The Complete LaNague

by F. Paul Wilson

  "M.A. Central is closing. Unless you work here, you must exit."

  Lum said, "The Pyramid never closes!"

  "Tonight it does," said the officer. "Move!"

  Lum showed him his Central Data i-d, but since I had nothing like that, I had to go. Fine with me. Suddenly came a lot of yelling from the main floor. We ran to see.

  The yellowjackets were clearing the urchins from the lower levels, and they weren't being gentle about it.

  Lum's face was grim. "I'm going back up to get my recorder. I want some close-ups of this!"

  "What for?" None of this would ever get on the official datastream. "You a graffiti journalist on the side?"

  "Not yet," he said, and ran off.

  13.

  Spent much of the night in the front room of Elmero's, whiffing with the crowd. Almost all the regulars were there.

  Minn had to hustle to keep up with demand, and she didn't like that. Wasn't used to being busy.

  Doc was around but he was acting weird. Kept asking questions about Jean's old greencard, like did I ever have it and what did I do with it. Told him all I knew: Had it for a while, then gave it back to her, and nothing more. The answer seemed to delight him. Must have asked me two or three times.

  Everybody was talking about the urchins down at the Pyramid and, Elmero's clientele being the sort it was, laughing about how the kids had glitched a few sectors of officialdom today. Caused a bit of a stir myself when I told how the yellowjackets had booted the kids out as I was leaving. Everyone was shocked that M.A. Central had shut down its public areas, even for a few minutes.

  And everyone was keeping half an eye on the datastream playing in the life-sized chamber in the corner. No hologames, no drama or comedy tonight – just the Newsfaces and everyone waiting for a graffiti capsule on the urchins.

  "Hey, there's Four!" I said as the familiar newsface rotated into view. Hoped maybe he'd slip in something about the urchins.

  "Listen to this guy."

  Newsface Four's square-jawed, blond-haired, straight-nosed visage, which couldn't have looked less like Arrel Lum, stared out of the chamber at us in silence for a moment, then began to speak in his resonant baritone.

  "The Eastern megalops' human garbage backwashed into the lower levels of Megalops Authority Central this morning. Here's how it looked."

  Newsface Four dissolved into a panoramic view of today's mob scene at M.A. Central.

  "The children you see here," he said in voice-over, "are what we call urchins. In case you've had any doubts about their existence, let this vid dispel them. This is the real thing. Those are real children, and they were all over M.A. Central today.

  "Look closely. Some of them might be your nieces and nephews. One of them could be your grandchild. You can't be sure can you? Of course, there are some of you watching who may be looking at your own child. My heart breaks for you."

  "Core!" Minn shouted from behind the bar. "He's showing urchins on the datastream! Really showing them!"

  "It's got to be graffiti!" said someone else.

  "It's not! It's Newsface Four!" another voice cried.

  Recognized Doc's voice from the other side of the room. "If it's not graffiti, that means this is going out system-wide! The whole dregging world is seeing it!"

  The whole dregging world... what a thought!

  "Somebody's ass is going to be shot to the South Pole for this!" Minn said with her usual delicacy.

  Thought of Arrel Lum – he was saying good-bye to his career and putting his whole life on the line with this move.

  "But what do these children want?" said Lum in his Newsface Four voice. "Why did they come to M.A. Central?"

  The chamber filled with one earnest little face after another, each chanting a single word. The sound filled the barroom:

  "…WEN-DEE! WEN-DEE! WEN-DEE..."

  "And who is this Wendy?" he said as the faces continued to roll through the chamber. "This reporter has learned that she is a young woman who has been living with the various urchingangs in the central area of the Eastern Megalops, reading to them and teaching them to read, cooking for them and teaching them to cook, tucking them in at night. Mothering them, you might say."

  He paused and more faces crowded into the chamber.

  "They want their mother!"

  Jean's face suddenly filled the chamber. Her eyes had a hollow, hunted look. She looked frightened. Newsface Four's words hit the room like cannon shots.

