Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  I flicked channels, keyed on the sound, “—unlikely the unrest will spread further. Illinois officials assure tourists the Chicago area is completely quiet, that no vandalism or—”

  “—stand by for an extraordinary interview with former SecGen—”

  “Marnie, what’s your view from the Trade Center?”

  “Still hazy, Will, although authorities assure us the few remaining fires are under control. Within hours they expect—”

  Goofjuice. Why did they lie? Couldn’t they stomach what they were doing to the trannies?

  For that matter, why conceal the truth? Nobody could interfere with the Unies. The government—Lord God’s Government, as our teachers made us say—was all-powerful. The one problem with a world government is that there was nowhere to escape, no place to rally resistance. Perhaps that was why so many emigrated to the colonies.

  I felt a surge of anger, and hauled out the razor. I smashed it on the edge of the console, exposing the blade. I’d shown them all. They thought I was a nobody, but I’d brought them down. I touched the razor to my forearm, pricked a drop of blood. Now I’d show them how little I cared for their lying world.

  What good was my new wealth? Our Uppie life was despicable. Yet, I’d beaten them. I’d flaunt my prosperity in their faces. A month, two, no more, and it would be safe to begin cautious transfers from my accounts. In the meantime, any bank would honor one of the new Terrex cards waiting for me at General Delivery. Ah, the magic of our puter age.

  Gloating, I laid my head on the console and began to weep.

  An hour passed, and I couldn’t stop.

  Chapter 58

  POOK

  I RAN LIKE MONSTA chasin’, down centa a track. Okay, okay, sub tunnels ain’ scare when ya used to ’em, even like now when I too stupe ta grab Valdez perma, gotta run in dark. They ain’ no monsta, Pook. Cool jets.

  Behin’, wall collapse wid sudden boom, an’ I shriek. I clutch caller tight, wonda where ta fin’ grate like Jared Uppie say.

  Final, I run myself outa breath, gotta stop no matta what.

  I lean ’gainst wall, pantin’, hopin’ Unie lasers don’ stomp roof where I stand.

  I hear voices. While back—few days, only—if hear Sub joeys in dark, I figga I be diss, ’cause Subs gonna skin me fo’ sure. Dat be when I jus’ a Mid, an’ Changman take me down ta tunnel.

  My breath come like rasp a heli inna nigh’. I so dry I c’n hardly swallow. I rememba fuss ol’ Chang make ’bout water. Somehow, pipes don’ seem ta matta now. Nothin’ do.

  Light come on sudden. I squawk. Someone snicker. I peer through light. “Who?”

  “Me, Pook.”

  Almos’, I sob wid relief. Voice be Raulie’s. I wanna jump in his arms like joeykit. I snarl, “Where ya been, ya frazzin’ turd? Look all ova fo’ ya.”

  “Yah, sure.” Ligh’ swing as he come near. “Who witcha?”

  “No one. Who ya bring yaself?”

  He shrug, like embarrass. “Happen too fas’.”

  “Where’s Halb?” we ask each other in same sec.

  “Sheet.” Raulie turn away, frustrate. “Thought you was his shadow, joey.”

  I get sudden realize. “You wanna be dat, Raulie.”

  Always stupe ta goad a Sub. His han’ fly ta shiv. But rage only las’ a sec; he sigh, spit on track. “So? Ain’ gonna challenge him, noway. But what if, someday?”

  I say, meanin’ it, “Ya make good Sub Boss, Raulie. Ain’ ’fraid a nothin’.”

  “’Xcept lasers.” He shudder. “Allatime I thought, Subs get holda lasers, no one stan’ in our way. Not Parkas, not Easters, not even Uppies. But I seen so many get diss, las’ few days. Burnin’, shriekin’, rollin’ in agony.” He wave it away, like scaredream. “Where ya think we oughta go?”

  “Jared Uppie say stay near grate, run out if we gotta.”

  “Fah.” Again he spit. “Street ain’ safe neitha.”

  I point out, “Unie sojers gone away. Even helis, mos’ly.”

  “Who say they won’ be back soon as ya poke out head?”

  “Watcha wanna do, den?”

  He think. “Go back.”

  “Ta Four Two? Ya glitch?”

  “Don’ hear no more roof crash.”

  I lissen. Maybe it true, but my skin go cold thinkin’ ’bout it. Was sittin in main lair, eatin’ col’ stew leftova, when Sub joeys race in screamin’, stair walls collapse behin’ ’em. I look up jus’ as big crack split roof and chunks fall. I see one crunch bitchbroad’s head. Nex’ I know I flyin’ down track.

  “C’mon.” Raulie start off, ’fore I ansa. Prong him, I’d say, ’xcept he take ligh’ wid ’im. Allasudden bein’ in dark don’ feel so good.

