A trannie boy looked past her up the stair. “Look! Da Fisherman!”
“Allrigh’! Halber want his head!”
Arlene fired. A bolt sizzled at their feet, blackening the stair. “Get away!” The trannies retreated past the bend.
“Wait, Mom.” P.T. raised his voice. “You’re setting the building on fire?” He sounded curious. “Why?”
“Burn out towah! Frazzin’ Uppies think ya own da—”
Another voice. “C’mon, Barth. Plenny ’partments coupla flo’ down. Curtains ’n beds ’n—”
Philip asked, “But why come here?”
Above, the pound of running feet. A shriek of agony. Then desperate cries. “No. Please!”
The trannie below us snickered. “Hah. Gotcha corna!” He called upward, “Yo, Sub! Fisherman inna stair ’tween us! Throw down mattress ’n stuff! Burn!”
Arlene raised her weapon.
P.T. tugged at her arm, still calling to the trannies. “Why the Sheraton?”
A giggle. “Jared picked. Said he’d show ya all fo’ chasin’ him out.”
“Holy Jesus.” I wasn’t aware I spoke.
“Where is he?” P.T. took a couple of steps down, but the Captain caught his arm, hauled him back.
“Not far. Doin’ office towah.”
From above, a stuffed chair hurtled down the stairwell. It had only begun to burn. The Captain slapped at it with his damp towel, to little effect.
“Nick, which way?” Arlene.
“Up, I think. Most of the Subs must be below.”
P.T. broke free from his father’s grip, looked over the rail. “Did you joeys climb all the way?” His voice was almost affable.
“Philip, for God’s—”
“Naw. Foun’ elevate.” A guffaw. “Upandown. Upandown. Bust fire pipes. Burn.”
I coughed from the increasing smoke, and waves of pain rolled through my chest. I tried to sound calm. “Captain, we can’t stand here chatting.”
“I know.” Reluctantly, Seafort drew his laser pistol. “Yo, Subs! Wasn’t me called the Unie troops! I tried ta stop ’em! We goin’ ta roof. I got laser, but don’ wanna diss anyone. G’wan, outa buildin’! Back ta Sub!”
The only responses were catcalls and hoots.
Philip said, “Father, Jared’s somewhere close.”
“Stay behind me, is that clear? Arlene, watch downstairs. I’ll clear the path.” The Captain’s voice receded. “G’wan, I got laser.” He climbed further. “LOOKOUT!”
The Captain squeezed himself against the wall as a flaming mattress flew past. It tumbled to our feet in a shower of sparks.
“Philip?” Arlene dragged me up the stairs with manic strength. “P.T, answer me!”
“I’m all right, Mom.”
A dreadful shriek echoed in the hallway for what seemed like ages. The Captain’s voice. “Back, you son of a—I warned you!” Running steps. Another scream, cut short after only a second.
“Christ, we need help.” Arlene pulled out her caller, keyed the emergency code. “Hello? Damn. Answer!” She shook the caller. “I’m not sure I’m getting through. All the steel—”
“Arlene, hurry!”
She tightened her grip around my waist. I thought I’d pass out. Before lunging up the stair she leaned over the rail, fired downward. From below, a howl.
“Mom, I’ve got to find Jared.”
I pushed against the rail, did everything I could to lighten her load. Somehow, we managed another flight. I tried not to see the two charred corpses we passed. The Captain was half a flight above. “The rest are gone, I think.” He rushed down, took my other arm. “Come on, Rob.”
As he gripped me, I stumbled, struck my head against the rail. I cried out, and fell into blessed dark.
Fresh air. Cold. Wind. I looked down, found myself in a patio chair. “Where are we?”
“On the roof.” Arlene. “Sit still.”
“Fire?”
“They say eighteen floors are engulfed, and more near street level.”
I looked down at my hand. It actually trembled. I tried to contain my panic.
Across the roof P.T. argued with his father, tears streaming. I couldn’t hear their conversation.
Above us, a steady stream of helis hovered near from the pad. As fast as one was loaded, it lifted, and another took its place.
All sorts of craft had been pressed into service: helibusses, U.N.A.F. troop carriers, larger private vehicles.
I said, “Dunkirk.”
“What, Rob?”
I shook my head.
Armed U.N.A.F. troops guarded the pad’s walkway.