  "And here she is. Real name: Jean Harlow-c. A Dydeetown clone. Yes, a clone!" A sterile underperson. Down in the tunnels. Taking care of our kids! The ones we cast off, whose existence we were forced by inhumane laws to leave to chance.

  "And what is her fate?"

  The holo cut to a high angle longshot of Jean sitting before Chief Administrator Brode. She looked small and frail while he looked huge and imposing.

  "This was recorded earlier today."

  Brode: And just what was your plan for these urchins?

  Jean: No plan, really. They needed me and I needed them. That was all.

  Brode: Organizing them for your own purposes? Disruption of official business – wasn't that part of your plan?

  Jean: I told you, I had no –

  Brode: I don't believe you! Truth her!

  There were some quick cuts showing her being dosed and then we were back to the two-shot.

  Brode: Now. What were your plans for the urchingangs?

  Jean: Well, I...I know it sounds stupid, but I wanted to find a way to get some of them to the Outworlds.

  Brode's derisive laugh sounded uncomfortably like mine when she had told me that.

  Brode: The Outworlds! You little idiot! What were you thinking of?

  Jean: I was thinking of sunshine and fresh air and futures for them. The Outworlds need able bodies. They'd be treated as Realpeople there. No more living in sewers and tunnels.

  The barroom was dead silent as Brode paused and looked around at his aides who were out of the frame. Finally, he spoke.

  Brode: You know you're scheduled for memwipe first thing tomorrow, don't you?

  Heard sharp intakes of breath nearby. Doc had moved up beside me. His jaw was set.

  In the chamber, Jean only nodded sadly.

  Jean: I know. And after that, I won't remember any of the kids. I'll be working Dydeetown again for Ned Spinner. I won't be any good to them anymore. But Mr. Brode, sir – She looked up at him here and her big blue eyes shone in the harsh light of the interrogation room. – Do you think you could do something for them? You're powerful. Can't you help them get a fresh start someplace? I won't be able to.

  Heard a loud sniff from behind the bar. There was Minn, wiping her eyes. Never thought there was a single tear in her whole body. She shot me a Don't-look-at-me glare, so I turned away. Looked around. Saw Doc and a few of the regulars puddling up. Not all, of course, or even most. This was a tough room to play. But you had to believe Jean – she was on Truth.

  For a heartbeat or two, even Brode looked moved. Then his features hardened.

  Brode: That's impossible. We –

  The vid skewed, twisted, turned to confetti, then Newsface Seven appeared. Her oval, eyebrowless face smiled reassuringly.

  "We are experiencing technical difficulties–”

  Her face dissolved into confetti and the chamber filled with scenes of the urchins' eviction by the M.A.'s none-too-gentle yellowjackets. Four's voice-over sounded strained:

  "(garbled) – let me finish! This was how they treated the kids today! Tomorrow might be worse! Do something about Wendy! Call your–”

  More confetti, then Newsface Seven again, her expression bland.

  "There now. All difficulties have been cleared. This is Datastream Host Seven. On with the news..."

  We waited to see if Four would get back onstream, but apparently he had been shut down for the night. For good.

  Pretty clear that as a Newsface, Four was dead. They'd have to generate a new face to replace him
. That was easy. Four was just a program.

  But what about Lum? Arrel Lum was real. What were they going to do to him?

  "Since when did Four turn into an ooze?" said someone near the center of the room. Looked and saw it was Greg Hallo. Nice guy, but he tended to overdo the vape-ka.

  "Yeah," said somebody else. "What's he starting trouble for?"

  "Maybe he thinks we'll vote for clones' rights on the next referendum," someone yelled.

  There was laughter, but not much.

  "I find nothing funny in the prospect of a beautiful woman being memwiped," Doc said.

  "Not a woman, Doc," said Hallo. "A clone."

  Doc was getting hot. "One who's done more for urchins than any Realpeople I know!"

  "Urches are urches, clones are clones," Hallo said. "That's the way it was, that's the way it is, that's the way it's gonna be. We don't need the boat rocked."

  Hallo spoke for a lot of people, in and out of Elmero's.

