by Clay Gilbert
“We aren’t going to attack, Malachi. We cut the power, as planned.”
“Do you want more people to die while we just wait?” Malachi asked, then fell silent.
We’re going to have trouble with him, Eternity thought. Maybe real trouble.
“Brain,” he said, “Call Morgan and tell him to get the second group ready.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was a time of thanksgiving in the Black City. The masses of people in the City’s streets were exultant. Theirenemies werebeing eliminated and control would soon be in their hands once more.
That, thought Morgan, was what they wanted everyone to believe, anyway. It was late evening in the City. The second group of refugees had just been dispatched to the rendezvous point beyond Western Sector. Morgan knew their absence wouldn’t even be noticed. Tonight, the eyes and ears of most Citizens would be turned toward the Towers. The Providers would speak, supposedly to announce their victory over the rebellion, and the end of the war.
It’s a little soon for that, Morgan thought. He looked out the window of his apartment in Central Sector, across the central square, to where the Towers stood. They’re already gathering out there for their victory party.
As night fell over the Towers, a hush came over the crowd. Morgan shook his head as the glass wall in his apartment crackled to life, at the same time a voice began to blare from the loudspeakers positioned in the square.
Play along. It’s not over yet. “Good evening, Citizens!” The synthesized voices rang in robotic cacophony out over the Towers and into the night sky. “The last of the rebels in our midst have been destroyed. A new age for our great City has now begun.”
What do you know? More lies. They’re good at this, Morgan thought. But then, they’d been playing this game for a long time. Another thought entered his mind as he listened to the synthesized voices, and to the sound of the crowd: I hope the others are somewhere safe. I hope they got out of here in time. Strangely, he knew they had.
“We have provided for you, our people,” the voice from the loudspeaker outside—and from the glass wall—continued. “We’ve provided safety, strength of spirit, and stability. And freedom.”
Oh, that was a good one, Morgan thought. “The freedom to share in our plan, to rule with us in this vast City—to serve us as we have served you. Let no one say this is a City of masters and slaves—”
The voice from the Towers fell silent. At the same time, the glass wall crackled and went still, and the lights of the City— from the spires of the Towers to the furthest flickering beacons of Western Station—went dead and dark. The silence spread into the assembled throng, who had just had the voices of their gods stolen from the very sky.
Morgan just smiled. You did it, Eternity. Somehow, you did it. His voceiver, lying on his bedside table, sprang to life. “Morgan?” Eternity’s voice was calling to him from the other end. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, man. Great work, by the way.” “So it did work. Good.”
“How’d you do it, anyway?”
“It was Angel’s idea—something she figured out from her training in Studio Block. Power surge, short but strong. Should have knocked them cold.”
“It did, man. All the domes are standing ‘round trying to figure out what happened! So, what’s next?”
“Well, now that we’ve got Them off the air, we’ve got to see if we can get something of our own happening.” “Counter-propaganda?”
“More like the truth,” Eternity replied. “Hang on.”
Let no one say this is a city of masters and slaves. The last words of the Providers’ proclamation still rang in Morgan’s mind.
Pretty appropriate last words, he thought. He wondered what would happen now. Out in the City’s central square, in front of the Towers, the fear that froze the citizens assembled there began to give way to anger and confusion. People began to talk among themselves: Why had the Providers been silenced? No one stood above them. The rebellion is over—they said so themselves. Why would they lie?
Morgan looked out the window again, noticing the uneasy milling of the crowd in front of the Towers. Eternity would have his counter-message ready, in time. Time was what they needed now.
From the looks of things, we might not have much of it, but there’s something I can do to buy us a little more. It was dangerous, but that didn’t matter. Eternity’s done plenty for us—they all have. This is the least I can do.
Morgan walked outside and began making his way toward the Square. As he drew closer to the Towers, he began to draw attention. Some looked at him with fear in their eyes, others with barely-concealed anger. Still others let him pass with no reaction at all, as if the interruption of the Providers’ message had frozen them into immobility—as if they were incapable of conscious thought without direction from their gods.