Below the pad, elevator doors burst open, disgorging a horde of frantic passengers. Immediately, the soldiers took them in hand, guided them to the waiting line. The doors slid shut. I watched the indicator. The elevator descended seventy floors, stopped at ten. No doubt, the lowest floor on which occupants still waited.
I tried to recall briefings from Dad’s tower constituents.
These days, building height could be almost unlimited, they’d said. Stairwells and elevator alcoves were virtually fireproof. Specially shielded cables prevented the puter-controlled elevators from stopping on floors where fire raged.
The buildings were safe.
Safe from all but trannies we’d pushed too far.
“How close is the fire, Arlene?”
“Seventy-five.”
Six floors below; not nearly far enough. I shuddered, watched a rescue heli fill.
Philip pounded his father’s chest. Grimly, Captain Seafort shook his head.
Arlene patted my shoulder. “We’ll be on the third heli. Nick won’t pull rank, or let me mention his name. When I suggested it he asked if I was considering divorce.”
It drew me out of my own misery. Awkwardly, I squeezed her hand. On the pad, a heli lifted. Within seconds, far more quickly than flight regs permitted, another set down.
She was silent a moment. “Did we do wrong, Rob? I’m still not sure.”
“Ask Lord God.” Another elevator emptied its cargo.
“He doesn’t answer.” She looked miserable.
In moments, another heli lifted. Arlene beckoned to a young, frightened soldier. “We’re on the next bird. Mr. Boland’s injured; we’ll have to carry his chair.”
He hesitated, but her tone of command prevailed. “Yes, ma’am.” He shouldered his rifle, called a comrade.
Together, the three glided my chair across the pad.
Nick Seafort’s hand lay on his son’s shoulder. P.T.’s eyes were red.
Luckily, our heli was an army transport with foldable seats. Before anyone else boarded they wedged me, chair and all, into a corner behind the pilot.
A sudden gust of wind; the heli rocked. I clutched my seat, terrified for a moment that the fire was near and the floor of the pad was collapsing.
Yearning to be airborne, I watched the controlled havoc through the heli’s windows. On the rooftop, elevator doors slid open, and a new throng mingled with the waiting refugees.
The Captain helped Arlene climb aboard our heli. She held out her arms for Philip.
Abruptly P.T. twisted free of his father’s grip. He raced across the pad, dashed into the empty elevator. His finger stabbed at the keypad.
“STOP HIM!”
The doors slid shut.
Arlene jumped off the heli. She pulled loose her laser, sighted at the corner of the elevator door.
“NO!”
My scream was more of a croak, and came far too late, as the soldier’s rifle swung in a vicious arc that knocked the laser from her hands and sent it flying over the parapet.
The next moments were a blur. Joeys crowded onto the heli, blocking my view. The Captain pounded desperately on the elevator’s alloy door. Arlene screamed curses at the soldiers. The elevator indicator plummeted.
The Captain ran to a sergeant, pointed at a heli, gesticulating at the street. The sergeant shook his head in refusal.
Th
e indicator light stopped. The elevator was deep in the bowels of the tower, one floor above street level.
Arlene caught sight of the indicator, and became still.
“Ma’am, we’ve got to clear the pad!”
“Go!” She waved us away. “Rob, we’ll find you in hospital.”
The elevator began to rise.
The soldier demanded, “Are you boarding? Is Mr. Seafort—”
“Go!”
At floor ten, it stopped.
“Next!” The soldier waved two more aboard. “Lift off!”
I shook the pilot’s shoulder. “I’m U.N. Assemblyman Robert Boland.” Every word hurt. “After you lift ... clear the pad and hover for a moment.”
Sixteen.
The blades spun lazily. Above the engine the pilot shouted, “Why?”
“I need to see.”
“We’re to proceed to the U.N. compound.”
“It’ll be four minutes. Three.” I ground my nails into his shoulder. “Do it.”
Thirty-two.
We lifted.
In a moment the elevator display was too distant to read. A minute passed. Two.
The pilot twisted. “I’ve got to head out, sir.”
The elevator doors slid open. A score of people rushed out.
P.T. wasn’t among them.
Our heli veered east.
On the roof, Arlene was on her knees, hands rending her hair.
The Captain, diminished to a dot, stood motionless in front of the empty cage.
Chapter 40
PEDRO
HALBER PACED LIKE TIGER, unable to contain hisself. “Any othas come yet?”