  I trot ’longside, tryin’ not ta feel like baby joeykit. “Halb prolly be diss,” I say gloomy.

  Raulie growl, like keep ya distance, Midboy.

  I wunner why he still thinka me as Mid, den realize I don’ know what he think.

  I ain’ no Mid, thas fo’ sure. Got idea a bein’ Sub, kinda, but seem like ain’ gonna be no Subs. Jus’ refugee, hidin’ in broke tunnels ’til Unies gas ’em.

  We trudge down track, pass few Subs, coughin’ from dus’. Raulie stop an’ talk wid ’em ’fore goin’ on.

  Waitin’, I think ’bout it all, kinda amaze. Coupla week back I hidin’ in Chang’s shop, scared a Karlo’s pissoff. Den I find Jared, my capture. Get my own lair, trayfo his boots so many cansa I couldn’ har’ly carry.

  Raulie move on, an’ I walk ’long.

  Wish I could talk ta Changman.

  How I know Uppie be so much trouble, Mista Chang? Don’ looka me so sorrow, shakin’ head. Weren’ my faul’.

  How I know I start a frazzin’ war?

  I stumble, hang on Raulie’s arm. He snort a laugh, but don’ make me leggo.

  Dunno why I wanna cry. Subs ain’ nothin’ ta me, no more ’n Uppies or Washhites. Chang an’ Halber wrong; trannies ain’ one tribe. Dey many, each wid its own want an’ demand.

  Still, when I think ’bout bodies in Hunnert Ten staysh, I wanna spit up stew. Ain’ right, dissin’ joeys dat way. Chris’, I spose it ain’ so good dissin’ no one, don’ matta what tribe, even if I be in none.

  Sheet. Be nice ta sit in warm tribe lair, lissen ta stories ’fore settlin’ ta bed.

  But in end, guess we all our own tribe, inside.

  Anyway, how I know Uppies gonna come lookin’ fo’ Jared? Steada fightin’ Peetee in front a Swee, what if I’d a help joeykit fin’ his frien’? Maybe he give me trayfo even betta ’n I get from Chang. An’ maybe his Fisherman Fath don’ come down ta street like, shinin’ knigh’ outa cassel, makin’ Subs all confuse.

  “Ya alrigh’, Pook?”

  I realize I make soun’, almos’ like sob. “Yah.”

  See, Mista Chang, one thing lead ta ’notha. I ever see ya again, I try ta ’xplain: ya can’ do nothin’ widout consequent. Jared lead ta Peetee. Peetee lead ta Fisherman. Fisherman lead ta Unies. An’ I lead Halb ta Jared, an’ his hackin’ gets Uppies pissoff, which turn rumb ta war.

  I plod ’long track, holdin’ Raulie’s arm, sick inside. Din’ mean fo’ worl’ ta end, Mista Chang. Swear.

  “Look.” Raulie stop short. Somethin’ move in shadows where tunnel meet staysh.

  Automatic, I pull shiv. So do he. I whispa, “Why doncha use laser?”

  He grimace. “Empty. Lost my recharge, runnin’ from Unie patrol.”

  We ’pproach slow, but it only a few Subs pickin’ ova rubble. Dey as scare as we, seein’ us ’merge from track.

  Raulie ask, “Seen Halb?”

  Bitchgirl Allie’s size say, “He by lair usetabe.”

  Raulie move eager, an’ I hurry ta stay wid.

  One side a cave ain’ damage. Trannies from all tribes sittin’ an’ lyin’ near. Some groanin’, othas quiet. Coupla Sub joeys back slowly outa lair, carryin’ injure. Blood ooze from his head, but he hold arm a helper, talkin’.

  I stoop by Easter who don’ loo
k too daze. “See Halber?”

  He point ta lair.

  Hallway full a fallen rock; I pick my way ’cross, but I gotta crawl in. I scramble through, unease. Ain’ righ’ ta live unnergroun’, ’gardless what Subs say. I get ta feet, cough in haze.

  Halber’s ghost loom outa dust. White face, white threads, red eyes.

  “Jeez God!” I pedal back from ghos’, slam inta wall. “Lemme ’lone!”

  “Whassamatta you?” Where he wipe face wid arm, normal skin show. “Look what they done ta lair.” He flick finga at bodies stickin’ outa rubble.

  I weak wid relief. “C’mon Halb, les’ get outa.”

  “Gotta dig.”

  Togetha, we toss broken rock ’side, pullin’ out dead. Eventual, Raulie roun’ up more Subs ta help.

  Halber stretch his back. “Looka lair, Pook.” His voice forlorn. “Mira.”

  “Can’ help it, Halb.” I try ta soun’ pacify.

  “You couldn’, maybe.” Eyes glower, he stab at self wid thumb. “I could.” He sit on pile a rock, rub face. “Didn’ think.”

