  “For God’s sake, Arlene.”

  “How can we find him if he can’t hear us? Philip, come out where we can see you!”

  At the corner, transients gawked.

  Arlene strode on. I kept a hand near my laser.

  “Hey, Uppie!”

  I whirled.

  A gap-toothed streeter grinned. “Watcha doin’ onna street? Lost?”

  I saw no weapon, but nonetheless I backed away uneasily.

  “Getcha bitchgirl back inna towah!” The trannie bent for a rock.

  “Arlene ...”

  “I see him.” As if unafraid, she walked up to him, fished the holo out of her pocket. “Have you seen this boy?”

  He snickered. “Mama los’ her babykit?” He beckoned to a companion. “Look, Uppie bitchgirl got holo!” He snatched it from Arlene’s hand. “Make me good trayfo. Betcha joeykit be—aiyee!” He clutched his arm. Arlene wrested away her holopic, turned to the second trannie. “Have you seen him? There’s a reward.”

  “Frazzin’ Uppies think ya own the worl’. Don’ mess wid us Broads!” The streeter emitted a piercing whistle. “Yo! Look what Uppie did ta Pol!”

  They gathered, all eyes on mine. It wasn’t me, I wanted to cry. Her. She did it.

  Arlene gripped my arm, led me across the street. “Philip,” she shouted. “Come out!”

  A trannie youth, more daring than the rest, ran up behind us. Before I could pull out my laser, he shoved me so hard I went down. “Teach ya ta mess wid—”

  Arlene stepped over me, grabbed the boy’s grimy jumpsuit, punched him in the stomach. His hands flew to protect himself, but not before she hit him again, harder. “Run, boy, before you get hurt. Rob, get up.” The young joey stood slack-jawed.

  It was a side to her I’d never seen. Had the Commandant known he’d wed a tigress? I scrambled to my feet.

  “Have you seen this boy?” She thrust the holo in his face. “Look at him!”

  “Naw!”

  Angry murmurs. Running feet. Before I could warn her, we were surrounded by a dozen trannies, with more on the way. One bore a club, another a rock. I slid the laser from my holster.

  “Whatcha done ta Skat?”

  “Say goo’bye ta towah, frazzin’—”

  “Jumpsuit be mine, afta!”

  “No one mess wid—”

  “Listen.” Arlene’s thin, hard voice cut through the din. Then, lower, “Rob, don’t shoot unless we’ve no choice.” To the crowd, “You know what a reward is? There’s a reward for this boy.” She held up her holo.

  Skat rubbed his stomach. “Bitchgirl whomp me!”

  “You started it.” Her tone was curt. “We didn’t come for trouble. Just to find him.” Again, she fished in her pocket, came out with Jared’s picture. “And him.”

  A woman’s voice. “Diss ’em!”

  My hand tightened on the trigger.

  “Hol’ on, Chassie. Lessee what dey brung.”

  “Diss ’em, an’ take rewar’ afta.”

  Arlene shouted, “Why’re you so frazzin’ ready to diss? Don’t any of you have joeykids? Wouldn’t you search if they were lost?”

  A pause. The woman said, “Not outa our turf.”

  “Why?”

  “Leave Broad turf, dey dead. An’ joeykit who wanda outa turf be too glitch ta worry ’bout.”

  Arlene brandished Jared’s picture. “This boy came here first. This one came after, to look for him. Someone’s seen them, somewhere.”

  A lean joey with a scarred face pushed through the crowd. “Lemme see.” He peered at the holos. “Innifo?”

  Arlene glanced at me. “What’s he saying?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Innifo me, bitchgirl. Ya wan’ data, gimme.”

  “You’ve seen them?” Her tone was eager.

  “One.”

  “Who?”

  “Innifo firs’.”

  She dug into her pocket, brought out bills, handed him one. “More when we find him.”

  “Ya don’ got cansa?” The streeter grimaced. “Hard ta spen’ Unibucks. Gotta take ta ol Chang, an he skinya.”

  Arlene waved a twenty. “Which boy?”

  He jabbed the holo. “Him.” Jared.

  Her face fell. “When?”

  “Dunno.” He shrugged. “Mornin’.”

  “Rob, is he making it up?”

  The holo only showed Jared’s face. I said to the trannie, “Describe him.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tell me about him. How big was he? What was he wearing?”

  The transpop looked smug. “Innifo.”