Satch shook his head. “Jus’ Easters ’n Mids. An’ Nor’ Broads.”
Halber growled.
“It be early yet. Har’ly past three hour.”
“Dey wanna come, dey’d be here.”
I said tentative, so not to pissoff further, “They got Unies pushin’ ’em hard. And long walk, some of them.”
He waved it away. “I’ll send unnercar, soon as I know dey in Sub.”
I hid smile. Halber was so used to his undercar, he forgot some trannies rather walk than risk jumpin’ into iron beast screamin’ through dark.
Above, somewhere on street, a crash. I said, “Halber, whas happenin’ over?”
He went grim. “Unies everywhere. Nevah seen so many.” For a moment his mood lightened. “Some dead ones, though. Firebombs. Rocks from roof. An’ Unies don’ know sheet ’bout scopin’ out upper flo’s.”
I could imagine the hand-to-hand fighting, as trannies resisted loss of every build.
I wondered how soon havoc of streets would come to Sub. Was marvel we safe so long. First time couple doz Unies with lasers crash down Four Two stair, we’d be fleein’ through tunnels for life.
Halber snapped his fingers at a Sub. “Any news ’bout Raulie?”
“Poke ya head outa Three Four an’ mira. Helis buzzin’ like bees. Top half of towah scorch black. Windows broke, fire lickin’ everywhere. Come look, Halb!”
I said hoarsely, “Whatcha done?”
Halber ignored me. “Uppies puttin’ it out?”
“Don’ look like.” The Sub giggled. “Treyboy come out, arm burn, sayin’ Fisherman try ta dissim inna stair.”
“Fisherman?” Halber came to his feet. “In towah?”
“Burned him up! Jass an’ Kolie was on higha floor. Threw mattress, burnin’ shit down ’til he cremate!”
I recoiled. Lord, let it not be.
“Fo’ sure?”
“Trey say.”
A figure raced in from hall. “Halb! Washhites comin’ unner, nor’ end!”
“Ahh.” For a min, look of satisfaction on Halber’s drawn face. “Send Jubie in west car far as track is fix. Tellim go slow ’case otha trannies walkin’ unner.”
“Gotcha.” The Sub sprinted off.
“Halber.” I waited until he caught eye. “Whas up with tower?”
He spat. “Like ya said, Chang. Time ta bring tribes togetha, pushback Unies. Get ridda towahs.”
“I never said—”
“Burn ’em all. We c’n do it!” His eyes like coals. “Yeah, some our trannies diss each time, but there more of us ’n be towahs! We drive frazzin’ Uppies outa city!”
I shook head. “It ain’ the way.”
“Don’ go glitch, ol’ man; I need ya ta sermon trannies. Dis time they lissen. “Beside ...” He sound like give concession in trayfo. “Was Jared Uppie’s idea. No need ta throw Uppies outa towahs. Burn ’em out, dey go by selves. An’ burnout ain’ only way. He say he c’n knockout towah wid putah!”
“Can he?” I didn’ know if I felt chill, or hope.
Halber shrugged. “Tryin’. If can’t, I venge Krand. Ya know—” He jumped ta feet. “I c’n unnerstan’ Uppie dissin’ trannie, tryin’ ta save self. But Allie said Krandboy wen’ down widoutasoun’. Diss wid his own shiv. Know what it mean?”
“Means he dead.”
“Mean he was knockout first. Jared didn’ have ta dissim.” His mouth was grim.
“Ya sent him ta work fo’ Sub. Gonna dissim afta?”
Long pause. “Ain’ sure,” he said at last. “Might. Krand was Sub.”
Afternoon drew on, slower ’n I could stand. I glad of pills I brought from shop.
Shop. At thought, I rocked, moanin’. Frazzin’ Unies, stay away from shop; it all Pedro got. Widout, no home, no trayfo, no food. No water. Starve.
Don’ matter, old Neut. Goin’ to die soon enough. Anyhow, mira the Subs. Their worl’ crumblin’, dead lyin’ about, othas wish they dead, pleadin’ for end of pain from burn. But Halber fight on.
Young joey like Sub Boss could do that, I tol’ myself. Could put aside hopelessness, while Pedro Telamon Chang wanted to lay head in hands. Young joey focus on venge ’gainst Uppies.
