"Today we travel the slow way," Koberg said as they moved off. "There's normally a fast-transit tube system into the city, but it's not running."
"Hell, what do you mean, `normally'?" Lebansky challenged. "The darn things are never running. This is normal."
"Just when this side of the city's going to be packed for a big rally that's going on today," Koberg said. "Purple-spiral loonies. Ever hear of them?"
"A little," Hunt said.
"You'll see plenty of 'em today," Lebansky promised.
Jevlen had been developed as the home world of the Jevlenese within the Thurien civilization, and as such its layout reflected a human worldview rather than anything predominantly alien. Although Ganymean influence was inevitable, the geometry and architecture conformed to more familiar notions of style and consistency—which came as a relief to those who, after seeing the Vishnu, had prepared themselves for worse.
The metropolis was higher than anything that contemporary Earth had to offer, rising in the center to a monolithic fusion of towers, ramps, terraces, and bridges that dwarfed anything from home in scale and breathtaking concept; but the avenues passing amid the flyovers and disappearing into the central zone at various levels remained avenues, the levels remained levels, "up" meant the same thing everywhere, and surface and line in all directions extrapolated with reassuring predictability.
At any rate, those were the qualities inherent in the city's fixed, unchanging aspect: the imprint of its origin, stamped in the same way that the underlying rock strata impart fundamental character and form to a landscape. But the promise that had been written into the soaring lines and broad vistas was just an empty voice echoing from long ago. The vision of those who had conceived the city had not been fulfilled.
Everywhere had the same look of weariness and shabbiness, the signs of neglect and disrepair that Hunt and Gina had seen from PAC the day previously. One area they passed had flooded, leaving the shells of several derelict buildings protruding above the water like islands in a swamp. In another, children swarmed in and over lines of immobilized, partly dismantled vehicles that looked as if they had not moved for years. After the crisp, new look of everything inside the Vishnu, the sights were depressing. The Jevlenese in the rear of the minibus seemed indifferent when Hunt tried questioning him, with the Americans acting as not-very-efficient interpreters. He seemed unaware of how things could be otherwise.
The people hung around in listless crowds, wandered aimlessly in the boulevards and squares, or sat on the grass in the open spaces beneath the pale chartreuse sky. Since the shutdown of the major part of jevex, many of them had moved out of the city's central zone and taken up a shantytown existence in the outer sectors. They could be seen sitting in doorways, bartering in noisy street markets that had sprung up off the major throughways, and cooking under makeshift awnings beneath lines of washing strung across passageways and alleys. All of them inert, leaderless, waiting for somebody to point a direction.
"The trouble that a few agitators could stir up out there doesn't bear thinking about," Sandy said in a sober voice as she stared out at the passing scene. "No wonder Garuth's having problems."
"Is this policy of his going to work?" Duncan asked. He sounded very dubious. "Can it work?"
"Aw, they have to find out what the real world's all about," Koberg answered. "It's just that with some it takes longer than with others. The ones you're looking at now are the slow learners. There's others doing okay. The system has to sort itself out."
"It's gonna take time," Lebansky said. "You've gotta stick with it. That Garuth has got nerve. I'll give the guy that."
"Right," Koberg agreed.
The roadway became one of a multilevel system curving in toward the looming bulk of the city's central massif. The view that had appeared on the screen in the cabin of the surface lander as it descended had been misleading, Hunt saw as they approached the metropolis proper. Ahead, between the structures flanking both sides, he could see parts of what was revealed to be a false roof with an artificial inner sky over that section of the city. In some places the cliffs of buildings rose to support it, dividing the space beneath into enclosed basins of varied cityscapes interconnected in the upper parts by vast corridors carrying streams of airborne traffic and transport tubes; in other parts, the blocks of architecture came together to form upthrusts of streets and precincts open to the natural sky, or elsewhere soaring towers projecting through the canopies. The combined result of all of them formed what had seemed from above to be the actual skyline of the city undisguised.
Farther on, they passed growing numbers of people wearing purple, gathered in crowds and walking in processions with banners showing a purple spiral on a black background. "Is this what you were talking about?" Sandy asked the Americans.
"Right, that's today's big event," Koberg replied. "Their great guru is in town. There's a new sports complex being opened today—you can see it now, on the right there—and they're having a big—" The bus slowed suddenly. "Say, what's this? What's going on there, Pete?"
Ahead, the traffic was coming to a confused halt and tailing back, with vehicles stopping in disorder at all angles across the lanes. There was another traffic level above; those vehicles were passing through a complicated interchange of on-off ramps and flyovers. The vehicles ahead were clustered around a two-lane exit road that left the main throughway in a descending curve, flying high over the immediate surroundings and supported by slender pylons on one side—and then it stopped abruptly at a ragged edge in midair. Figures were climbing out of vehicles and clustering along the barrier, waving their arms and pointing down.
