Everybody knows there's a market for baby parts—hearts and kidneys are worth a lot of credits. That's what the Rulers always used the Bad Babies for: parts for transplants. The Rulers stopped doing it because the parts were no good—every time they used a Bad Baby's organs for a transplant the good baby would die. The Book Boys wrote that on the walls. A big sign—in blue.
THERE ARE NO BAD BABIES!
It's against the Rules to sell a baby for parts, but some people do it because baby parts are worth so many credits. Some mothers and fathers, they will pay anything to keep their babies alive. Some mothers and fathers will kill their babies if you offer them enough credits. It doesn't make sense—I could never understand why.
I spent thirteen days in the Open Tunnels, but I couldn't pick up a clue. Some of the traders had heard the whisper too, but they thought it was crazy.
I don't know why, but I wanted to know. The longer I stayed out, the more I needed to And the answer. If the Book Boys said there are no Bad Babies, it must be true. So how could there be a price on theme
I went out past the Open Tunnels, past the Black Market. Deep into whatever was out there past the Charted Zone. Looking for the crew that wanted the Bad Babies.
I was out there for another three days. I didn't find anything except rats. I'd seen rats before, plenty of times. But these rats were different. The noise they made was different—I can't explain how it was different, but I knew it was, the first time I heard it.
It's really dark outside the Charted Zone except for the little pools of light where one of the traders had set up shop. That's why it's called the Black Market, I guess—it's mostly black, with just little spots of light. I kept moving, using my crystal–flash only once in a while, to preserve the charge. Once I thought I saw a dog…just a flash of fur, I guess, but too big to be a rat. Or maybe I just didn't want to think about how a rat could be that big.
I was on my way back when I stopped into a provisions stand near the Rim. A provisions stand only sells maintenance food, like water or freeze–dry. Some of them sell Zoners too—some of the prospectors won't go outside the Charted Zone without them. When I first saw her, I thought she was one of the girls from the Sex Tunnels—some of them work in other tunnels, but I never heard of one working out around the Rim. She was a short girl, only up to my chest. Kind of slim, but real muscular—you could see it in her arms. I couldn't tell her Year—it's harder to do that with girls—but I could see she was a skin/shade 39—lighter than me, but not real pale like some. You don't offer to buy a girl a drink in a provisions stand, so I asked her if she wanted a cigarette. She said No, but she smiled real sweet when she said it, so I started talking to her.
You can't hang around in a provisions stand—they're too small. You're supposed to buy what you need and move on. She went out ahead of me. I was admiring the way her hips moved when I realized what I was looking at. Black Dorban pants, skintight—she was a Dancing Girl.
We found a place to sit, just a little past the halo of light from the provisions stand. She said her name was Fyyah. She spelled it for me, because you say it different from how it's spelled.
Inside the Charted Zone, there are clocks everywhere. Digital clocks, all the same. They are all the same, right down to the exact second no matter where you are. In the Black Market, there are no clocks. But even so, I knew we had talked for a long time. Not because it felt like that—it only felt like maybe a half–hour or something—but because we both said so much. I didn't want to go, and I could see Fyyah didn't want to either, but she had to find a place to sleep.
I told her she could have the sleep–tube I carry in my pack. My sleep–tube is a 33–Z, the very best, one hundred percent Raytell, with a heat exchanger and bubble visor. It only weighs about 12 ounces, so I always carry it in my pack when I'm scouting.
"I couldn't do that," she said. "It wouldn't be fair."
"It's okay," I told her. "I want you to." And I wasn't lying.
We found a flat spot a little bit off the ground. I opened it up and she climbed in, I took off my jacket and laid it flat. Then I put her jacket on top of mine and sat down on them. It gets cold in the open tunnels past the Charted Zone, but if you can keep something between your body and the ground you'll be all right—I slept in the Open Tunnels plenty of times before I got enough credits to buy the sleep–tube.
"Are you sure?" she asked me.
"I'll be fine," I told her.
She shifted her hips inside the sleep–tube, moving right against me. It was nice like that. She didn't kick in the heat exchanger, so the outside of the sleep–tube was warm. She left the visor up too, so we could talk.
"Have you been out here long?" she asked.
I knew she wasn't asking me about being outside the Charted Zone—"out here" means away…away from your spray. "Eleven years," I told her.
"You don't look that old," she said,
"I have my Year 19 soon," I answered. "You've been out…?"
"Just about two years."
"Did you run from…?" I let the question trail off. Some sprays sell the children as soon as they're old enough to work—that's what mine did. If you run from a work–site, the buyers can stop the payments. Sometimes a kid's spray will look for him to bring him back, but usually they don't—the crews hate any spray that sells, and a lot of them are dangerous.
"My spray," she said, saying it all.
I dragged on my cigarette. It made a little red dot in the darkness. I watched, looking for other red dots. Red dots in pairs—the eyes of rats.