  "We know you're an old oozer, Doc," somebody yelled, "but we love you anyway!"

  The room broke up into arguing factions. Wasn't interested in what they had to say, so I left.

  Tubed home. B.B. wasn't there, only Ignatz. Was tired, lonely, and down. Could've used a button real bad now. But even that avenue of release was closed to me. Felt like a dissociator grenade about to explode and I didn't know why.

  Flopped on the bed and listened to the fuze ticking in my head.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  14.

  Was already awake when the doorbuzzer sounded. Watching a bit of graffiti on the datastream. A simple piece: Jean's face and a voiceover: "A modern Joan of Arc? Don't let it happen!"

  Turned and through the door I saw two impatient looking yellowjackets. My stomach did a free-fall drop.

  "Administrator Brode wants to see you immediately," the bigger one said as soon as the door slid open.

  "And a good morning to you, too," I said. Was still in the jump I'd worn all yesterday. "Mind if I change?"

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the hall.

  " 'Immediately' means just that."

  Didn't fight them. No percentage in that. We chuted straight to the roof and flitted for the Pyramid at top speed in the official lane. Brode really did want me there fast.

  The Pyramid gleamed golden in the morning sun. As we banked toward one of the landing decks, I saw the crowd.

  The entire plaza and all visible spaces around the structure were filled with people. Filled. There didn't seem to be room to breath down there. The crowd trailed off into the dark tunnel-like feeder streets. Looked like a million sugar ants around a giant honeycomb.

  "Core!" said one of the yellowjackets. "There's even more than before!"

  Saw the look of concern pass between them. They were worried. They'd been trained in crowd control but I was sure neither of them had ever seen anything like this. Doubt if anyone on Earth had.

  "They can't all be urchins," I said.The shorter yellowjacket, the male, turned to me. "It started off all urchins – they're the ones crowded around the entrance. We've kept them out of the complex. But the largest part of the crowd is all adult Realpeople."

  Couldn't believe my eyes and ears. "Realpeople? Why?"

  "A show of support, I guess. We anticipated a few oozer groups showing up, and maybe some independents. But nobody figured on anything like this!"

  "Maybe you should have," I said, but didn't explain.

  Had figured in a flash why there were so many Realpeople down there. It was geometric. Every urchin had a couple of parents and a legal sibling or two. And two or four or more aunts and uncles and grandfolks to boot. You get all those guilty-feeling people, and maybe a few of their friends and neighbors along for the fun of it, coming down to the M.A. Central Pyramid to make sure the little kids didn't get bullied like they did on the vid last night, and you've got yourself a crowd of astronomical proportions.

  After we landed on the topmost flitter platform, the doors popped open, and that was when the noise hit. Even way up here you could hear it. Eerie. A deep, almost subliminal sound, coming to you not just through your ears, but through your skin and the soles of your feet as well. If an angry, stormy ocean could talk, it would sound like that crowd.

  "WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE!"

  They hustled me inside, down a chute, through some halls until I was deposited in a bare room where Administrator Brode waited. His mouth was set in a grim line. He looked tired. We were alone except for one beefy aide by the door. In a far corner, the datastream was playing.

  "Over here," he said, motioning me to his side.

  He deopaqued the wall and there we were, looking down on the roiling mob in the plaza below.

  "Surprised you haven't slimed them," I said.

  "Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. But there are too many Realpeople, some of them no doubt influential. We can't risk any of them getting smothered."

  Could see what he meant. Slime could produce hilarious results. Seen vids of some of the old food riots when it was sprayed on the mobs. The silicone emulsion allows for zero traction. Once it gets on you or on the street, you are down. You can't stand, can't hold onto your neighbor, can't even kneel. Really funny. But in a crowd like the one in Pyramid Plaza, some folks were bound to get smothered.

  "I want you to send them home," he said to me.

  Couldn't help laughing. "Of course! Just say when!"

  "Now. Immediately."

  He wasn't joking.

  "Not too much disrespect intended, sir, but have you busted up a few synapses since yesterday?"