Lebansky moved to the front of the bus, muttering to the driver and motioning with a hand. The driver, who had been doing nothing, since the vehicle had been driving itself from Geerbaine, engaged manual and pulled onto the shoulder, nosing through the other vehicles that had stopped. "Looks like there's been some kind of accident," Lebansky threw back as the others crowded to the windows. "Jeez, look at that! A whole piece of it's collapsed there!"
As the minibus moved closer to the barrier, they could see, below them, the wreckage of an entire span of what had presumably been a bridge, with the remains of at least two vehicles crushed beneath it. But that was not the only damage. In falling, the bridge had swung sideways and demolished two of the supporting pillars of the main throughway, causing a section of the innermost lane to tear away. It hung, buckled and twisted, projecting out into space like the deck of a ship that had broken in two. At the far end of the sagging section, which extended for perhaps two hundred feet, a truck had slewed across and stopped, grounded, on the edge with its front actually hanging over the drop. A smaller vehicle had run into it. Behind that, perched precariously on the edge of the rent where the lane had come away from the main roadway, fifteen feet or more above, was another, familiar-looking vehicle with its absurd, bulbous, pink conning tower amidships, and vivid green stripes.
"It's the titmobile that was back at the spaceport," Koberg muttered, staring ahead, his eyes moving rapidly to take in the scene.
"Oh, my God! Those kids!" Sandy gasped.
"What kids?" Koberg shot at her. Lebansky snapped something to the driver. The bus stopped.
"Ours—from Earth," Sandy stammered. "They were on the Vishnu. A bunch of schoolkids from Florida."
"They're staying in the city somewhere," Hunt said.
Something gave way, and the hanging section of road dropped another two feet. The truck that was balanced on the edge lurched visibly. Screams went up from among the crowd gathered outside. Two figures scrambled out of the truck's cab and began making their way back up, moving awkwardly and off-balance on the sloping surface. Another tumbled out of the car that had tail-ended the truck. Somebody else inside the car seemed to be hurt. There was a screeching of sirens from behind as a vehicle with flashing lights came nosing along the shoulder. It stopped behind the minibus and disgorged men in yellow tunics and white caps, presumably police.
Koberg climbed out and engaged them. They were excited and waving their arms wildly. Koberg seemed to be trying to calm them down. In the front of the minibus, Lebansky was operating a panel alongside the driver and talking to a face that had appeared on a screen.
The road sagged some more, and the truck tipped and went over. The whole structure beneath the minibus shuddered, and the shouts from outside almost drowned out the sound of the crash. The pink bus was trying to back up; but its balls weren't getting enough grip on the buckled, tilted surfaces, and it was slithering uncontrollably from side to side as if in a snowdrift.
"That idiot's panicking!" Hunt yelled. "He'll bring the whole bloody thing down! Stop him! Get those kids out of there! Get them out!"
Koberg dismissed the police with an impatient wave and ran down to take charge. Up front, the face that Lebansky was talking to was also an American from the sound of it. "How else does it look?" Hunt heard him saying.
"There's purple freaks all over," Lebansky replied. "Anything could happen. The police are here, but it seems we've got some flakes. Mitch has gone down to stop the jerk in the bus, but he's gonna need help."
"Stay there with him," the face on the screen said. "Heshak and Mu can bring the UNSA people back here. Check in with me again when it's under control."
"Roger." Lebansky flipped off the unit and exchanged a few words with the two Jevlenese, who nodded. He came back along the bus and climbed out the door that Koberg had left open. Two of the yellow-uniformed police outside immediately began jabbering at him and flailing their arms. Lebansky showed a badge and shouted them down, then pointed at the minibus that the UNSA group were in and the other vehicles blocking its way back onto the throughway. The policemen faltered, then nodded and rushed away to begin clearing a way through. The other police, meanwhile, were running back and forth among the already excited crowd and seemed to be doing more harm than good. Above it all, in the background, came Koberg's voice, roaring at the driver of the pink bus.
Lebansky stuck his head back in the door. "That's all it needed. One of the cars underneath all that junk down there had their deputy police chief in it. Look, it's all gonna get crazy here. These two guys will take you on to PAC. We'll see you when we get there." Without waiting for a reply he slammed the door and gave the side a thump to send the driver on his way. Ahead, one of the policemen waved them forward.
"I think it's stopped," Sandy said, peering back through the rear window. "Yes, it is. Some of the kids are coming out now."
"That's a relief, anyway," Danchekker said, having sat tight-lipped throughout.
"The tour guide never said anything about this," Duncan muttered. It was a reflexive attempt at bravado. He was visibly pale.
Around them, the structures and buildings of Shiban closed together and merged into a single, monolithic composition of levels and precincts penetrated by avenues and transportation ways, as the highway became a vast tunnel sweeping into the city proper.
Chapter Twenty
There was nothing to be done, Hunt told himself. Accidents happen. Whatever would happen to the school party lay in other hands. He could do nothing but wait to find out the news when they got where they were going. He concentrated on absorbing the scenes outside and tried to put it out of his mind for the time being. The silence from the others in the bus told him that they were struggling with the same feelings.