It was like I was talking to her and thinking inside my mind at the same time. They used to have a different name for sprays once. Families, they were called. The Book Boys wrote that in blue. Families were supposed to really want kids for themselves — to keep, not to sell. They were supposed to love children. And protect them. But after a while, they all stopped doing that. Or most of them, anyway. That was the Terror. I don't really understand it all. The Book Boys wrote it in blue.
TOO LATE TO WARN
THE FABRIC WAS TORN
FAMILY WAS DEAD—SPRAY WAS BORN
Spray means genetic connection. When people have sex, sometimes a baby comes. The mother and father are not the baby's only spray—sometimes it goes back a long, long way. The Rulers can always tell your spray. From your blood, that's how they tell.
I look down at Fyyah. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was quiet. It felt good to look at her. If I was there by myself, I would have gone to sleep. Rats can't get into the sleep–tube, not with the visor down. But she had the visor up. I had to keep watch, so nothing would hurt her.
It felt funny, doing that.
I talked to her. Real soft, so it wouldn't wake her up. I told her about the stuff I had to do when I ran off from the work–site. The first two times, they caught me. They know how to hurt you without crippling you. So after they hurt me, I had to go back to work. The last time, I made it. I had to do a lot of things after that. It got easier after a while. And once I found a crew that would have me, once I became a Merchant Boy, I knew they would never get me back into a work–site.
"You didn't have any choice," she said.
"When did you wake up?" I asked her.
"I never went to sleep. I was just…lying here. Feeling safe. I loved that feeling. I didn't go to sleep because I didn't want it to end."
I felt something strange when she said that. Not scary–strange, just…new, I guess.
"We can take turns," Fyyah told me. "Sleeping. You watch me for a while, then wake me up and I'll watch for you, Okay?"
"I'm not sleepy," I told her.
"Me neither. Why are you out here, Hexon? Are you scouting for trade?"
"I'm…looking for someone," I said. "Someone who wants to buy Bad Babies. I caught it off the whisper–stream and I…just wanted to see if it was true."
"It is true," Fyyah said, opening the sleep–tube's zipper so she could sit up. "That's where I'm going."
"Ho
w do you know?" I asked her. "Why would anyone want to—?"
"It's the same crew that takes the babies," she said. "It has to be. You know about them too, don't you?"
"I thought it was seers," I said. "Stealing the babies to sell."
"No, you can't do that," Fyyah told me. "It's against the Rules. You can only sell babies from your own spray. The Rulers can tell. The crew that's taking the babies, it's taking them to keep."
"The Book Boys didn't —"
"Maybe not yet," she interrupted, "but they will. You'll see."
"Do you know where—?"
"No," she said, "but I know it must be outside the Charted Zone. That's the only place the Rulers don't have sensors."
"It's…rough out there."
"Have you been there before? Deep?"
"Yes. A few times, but…"
"Hexon," she said, "I have to go. I think my little sister is there."
"A sister–for–real? From your own spray?"
"Yes! After I ran, I could still keep watch. My baby sister, Fiona, she's still with them. I knew…as soon as she got old enough, my father would…"
"How old is she?" I asked. I didn't want to hear about what her father would do.
"She is almost Year 4. Next month, in fact."
"Too young to sell to a work–site," I said.
"Yes! That's right. And it was on the Info–Board too. You know where they list kids gone missing? They don't do that if the kid is sold, you know that."
"But if they didn't st her, they might know where she is. Couldn't we—?"
"They're dead," Fyyah said. "Both dead. There's other people dead too. First the children get taken, then, after a while, the people are killed. Some crew is doing it…they must be doing it. Fiona is with them. I know it. And I'm going to find her."
Dancing Girls are all tough. They have to be—when they say "dance," they mean fight. All Dancing Girls carry razors. Some of them work in the Sex Tunnels, but most of them don't work. They steal, mostly. But going outside the Charted Zone takes more than being tough. I know. A few of the Merchant Boys have gone out but not come back. Me, I've come back every time. So far.
"I'll help you find her," I said.
She held my hand after I told her that. It was strange. A Merchant Boy isn't allowed to do anything unless he gets something back. And Dancing Girls, they sometimes trade sex for what they want. But in that dark tunnel, we both knew: I didn't want anything in trade. And she didn't trade sex.
We were out a long time before we found them. They found us, really. The rats were bad, but the dogs were worse. When they charged, I thought it was over. I had my blaster out, a real good one, but I only had four bullets for it. I tried to push Fyyah behind me, but she wouldn't go. She didn't take out her razor either—she kind of squatted dove and held out her hand. The dogs sniffed her. Then they ran around like they were confused. They wouldn't let us go forward, but they didn't hurt us.
We didn't know what to do. Then a kid came. He was about Year 6, I guess—it was hard to tell with all the shadows.
"I want Fiona," Fyyah yelled to him. "I want my sister."
The kid went away. We waited. We knew we were close.
A man came back. A tall, thin man with eyes set real deep in his head. He said something to the dogs and they moved like a gate opening. We walked for a while. The man didn't say anything.