  Arlene peeled off another bill. He reached for it, but she balled it in her fist. “After.”

  The trannie scowled. “Size a Skat. Brown hair, light like blondie. No shirt, no boot, blue pant. Gimme innifo.”

  Arlene handed him the bill, and another as well. “Take me to him.”

  “Haw, no way, Uppie.”

  I could see Arlene’s patience wear thin. She grated, “Where was he going?”

  “Sub Four Two.”

  “Where is Sub?”

  The streeter pointed north. “Five, six block.”

  She looked around. “Who’ll take us?”

  Guffaws from several of the trannies. “Can’ go near Sub, Uppie. Subs’ll diss ya. Us too.”

  I asked, “Arlene, what in hell are they talking—”

  “Sub, for subway. The old train system. Years ago Nick went down there, to look for Annie.”

  “Good Lord.” Then the rumors I’d heard as a cadet were true; the Commandant was capable of anything.

  She asked, “Why would Jared go to the Subs?”

  The boy Arlene had slapped began to caper. “Oh please, lemme be, mista. Where ya takin me?” Giggling, he clutched his chest, pretended to limp. “Not so fas’, rocks be sharp! Please, lemme go!”

  Arlene stood very still. Then, quietly, “Rob, give me your laser.”

  I hesitated. I’d intended to be her protector. On the other hand, I was beginning to realize we were safer with the pistol in Arlene’s hand than mine. I handed it over.

  She flicked off the safety. “Skat, they call you? Ever seen a laser? Watch.” She set it to high, aimed at a flaking light-post. The metal glowed white, began to drip.

  From the trannies, awed murmurs.

  Her hand went to her pocket, emerged with a wad of bills which she dropped in front of the boy. “Here.” She extended the pistol, aimed at Skat. “Lead us to the Sub, or by Lord God, I’ll fry the eyes from your face!”

  He whimpered, “Uppie, if I do they gonna diss—”

  She shouted, “You think some trannie in a tunnel will stop me from finding my son?”

  In seconds the crowd melted away. The boy Skat backed toward a building, but I caught his arm as he slipped past. “She means it, joey.”

  He quailed. “Ya gotta pay innifo fo’ passby. I take ya ta Sub stair, is all. Ain’ goin down. Even laser bettah ’n skin alive.”

  “Let’s go.”

  We hadn’t taken five steps when Arlene’s caller buzzed.

  Chapter 30

  PEDRO

  WHOLE DAY HAD PASSED, an’ not a single trannie came to trayfo. It was as if all trannietown caught in tension of Pook and Fisherman and Subs. I sat alone, chest achin’, welcoming silence of dark shop.

  Tap on door. “Mr. Chang? It’s Adam Tenere, with the Commandant. Could you let us in?”

  Not sure I wanted to, with what I had to tell them. But, weary, I shuffled to door, unlocked.

  Tenere cam
e in first, hand on laser. I scowled. “How many you execute, Uppie?”

  He shook his head. “None, but it was close.” Without invite, he slumped into chair. “I told you I wouldn’t kill for pleasure. But their hostility is incredible. It was a near thing.”

  Fisherman looked tired, despondent. “Nothing. Not a clue.” He sighed. “No one spoke to him; no sign of his body.” A glance at Adam. “Or of Jared.” His hand flitted to Uppie friend’s shoulder. “Sorry.”

  I spoke, voice hoarse, had to try again. “Peetee was here.”

  For a moment, no understanding. Then Fisherman’s eyes locked on mine, like twin lasers.

  I said, gruff, “This afternoon. Left coupla hours back.”

  He cried, “You let him go!”

  “He had shiv. Knife.”

  “P.T.? You’re glitched. He wouldn’t dream of—”

  “You don’ know him, seems. He was ready to use.” But not on me. I’d been worried for Pook; couldn’t stand seein’ him diss. But for self, never a second’s fear. Knew from first look at joeykit, I coulda talked him outa harm.

  “Why the knife? Why didn’t you stop him? For Lord God’s sake, was he hurt?” Fisherman’s voice broke.

  “Easy, sir.” Tenere.

  “Don’t ‘easy’ me, it’s not your son—Lord, I’m sorry.” Fisherman sank into chair, buried head in hands.