Morgan climbed the steps in front of the Towers, and when he reached the top, he turned to face the people gathered there.
“My name’s Morgan,” he said. There was no reaction, no trace of recognition from them. That’s lucky, he thought. “The Providers’ transmission has been broken, as you’ve seen. This has been done so you can see how they’ve lied to you.”
A current of chatter coursed through the crowd. Lied? The Providers? In a moment, there was silence again, enough for Morgan to keep speaking. “They told you the rebellion was dead. They told you all of the rebels had been destroyed, but that’s not true. Not onlyis the rebellion still alive, it is alive within this City. And beyond.”
Got to be careful, Morgan thought. Give them something to think about, but don’t stir them up too much. I’m surrounded here.
“They know the location of the rebel headquarters, and they’re not doing anything about it. They’re not telling you the truth. Why? Because they’re afraid. The thought that someone could defythemscaresthem to death. Thealmighty Providers—what a joke.”
Might have crossed the line a little there, Morgan thought, surveying the crowd, which grew more restless as the moments passed. There sure are a lot of them.
If they chose to attack, he wouldn’t have a chance. But they did nothing. After a few more moments, a small group of Citizens approached the place where Morgan stood. Their eyes weren’t angry. In their expressions, he saw nothing but confusion and fear.
They look like they want answers, he thought. Well, I know how that feels. “I knew they were lying.” The voice belonged to a boy of about fifteen, the youngest of the group who’d approached him. “I knew they didn’t get rid of everyone who didn’t agree. My parents are still here, and so am I. I’m Timothy.” Timothy smiled, and put his hand out to Morgan.
“Let me show you something,” Morgan said, turning the boy’s hand palm-up. He guided him through the motions of the streetrider handshake. “Where Ilearned this—this means freedom.”
Timothy smiled anew.
There was still no sign of anger or aggression from the crowd. I still wish Eternity would send a message if he’s going to. I don’t know how long our luck is going to hold out here.
“Timothy,” Morgan said to the youth, his voice low so the crowd couldn’t hear, “I hate to ask this—I hate to put you in the middle of this—but if things get ugly, I might need some help.”
“I’m alreadyin the middle of it,”Timothysaid, just as softly. “We all are,” he added, gesturing to his companions, “and you can count on us.”
“I’m hoping we won’t have to,” Morgan said, “but thanks.” * * * *
Back in the Underground, Eternity was finding out that jamming the Providers’ transmission was easier than replacing it with one of the Forgotten City’s own. Eternity, Angel, and Brain were gathered around a computer terminal in the Underground’s tech center. Brain was trying his best to tap into the capacities of the Towers’ broadcast systems. Trying, and failing.
“It’s no use, man,” Brain finally told Eternity. “We’re not strong enough to broadcast from this distance with as little as I know about their system.”
“You know how their system works, Angel,” Eternity said. “Can you patch us in there?”
She thought for a moment. “I know some things that might work if we were closer, but I’ll see what I can do. See if you can get us a little more time.”
Eternity took the voceiver from his belt, and pressed the red button. “Morgan? We’re having trouble over here. There might not be a transmission. Angel’s working on it now, but apparently it’s one thing to jam a signal, and another to send it.”
No transmission? Morgan thought, looking around him, and for the first time, feeling afraid. They’re not going to stay in a daze forever.
“Eternity,” Morgan said, “I don’t know if you know how many people there are here. They were shocked at first, but it’s starting to wear off. Most of the people here, deep down, still believe in Them. One jammed signal and a few pretty words from me aren’t gonna change that too fast. They’ve heard the lies too long. So what am I supposed to do?”
Therewas a longpause from Eternity’s end. Morgan glanced out across the crowd again. Out on the edges, he could see patches of nervous, tense activity, like a tornado waiting for a place to touch down. He looked to Timothy and the others.
Maybe it’s time to think of a few more pretty words. Hope it doesn’t have to go any further than that.