  I wait, wonnerin’.

  He take out caller, grimace wid disgus’. “Us callin’ stayshes backanforth like some kinda trannie army. Fah.”

  “It work for while,” I remin’ him. “Look whatcha done at Fourteen Square. Or blowin’ wall.”

  He grunt. “Yah.” Get up, wander ta passage, crawl through.” When I catch up he bendin’ near hurt Sub, tearin’ dirty piece a shirt ta wrap leg. He straighten sudden. “Ya hear ’em?”

  I don’ hear nothin, ’xcept few groans. “Who, Halb?”

  “Cancha hear joeys screamin’, got hurt fightin’ sojers firs’ day?” ’Gain, he rub face. “Don’ think they’ll ever stop. Laser burns hurt so frazzin’ bad ...” His voice catch. “Never had no medcine, Pook. Coupla medkit Chang had long gone. Nothin’ help, ’xcept put ’em outa misery.”

  I say gentle, “Ain’ no screamin’ now.”

  He thunder, “I couldn’ help my Sub!” He kick broken wall. “Why I start a war, if couldn’ protec’ ’em?”

  “Halb, wasn’ you who start—”

  “Mira!” He grab my neck, twis’ me ta face broken lair. “See what we done?”

  Raulie look apprehense, but don’ interfere.

  “Was me made Subs rumb wid Parkas. Was me got Fisherman involve, me what got him pissoff by threatenin’ ta diss his joey.” Halb glare, like darin’ me ta ansa.

  He add, “Was me sent Jared ta frazzin’ towah, wasn’ it? Cause I wanted ta pissoff Uppies. Well, I did, an’ look!”

  “Halb—”

  “Was me tol’ Raulie ta blow seawall!”

  I keep shut, tryin’ not make Halb anger. He drag me ’cross cave ta blocked stair. “See what they done ta Four Two lair? Time was no one dare mess wid Sub, no trannie, not even Uppie peek downstair for ’fraid a gettin’ skin.”

  I grope fo’ somethin’ ta say, but no need. He lemme go. I rub neck.

  “C’mon.” He wanda through side tunnel ’til we reach far stair. Buncha rubble fall in, but left side a stairwell still open. Dim light show through; mus’ be moon.

  Halfway up, he stop, survey his cavern. His grim eyes rove from rows a wound trannies, ta broke-up lair. “Frazzin’ Unies!” He pound wall. “Why’d ya bust my Sub?” He rush up stair, vanish inna nigh’.

  Aghas’, Raulie an’ I stare at each otha, run afta.

  Top a stair, I recoil.

  Street like nothin I eva seen.

  Usetabe, ya couldn’ see Forty Street towahs from close ’cause a ol’ broken builds. Now hardly nothin’ lef’ ta block view. Franjee Towah’s harsh lights gleam, from bottom at rubble street up ta smoky sky. “Streets ours, trannie,” dey say. “Ours!”

  Beyond, otha steel towahs loom. Few blocks south, sky lit wid smoke an’ fire.

  Halber plant self in mid a Four Two. “See what dey did? Bust down alla builds roun’ towah, but so careful dey don’ even touch it.” He shake fist at sliver a moon. “Frazzin’ Uppies!” His roar echo off broken wall. “Think ya own da worl’!” He pull out laser, aim at towah, shoot ’til beeps ask why botha. Dunno if he hurt it any.

  “Halb, get outa road!” I ’xpect Unie heli ta loom ova, lasers snappin’.

  “Why?”

  “Fo’ safe.”

  He cry, “Doncha unnerstan? Ain’ no safe!” He start down middle a road, like gonna stroll ta Gran’ cent wid sack a innifo fo’ passby.

  “Halb, don’,” Raulie say plaintive. “Need ya.”

  “Whyfo?” Halber don’ stop.

  Cautious, I catch upta. “Hey, Halb.” I soun’ like I once hear Bigsis talk ta glitchkid. “C’mon home ta Sub.”

  He scream, “Ain’ no Sub!” He look fo’ rock, haul out caller instead, fling it at my head. I flinch; it bounce off shoulda, sting hard. “Sub gone, Pookboy. Tribe gone. Trannies gone!”

  “Not all. Not yet.” I scramble fo’ caller. “C’mon.” Look past him. Dust motes glow red in beam a ligh’ from high. “Oh jeez! Run!”

  Slow, majestic towah of ligh’ move down street, roilin’ pave as it go. Behind, smoke, steam, sparks as somethin’ burn.

  “GODDAMN FRAZZIN’ UPPIES!” Halber grab rock, throw it at beam. It pass through, bouncin’. Watchin’, he stick hands on hips, spit his contempt.