  “He didn’ have a mark on him.” I fussed with teapot, pouring water, setting cups, babbling all the while. Big news, big innifo; I coulda made Fisherman pay lotsa for tell. But words come tumblin’ out like I a joeykit needin’ his respec’. Dunno why; maybe I gettin’ too old.

  When I done, he absently took tea, blew over rim of cup. “How did P.T. learn Pook had Jared in his lair?”

  “Not sure. All happen too fast.”

  “Is Jared all right?”

  I shrugged. “Right enough to walk, this mornin’.” From Tenere, a soft sound. Without thinkin’ I trot over, pat shoulder. “You be findin’ him. Drink tea. Help ya think.” Obediently, he took his cup. I marveled he hadn’ slapped away my hand.

  Fisherman rubbed his eyes. “Your Pook traded Jared to the Subs. You made Pook admit it to Philip, so my son went after them. Is that it?”

  I din’ blame him for being confuse. “Best I can figga.”

  “Why would Pook help P.T.?”

  I hadn’t tol’ him that part. “Cause he swore it, when Peetee held shiv to his throat.”

  Tenere stirred. “What’s an oath to a goddamn trann—”

  “Adam!” Fisherman’s voice was like a whip.

  Tenere recoiled. After a moment, his face lifted. “I haven’t slept in a week. I know my son’s cut, hurt, frightened, and I can’t find him. Please forgive me.”

  I waved it away, along with my own pissoff. Didn’ matter now. “Words can’ hurt. ’Bout oath, you be right.” I forced self to meet his eyes. “Maybe we learn in time. Not sure. Filmatleven.”

  Fisherman ask, “Will Pook hurt my son?”

  Couldn’t help smile. “Don’ think so. He pretty scare. An’ was Peetee carried shiv, not Pook.”

  Fisherman shook his head in wonder.

  I had pang of worry. “Danger isn’t so much Pook, as Subs.”

  “Do they still kill intruders?”

  I’d heard of promise he extracted, years past. “Not usual.”

  “We’d better get help. I’ll call Arlene and Robert; they’ll round up a few jerries.”

  I hated to tell. “May not have time. Big Sub rumb comin’, prolly tonight.”

  Fisherman’s voice sharp. “You didn’t warn the boys?”

  I said, with dignity, “A man choose his way. Your joeykit growin’ to man. Anyway, he wouldn’ care. Jared only thing on his mind. When I tol’ him ’bout you, just made him hurry.”

  “Christ.” His tone was so forlorn I couldn’t stand.

  “He wants ta see you,” I assured. “Aches for it. But afraid you’ll stop his search. So he gotta find Jared first.”

  Fisherman stood. “They headed for the Sub entrance at Four Two?”

  I nodded.

  Adam stirred. “Sir, we’d better hurry.”

  I looked out keyhole, sighed. “Not good to go in Sub.”

  “We’re armed, Mr. Chang.”

  I hit table with fist; tea jumped. “Doncha know nothin’ ’bout Subs? Think ya gonna fin’ joeykits alive, afta you diss a Sub? Can’ go down alone. Ya need vouch for.”

  “Jared and P.T. are so near, and you say a tribe war is brewing. There’s no time—”

  I yelled, “Frazzin’ Uppies think ya own the worl’! I’m tellin’ ya I go along, take ya to Subs.” I fished in pocket case, gulped pill, stopped for calm, hopin’ chest wouldn’ explode.

  Fisherman studied my face, as if memorizing for always. “You’d do that for us?”

  I shrugged. “Tribes wouldn’ listen when I warn they’re dyin’ for good water. Halber dreams of takin’ Park. Every tribe ready to fight for their piece a turf. Can’t help my people, so help you. Do some good ’fore I die.” I managed to get to feet. “Better we hurry. Ol’ man can’ walk too fas’.”

  Tenere said, “You won’t have to, sir.” He took out a caller, looked to Fisherman. “May I?”

  In a moment he made a connection, spoke urgently, waited. “Out? What the hell do you—He said he’d—taking his calls? Who?” he covered the mouthpiece. “Robert left the hotel. Some joey is standing by at—hello? Where’s Robbie Boland? Who are you? What happened to the frazzing heli he—”

  “Adam.” Just one word, in the Fisherman’s quiet tone.

  A long pause. Was almost like Tenere was counting under breath. Then, “All right, go ahead.” He listened. “The heli’s fueled and ready? Can you meet us at—sir, where are we?”

  Fisherman told him.