* * * *
“What’d he say?” Angel asked Eternity. “They’vegot him surrounded. There’s a whole lot of citizens around the Towers, and he’s afraid they might start something. I’ve got to go, Angel. I’ve got to.”
“You mean we’ve got to. Don’t even try to argue with me this time.” “Go?” Brain exclaimed at hearing Eternity’s words. “Man, you can’t! They’ve seen you. Those domes who attacked you and Shadow that night might even be there, looking for a second shot! They’ll kill you and Angel both, and Morgan too!”
A troubled look came into Eternity’s eyes as he considered Brain’s words. He spoke after a moment, his voice full of concern and regret. “It’s because of Shadow and Ace, because of Angel’s parents and mine, because of everyone we’ve lost and everyone we might lose that we’ve got to do this. I’m sorry, man.”
Brain nodded. “I’ll come with you.” “Thanks,” Eternity said, “but we need you here. Keep working on a way to get that transmission through. Get everyone on it that you can.”
“I’ll do it,” Brain said. “Eternity—you’re a real friend. You’ve been a real friend to all of us.”
“Don’t say goodbye yet,” Eternity told Brain. “I’ll be back.” The voceiver beeped again. “Hold on, man,” Eternity told Morgan. “I’m coming.” * * * *
“What do you think’s going on over there?” Angel asked Eternity, when they were alone.
“Morgan’s holding on, I hope. And maybe when we get there, we’ll find a few minds changed. You ready?” “Ready as I’m going to be.”
“Good. There’s one stop I want to make before we go. Iwant to make sure we go into this knowing everything we can.” * * * * Eternityset the cycle down, feather-light, outside the ancient holohouse, the homeoftheProphet. Bythe timeEternityand Angel reachedthe entrance, the Prophet was alreadyopening the door for them.
“I knew you’d come,” the Prophet. “It’s my old dream. War between the Two-In-One.”
“I remember. That’s why we’re here. There isn’t much time—but it felt right to come.”
“It’s going to happen this time,” the Prophet said. “They’re goin’ down.”
“What do you know?” Eternity asked. “What have you seen?”
The Prophet opened the door to the main auditorium, and motioned to Eternity and Angel. “Come in and sit down.” * * * *
Morgan was praying. The crowd gathered at the Towers had madeno move toward him yet, but Timothyand his small band had surrounded him anyway.
Mother and Father of all, if you can hear me, but he knew they could. He’d always known there were gods. They lived in the earth, in the stars, in the lands beyond this one, where no one who lived could travel and in the hearts of men and women who were brave and who held true to each other and what they believed. It was hidden knowledge, but all the Providers’ efforts to keep it hidden didn’t diminish its truth.
If you can hear me—watch over me—watch over us. And whether I live or die, let us end this. Let us free this city and its people. I don’t care what happens to me—but let them be free.
He knew he could be dead already. They could all be. Perhaps, he thought, allowing himself a moment’s fancy, they hadn’t been hurt or killed because it wasn’t supposed to happen. Everything was still around him—a perfect stillness in the air around him.
Then the stillness was shattered by the smallest of sounds: a whisper. Then the whisper became a murmur, and the murmur became a word:
“Traitor.” Morgan didn’t know who spoke first, but the word spread through the crowd, and as quickly as it came, the stillness was ended.
The next moments seemed to Morgan as if he were outside himself, powerless to act to alter what was occurring. Hesaw a man in the crowd with a cold gleam in his eye, stepping forward from the maddened throng. He was shocked to find he knew him: it was Malachi, he realized in horror.
But I got you out. Risked everything for you. He was hiding something, Morgan realized, even before his eyes glimpsed the glint of steel from the lasgun in his hand. There was no place to run. Malachi fired—and a boy’s small form crumpled and fell to the ground.