But it soon became apparent that they hadn't left all their difficulties behind them just yet. As they passed an enclosed square of window facades crisscrossed by walkways on several levels, they saw a commotion ahead, involving a crowd of purple-clad people spilling out onto the roadway and causing vehicles to halt. One of the Jevlenese escorts voiced a command to the vehicle's monitor panel, and the bus veered away down a slipramp to take a different route.
"What now?" Hunt murmured apprehensively.
"You don't think it could all be for us?" Duncan said.
But farther along the lower route the crowds became thicker, jostling, shouting slogans, and blocking the throughway, heedless of the blaring horns and curses from the occupants of stranded vehicles. Again the minibus was forced to detour, this time into a side street flanked by shops and doorways. But after several more zigzag turns through the labyrinth that the part of the city they were now in was turning into, they found themselves back in the rally. This time there was no getting through. The intersection at which they had halted was jammed with marchers, some carrying banners, the rest linking arms to form a solid phalanx of chanting ranks. A flood tide of humanity closed around, while other vehicles that had been following blocked any way out behind.
Duncan stood up and peered anxiously through a side window. "There's another bunch coming up the street, green ones this time," he muttered.
"Best to stay put inside the vehicle," Danchekker pronounced, clutching his briefcase determinedly on his knee.
"I'm not so sure," Duncan said. "It looks to me as if there could be trouble breaking out."
The Jevlenese evidently agreed. One of them jabbed a finger several times in the direction the bus had been heading. "PAC, that way. Not far," he said. "Go feet now best. This bad news."
Hunt nodded. "Let's go." Danchekker hesitated for a second longer, then concurred.
They clambered out into the throng. Whatever the shouting was about was a mystery, since it was all in Jevlenese. One of the escorts led the way, pushing and elbowing to force a passage through, and the other brought up the rear. But despite the group's attempt to keep together, the ebbs and flows of the tide around them drew them apart. Danchekker and Sandy managed to stay close to the leader; but a gap developed between them and Hunt, and then another between Hunt and where Duncan was with the other Jevlenese, both of whom were being carried away sideways.
"That way!" the one who was near Duncan shouted, pointing with a raised arm at a stairway on the far side of the intersection, leading up to a system of overlooking galleries and walkways. "Head for stairs . . ." He vanished in a swirl of people, and the rest of his words were drowned in a roar of voices.
Somebody backed into Hunt and trod on his instep, painfully, at the same time swinging an arm that caught Hunt across the mouth. Hunt shoved him away. The man collided with another, and they both went down. Then a knot of people pushing from the other direction sent Hunt sprawling over both of them.
At that moment, a group with green-crescent banners appeared on one of the levels above and showered leaflets on the marching Purples, and pandemonium broke out. As Hunt was trying to regain his feet, everyone around him began rushing forward as if impelled by a common instinct. He rose onto one knee and started to straighten up, whereupon a fat woman in a red-and-black jumpsuit careened into him and knocked him down again. She stumbled and fell heavily on her knees alongside him, shrilly exclaiming something that he didn't understand. He tried again to rise, but she was clawing at his collar, using him as a prop to pull herself up.
"Get off, stupid cow!" Hunt shouted, and was answered with a stream of what sounded like alien obscenities. He fought his way to his feet and looked about desperately, but the others had disappeared. Swearing to himself, he plunged into the turmoil, setting his sights on the stairway that the Jevlenese had indicated. But before he was a third of the way there, the marching tide flowed around him and carried him with it toward one of the exits from the intersection. A chanting man in a purple hood tried to link arms with him.
"Let go of me, you daft sod," Hunt snarled, wrenching himself away.
Another arm grasped his from the other side. Hunt tried to pull away, but the grip remained firm and insistent. "I do believe I hear another voice from back home," a voice yelled in his ear. It sounded American. Hunt jerked his head around and found himself staring at a ruddy, snub-nosed face with a short, hoary beard, eyes that glittered like light gray ice, and a mouth that couldn't suppress a mirthful twitch, even in the circumstances. The face was topped by a panama hat sporting an outrageous yellow band wit
h red and white polka dots. Hunt could feel himself being urged along in the direction of the flow.
"Sorry," Hunt yelled back. "I'm not going on any Batman rallies today."
"Neither am I. I'm going home. But you won't get anyplace upstream in this. Have to ride with it until we can jump out."
"Where?"
"Just stick close."
They were swept along with the marchers for about half a block, in the course of which the stranger maneuvered them outward toward one side of the flow. Then, as they came abreast of the entrance to a narrow passageway leading off between a shuttered shop front and the base of a pillar, he yanked at Hunt's arm and nodded. "There!"
They detached themselves from the human river like hoboes jumping from a slowing boxcar and followed the passage to an iron stairway leading up. It brought them to an elevated pedestrian way where people were watching the confusion below. But at least it felt halfway back to sanity. Hunt and the stranger stopped for a moment.
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