  “Yes. A small shop in an old brown building that looks ready to crumble. We’ll be outside. Three of us.”

  I waved finger in his face. “I ain’t gettin’ inta Uppie copter, hellor hiwater.”

  Fisherman said, “You’ve taken longer trips, Mr. Chang. There’s no danger—”

  Was so mad I spat on own floor. “Danger? Think I some silly joeykit? This be my shop, Uppie! I got reputation. What kinda trayfo I make with trannies afta they see me climbin’ into heli, hah? Put me right outa biz, it would.” I dug into pocket, pulled out Unibucks Adam Tenere gave, yesterday. “Think Pedro Telamon Chang c’n live on this innifo rest a his days? Bah!”

  Tenere’s hand over caller, he an’ Fisherman exchanged look that made me even more infuriate.

  “All right, Mr. Chang. We’ll manage.” Fisherman.

  Adam said to caller, “Two of us, then. But hurry!” He rang off.

  I wandered shop, mutterin’ to self, regrettin’ waste of good tea.

  Soon the whap of blades. Without askin’, Tenere went to door, fiddled with chains. I trotted ova, pushed him aside. “Let Chang do it ’fore ya break.” I fussed with locks, as heli settled on broken street.

  The two men went out into brooding cloud-struck afternoon, ducked under whirling blades. Pilot watched from side to side, ready to lift in an instant, but hardly any trannies were about, and those stayed well back. Weather, maybe. Somethin’ electric in air. Or perhaps all in foolish ol’ man’s head.

  While I watched, Fisherman got in rear seat, then Tenere climbed in front. Adam buckled belt, looked up startled at insistent knock on window.

  I scowled. “Gonna help me in, or no?”

  Door opened; hands reached down to haul me up.

  “Welcome aboard, Mr. Chang.” Fisherman’s voice was dry.

  “Bah.” I gripped seat of unfamiliar machine, shook finger at pilot. “You lurch, tell me firs’. Too ol’ ta be breakin’ bones.”

  “Head north, please.” Tenere. “Four Two Square.”

  Pilot lifted off with evident relief.

  Tenere demanded, “Where the hell is Rob? He agreed to stand by.”

  Pilot said, “He told
me to wait in his place, sir. He and Ms. Seafort went streetside.”

  From rear seat, a strangled sound. I looked to Fisherman. His face was red. His fist slammed into chair.

  Adam asked, “Where?”

  “Don’t know, sir. Assemblyman Boland said they’d go on foot.”

  Fisherman began to curse, in low steady monotone that didn’t cease. It frightened me more than a laser.

  It didn’ seem to worry Adam Tenere. Instead, he took out caller, punched in numbers. He waited for ring, handed it to Fisherman. “Perhaps, sir, you’d like to speak with her?”

  Heli landed on Three Eight. On street, crowd of trannies scattered, ’xcept one kneeling docile by wall. Near him, two Uppies stared upward with impatience.

  Fisherman swung open door, jumped out, strode to woman.

  “Where the hell have you been?” they shouted, simultaneous.

  Engine noise covered rest of what they said. Lots of hands wavin’. For min, looked like she gonna hit him. Other Uppie with her tried to interrupt. Seafort turned on him with snarl, backed him ’gainst wall an’ chewed him good. Joey’s face got grimmer as Fisherman went on.

  I asked Tenere, “Who’s Uppie joeygirl?”

  “Ms. Seafort.” His eyes roved back and forth across street.

  I muttered, “Whole family glitched, runnin’ around streets like buncha trannies.”

  He ignored me, but his mouth tightened.

  While they argued, joeykit who was kneelin’ looked round, careful. He glanced across street to safety, tentatively got off one knee. Uppie woman spun on him, kicked his leg out from unner, in an instant had his head ’gainst wall, his hands laced behind neck.

  Interestin’, though; she didn’ hurt him doin’ it. One hand holdin’ him in place, she turned anger back to Fisherman. Other Uppie joey jus’ stood an’ watched.

  ’Ventually, commotion subsided. Red-faced an’ angry, Fisherman and Uppie joey stalked to heli. Seafort wife hauled the Broad joeykit to his feet, shoved him to door.

  Space was tight when all crowded in. I took a look at joeykit. Wild dirty hair, faint start of moustache. Sixteen, maybe. Scared more of heli than Uppies.

  As he recognized me, eyes lit with hope. “Changman? I They gonna diss us?”