  He was about to answer but stopped and stared past me at the datastream. Looked myself and saw a close-up Jean's face as she spoke to Brode – a graffiti rerun of a piece of Newsface Four's unauthorized transmission. Her voice came on loud:

  "…Do you think you could do something for them? You're powerful. Can't you help them get a fresh start someplace? I won't be able to."

  And then the voiceover: "Madonna of the Tunnels, pray for us!"

  It replayed immediately – a graffiti loop.

  Brode turned to his aide and screamed, "Get her off there! Now!"

  The aide said something into his throat mike. The loop disappeared in the middle of its third play.

  Brode again trained his gaze on the crowd below. "As I was saying, I know you can do it. I saw yesterday's vid from the lower level. For a while there they were chanting your name instead of hers. You can get them chanting your name again. And then tell them their dear clone will be released from the complex as soon as they are completely dispersed."

  Bit my lip to dispell the sudden light feeling that swept over me. Wasn't buying it yet.

  "That true?"

  He finally pulled himself away from the window and looked at me. His eyes were flat and cold.

  "Of course it is."

  "She'll be free to go?"

  "In a way."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "She'll be free to go with her owner."

  Jean back with Spinner – the sudden rage that ripped through me was barely controllable. If he hadn't been Regional Administrator...

  "You think that's going to end this? It won't!"

  "Oh, but it will. They'll come to her but she won't know them, won't know who or what they're talking about. There will be a few more rumbles, and then it will be over. Things will be back the way they used to be."

  "She gets memwiped and you'll never hear the end of it!"

  "That was a judicial decision. It's out of my hands."

  "What about executive clemency or reprieve or some such dregging garbage!"

  He turned back to the window. "It's a little too late for any of that now."

  Just stood there staring at him, feeling a wind as cold and dark as deep space howl through the hollows of my heart. The air seemed thick. Couldn't draw it through my constricted throat. Gravity doubled, tripled. Stumbled to the nearest chair and
sat there trying to breath.

  Because when I caught my breath, I was going to put Brode through that window.

  The single aide in the room with us must have been trained in reading postures. Big guy. He walked over and stood half way between Brode and me.

  "Want to see her."

  "Impossible. You know as well as I do that memwipe subjects are comatose for hours after the procedure, and disoriented for weeks."

  There was silence for what seemed like a long time. My own mind felt like it had been wiped.

  Finally Brode said,"Well? Will you speak to them?"

  "You must be out of your dregging mind! I'll tell them to dismantle this place panel by panel, block by block!"

  He turned to me. A smug look on his face.

  "Will you? I don't think so. You seem to have a good thing going for you, Mr. Dreyer. Not much of a life to most people, but you seem to be enjoying it. You've got your hidden stash of gold, you've got your roguey friends such as the owner of that seedy tavern, your sometime roommate urchin, and that physician with the suspended license." The smiled thinly. "Just the kind of acquaintances I'd expect of a former buttonhead."

  Didn't blink. Didn't even flinch. Too mad now to let any kind of insult get to me. But it was clear he'd had a deep probe done on my life.

  "I can change your pitiful life, Mr. Dreyer. I can reopen the investigation into the deaths of those two NeuroNex employees who were sliced into pieces in your compartment. Your urchin friend was involved in that, wasn't he? I can shut down that tavern and send its owner to the South Pole for so many offenses he'll never see the sun at zenith again. I can see to it that your doctor friend's license is permanently revoked. I can make you wish you'd never been born, Mr. Dreyer."

  "Don't count on it. Already been there and back."

  "I can make your friends wish the same thing."

  We stayed silent for a while, glaring at each other. We both knew I was going to lose. He was threatening Elmero and Doc and B.B. Couldn't take them down with me.

  But something wasn't right here. Didn't know what it was, but sensed other players in this game. Had an idea.

  "Let me talk to Lum."

  "Lum?" he said, fury etching lines in his face. "Lum? He's in detention, awaiting sentencing – and it will be an interminable sentence if I have anything to say about it! He can't help you."