Timothy, Eternity thought with a stab of sadness. What a waste. He felt a small satisfaction as he saw two others from the group Timothy had gathered around him—a boy and girl who both looked older than Timothy had been—about his own age, and Angel’s—picked up Timothy’s body and began calming down the others.
The wheel always turns, I guess. He thought of Dhania, and ran his fingers over the necklace she’d given him. There’s always hope.
* * * *
Eternity pulled away from the Prophet’s grip. “I’ve got to go, man,” he said, in a shaken voice. “We’ve got to.” The Prophet, sensing the pain inside him, stretched out his hand. “He’s not dead, you know. Morgan. The boy— Timothy—he stepped in the way.”
“You think that matters?” Eternity asked. “I never wanted anyone to die. What’s it going to be worth if it all falls apart?”
* * * *
The crowd outside the Towers seemed polarized by what Malachi had done. It’s a shame, Morgan thought, that the ones who aren’t insane are too damn scared to do anything—save for the small group of rebels clustered around him, forming a solemn circle around the body of the fallen boy The young couple who had carried him out of the path of the crowd knelt by him now, their heads bowed.
That gesture of silent support gave Morgan the strength to speak. “Killing us won’t solve anything,” he said. A startled whispering spread through the crowd at the words.
“You won’t be here to disobey them, then!” someone shouted. Morgan searched for the sound of the voice in the crowd. He’s only a boy. Just a child. He wanted to ask the kid if his parents were still alive, but he didn’t.
“You’re a traitor!” the child shouted at him. “And what are you?” Morgan shouted back. Idiot, he told himself. Kid’s just doing what he’s been told to do, but I should know better. Where’s Eternity, anyway? He’s the leader. He’s the hero. This is his fight. He knew better than that, too. It was everyone’s fight—everyone that wanted to be free.
“We obey their laws!” another, older voice shouted. “You kill your own people!” Morgan retorted.
“What killing?” a lone, quiet voice asked. A boy, about eleven or twelve by Morgan’s reckoning, was pushing his way through the crowd. “What killing?” he asked again, when he reached the place where Morgan was standing. There wasn’t any malice in his expression, onlyquestioning.
“Right. You wouldn’t know. Listen—anybody ever disappear out of your house? Anyone ever just go away, off to work or into the Ci
ty for groceries or something and just never come back?”
“M-my brother,” the boy stammered. “I was getting my lessons for the day when he left, so I didn’t really notice. They told me he ran away.”
“Who told you?” Morgan asked, his voice gentle now. It’s not his fault.
“My parents, the Citizen Patrol people I asked—everybody I asked.” “They lied, kid. He’s dead .”
The boy’s face was pale.
“Look around, kid,” Morgan told him. “Somewhere in this square—tonight, right now—are the people who killed your brother.” He spoke the words slowly, with a grim emphasis.
The boy edged forward, away from the crowd, as if they carried some disease he hadn’t known about, and didn’t want to catch.
A loud sound broke from the back of the crowd. There was a flash of light and then the sick-sweet smell of burningflesh in the air. The boy fell where was standing, the small red blossom of a lasgun wound fresh on his neck.
The crowd erupted. People began to crowd around the young man who shot the boy, and still others began amad stampede toward the platform where Morgan was standing.
“Kill the traitor!” some of them shouted. “ They’re the traitors!” Morgan heard someone else scream, echoing what he himself said earlier. More people were approaching the platform, but these had a different light in their eyes: afire born not of rage, but of understanding.Some in the mob tried to hold them back, but the newcomers fought their way to the platform.
Ten with me now, Morgan said, looking around. Well, it’s a start. Come on, Eternity, he thought again. Where are you? The sound of lasgun fire burst out in the crowd again, followed by frightened screams. What a nightmare, thought Morgan. Is this what we wanted? Is this the price of freedom? He asked himself, as more bodies fell, stilled forever.
Morgan’s ten companions clustered around him, as if to form a human shield against any more gun-blasts.
“Go to the Towers, Morgan,” the Prophet suggested. “They won’t follow us.” “They’re bound to. Look at them.”