  “Run, both a yas!” Raulie’s scream bring me ta senses. I tug at Halber, but he plant like rock. I dash ta stair, arms an’ legs pumpin’. I careen inta Raulie, bounce off. Togetha, under roof, we turn ta watch.

  “C’MON, HALB!” I frantic with frustrate. “Save yaself! Go!”

  Halb stand brave. Towah a ligh’ bear down on him like unnercar in nigh’.

  Sudden, he throw up han’s, sprint full speed towar’ sidewalk. For a sec I think he gonna make it, but ligh’ pass ova an he go down. I flinch fo’ his scream, but not a soun’. None.

  Pavemen’ spit up sizzlin’ rock as ligh’ pass stair. I hurl myself ta bottom. Raulie tumble afta. Ovahead, rumble shake sub.

  When roar fade at las’, we creep up broke stair.

  Halber gone, no sign. Like never live.

  ’Xcept I rememba him. Rememba his die. Rememba his fierce.’

  Rememba his defy.

  Chapter 59

  ROBERT

  “I CONFIRM COORDINATES AS follows.” Jeff Thorne read off a series of figures.

  I watched over his shoulder. “Where’s that?”

  He fiddled with his display. “Forty-second.”

  “Coordinates acknowledged.” General Ruben sounded exhausted. “I need sleep. We’ve been at it what, eighteen hours?”

  “Sign off ’til morning, Ernst.”

  “That’s not possible. SecGen Kahn wants it done. I’ll have Major Groves spell me for a while.”

  “For security, I’d rather—”

  “For Lord’s sake, I’ll keep him on line with us until you’re familiar with his voice.”

  I waited for Thorne to object, but he said only, “Very well.”

  The General said, “I want this over with as much as you.”

  “I doubt it.” They rang off. Thorne immediately called below to laser control, fed them the coordinates with painstaking care. When he was done, he leaned back, eyes on the city map overhead.

  “Ernst gave you an excuse to delay,” I said. “Why didn’t you take it?”

  His eyes met mine. “Because my Commander in Chief wants us to proceed.” His face showed nothing.

  “I don’t understand you.” Wearily, I sought a seat. “Why did you betray Seafort?”

  “Rob, he’d have destroyed himself. For his own good I took him out of harm’s way.”

  “He’ll never forgive you.”

  “I don’t need his forgiveness.” Thorne’s tone was sharp.

  “I do.” I didn’t know why I said it. Exhaustion, perhaps.

  “It’s a bloody mess. Get some sleep.”

  I stared dully at the map. “If I leave this God-damned place I’ll never come back.” />
  Thorne said quietly, “What is it, Rob?”

  My hand took in everything, and the lasers below.

  He said, “It’s my doing. You’re just an observer.”

  “Hardly.” My ears still rang with the Captain’s plea. “You can’t carry out cold-blooded murder. I beseech you.”

  “Can’t I, though?”

  “What?” The Admiral looked startled, and I realized I’d spoken aloud.

  “Nothing.” I sat. “What happens next?”

  “I assume Ruben will concentrate on midtown. As many blocks as we’ve blasted, there’s far more still standing.”

  “Must it all go?”

  “That’s not my decision.”

  “As Nick said, it should be.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that why Richard put you on his task force? To be his voice of conscience?”

  “Dad doesn’t need one. He’s a just man.”

  “Does he have doubts?”

  “I don’t think so. Perhaps. He—I don’t know.”

  A minute’s silence.

  I said, “Is there a caller in that alcove? I’m calling home.”

  “It’s rather late, eastern time.”

  “Then I’ll wake him.” I stalked to the alcove.

  A few moments later, Dad and I were joined on audio/video. Tousled, he sat on the edge of his bed. “Robbie, four in the morning is no time for a policy review.”

  “Kahn’s going too far.”

  “You’re right. What of it?”

  “Lives are being lost.”

  “Lives are always lost, somewhere. It’s tragic, but our casualties aren’t a hundredth of what the fish cost us, and we didn’t flinch from them.”

  “It’s not the same, Dad. This is preventable!”

  “Not anymore.” He squinted into the screen. “Robbie, you look like hell. You should have stayed in the hospital another—”

  “Prong the hospital!” I lowered my voice; I’d never persuade Dad by sounding like a spoiled child, like Jared Tenere. Thinking of Adam only made me more determined. “What if there’s a sympathy backlash? Shouldn’t you be the Senator who—”

  Dad said sharply, “I won’t be the Senator who backstabbed the SecGen during a war!” He put up a hand to stay my rejoinder. “Robbie, in a crisis both parties pull together, or appear as if they do. To criticize Kahn in public, especially after promising our support ...” He shook his head. “Since when must I teach you about appearances? Voters would remember me as a whiner, a carper who threw obstacles in the path of the noble SecGen while he—”