’Xcept, venge wasn’ what we needed. Okay okay, we hadda use some force. Couldn’ bring govermen to negotiate without. Any traytaman could tell that.
Prollem was, kill too many Uppies, destroy too much before negotiate, an’ govermen be too pissoff to care.
Beginning of plan took shape in my head. Unlikely to work. But nothin’ else had better chance.
I turned to Halber. “How soon ’til meet?”
Four, five ’clock we gathered in deep unner tunnel. I surprised at how many tribes sent speakfo.
Washhites, Broads, Easters, Rocks, Mids. Even coupla Eddie’s Mace. Lexes. Huds. Joeys I hardly never seen in years of trayfo. Walls. Chinas. I shook head. Once upon time I’d call it miracle. For a min, wished Pook could be here to see.
History.
Anotha miracle: no one worried ’bout push an’ shove. No one demanded innifo. They was almost too subdued.
Halber led off. “Time ta put aside old tribe grieves. We fightin’ fo’ life.”
A Lex mutter, “How this frazzin’ mess start?”
“Fisherman done it. Midboy brought me his joeykit Peetee. Then Fisherman an’ his bitchbroad called in Unies ta fin’ boy.”
Someone shouted, “Give kit back!”
“Did. He ran safe ta Unies on street. They musta took him home early this morn. You see sojers stoppin’ rumb? If any-thin’, got worse the min Peetee outa trannietown.”
A dozen trannies had dozen ideas why govermen came in such force. I watched Halber, kinda amaze at how he work crowd. Coulda made wonnerful Neut, if he tried. He lettem all talk, brung ’em slowly his way.
When talk slowed he said, “Why it happened don’ matter. Point is, they won’ stop. Right while we talk, sojer trucks are bringin’ Unies uptown ta parkside. An’ who can’t figga why?”
“Dey crashin’ down whole builds!” A Washhite. “Don’ matta who inside.”
“Trapped twenny our Huds in sewer tunnel headin ta ol’ bridge. Dissed em all.”
“Dissed my bitchbroad!” An Easter, his voice hurtin’. “While she hide my kit!”
Murmurs of sympathy, outrage.
Ha
lber saw his moment. “Time fo’ rumb. All out rumb!”
“Yo!” Hoots, cheers, applause.
A Mid, cautious. “Too many Unies fo’ us, Sub.”
“Then we become too many fo’ them.”
“How?”
“Alla tribes gonna fight same place at once.”
It gave them pause. “Like Uppie army?”
Halber grinned. “Since when trannies go Uppie? Rumb our way.”
A roar of laughter, that loosened tension.
“And we got new ways. Towah burnin’, that be us Subs. We got few lasers now, from they dead. That mean we c’n diss sojers an’ get more.”
Cheers.
A Nor’ Broad said, “But they keep attackin’, and when they do, we got no place ta run.”
“That gonna change.” Halber raised his hand ’til silence. “Dozen lifetimes ya feared Subs, an’ right so. Today ...” He paused. “We open Sub.”
I felt skin prickle. Wasn’t small thing he say. Was givin’ Sub turf to all trannies.
An’ they knew it.
They looked about, some with awe. “Unnercars too?”
“Long as Valdez permas last.” Halber turned to me. “Changman, ya got more in shop?”
“Buncha. But no way to get.”
“Broads, Three Four Mids, ya help Chang ta shop?”
“Yo!” A shout, unanimous.
I got to feet, heart givin’ warnin’ pound.
It was my time.
“Will do,” I said, tryin’ not to think of lost trayfo. Didn’ matta, I reminded self. “Soon as ya help me south. But trannies gotta do more ’n rumb Unies an’ burn towahs.”
Easter said, “Can’ even do that much, Chang. What else ya wan’?”
Ha. Thank you, joey.
“Negotiate,” I said, knowin’ word was above most of them. “Trayfo.”
Mutters of discontent. Stares of confusion. “Changman wants ta give Uppies cansa!”
I join general laugh. “Naw. Negotiate, one army ta ’notha!” I explain. “Send speakfo to tell ’em us trannies actin’ togetha. Say we stop rumb when they pullback. We wan’ truce, decent trannie life, water flowin’ proper.”
Absolute silence, like they stun.
Then the babble began, and grew. For few min, couldn’t hear self think. Some joeys argue so vehement I worried I started rumb in mid a Sub.
Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5) Page 35