He took us to a cave. A whole bunch of caves, it turned out. There was plenty of light. It was warm and dry. And there must have been a couple of dozen kids there. The oldest was the boy who had come to us first. Some of them were only tiny babies.
The man didn't say anything. Fyyah went to all the children, one by one. "Fiona!" she yelled, scooping up a chubby little girl, hugging the kid to her chest.
Fyyah backed toward me, holding the kid with one arm. She pulled her razor free, crouching. I took out my blaster. "We're going," Fyyah said to the tall, thin man. "Don't try to stop us.
"No!" the kid screamed. "No go!"
"It's okay, baby," Fyyah said. "We're going to take you out of here."
"No! No! No!" the little girl screamed, waving her arms. Nobody moved. Nobody tried to stop us. I turned around, but the way out was blocked by a river of dogs. This time, the gate didn't open.
"You can take her," the tall man said. "But you have to pay."
I stepped forward—this was something I knew about. "You want credits, barter, or task?" I asked.
"Tasks," he said.
"Time tasks or results task?"
"Time tasks."
"How much, then?"
"One cycle."
"Cycle? What does that—?"
"One woman's cycle," he said.
"About twenty–four days," Fyyah whispered to me, still holding her sister.
"Done," I told him. I walked toward him, holding out my wrists for the handcuffs.
"Hexon! You can't —"
"Shut up," I told her. "Take your sister and go. I'll be out in twenty–four days. Give me another ten, maybe twelve to get back out. Take the sleep–tube and the freeze–dry. There's almost forty credits in the tube. Bring the kid to the West–Orange Medical Tunnel, get her a checkup. Then come back, in forty days. I'll be somewhere near the entrance—I'll find you."
I moved away before she could argue, but the tall man held up his hand, palm out, telling me to stop. "Both of you," he said,
I took out my blaster, pointed it at him. "Let them go," I said. "Both of them."
"I am not ready to die yet," he said. "And if you kill me, you will never leave." He pointed a long bony finger at the furry mass behind us. "You can't scare animals with weapons," he said quietly.
"Hexon, he's right!" Fyyah whispered in my ear.
"Both of you," the tall man said again.
That was about a year ago. We learned the truth in those caves. This is a family, not a spray. The tall man never told us his name. He didn't talk much. But some of the little ones called him Father, and we kind of got into the habit too.
Father knows the outlaw tunnels better than anyone. He showed me, a little at a time. Some of them run so close to the Charted Zone that you can just step across.
This is a family, not a spray. I go back into the Charted Zone once in a while. To get things we need. Sometimes I trade, sometimes I steal. It doesn't matter. It's my family.
After a while, Father showed us how he gets the babies. It's easy. Real easy.
Father said he used to buy the Bad Babies. They were real cheap. But now, when the fathers can't make babies with their own daughters, there aren't any Bad Babies to buy. That's when Father started to take them.
When I go back into the Charted Zone, I always come back with a lot of credits. I know many ways to do that, ways I never dreamed of when I was a Merchant Boy. Soon we are going to buy children…the ones in Year 8 that their parents want to sell to the work–sites. We'll just pay more, that's easy.
Fyyah wanted to cut the implant out of her thigh, but I wouldn't let her do that. It is only about twenty months until Year 17. Then we'll have our babies.
Fyyah says she knows three Dancing Girls who would be with us. I only know one Merchant Boy. But there have to be others. We'll find them. They'll find others.
By the time the Book Boys get to write about it on the walls, we'll be too strong.
And too many.
Then we'll see what's Outside.
Into the Light
Dear Logan:
I hope you get this. The cyber–link up here is real old, maybe two or even three spans, and we don't have generators like you do. We have panels that store energy. Big ones, too. Most of them were broken, but there's quite a few good ones left. Besides, there aren't many people up here.
If you're listening to this, you know I made it.
Nobody thinks much about Outside. I mean, not really. It was too many spans ago. They say that some of the ancients were born Outside, but I never believed it—people just don't live that long.
&
nbsp; It was the Terror that brought us down. Brought us to the Underground, I mean. That's what they say, the Rulers. It was impossible to stay Outside. But it took a few spans before everything was set up. I guess most of the Originals died trying to do it. That's what the Rulers say.
Do you ever think about Outside, Logan? I always did. When I was being schooled, they didn't say much about it. And I got up to Learn–Rite/Seven before I had to go to work, so I had plenty of chances. All the programs ever said was that the Terror was Outside so we all had to go Underground. The programs never said what the Terror was, you know? They kind of let you believe it was something in the air. Like chemicals, or even radioactive stuff. They all say something like that—I was only in Learn–Rite/Two when I first heard it.
It's a lie, sister–of–my–spray. The air is fine up here—at least where I am it is.
After I was up here for a while, I figured it out. There is no Outside. I mean, there isn't only one—there's a lot of Outsides. Travelers come through here and they tell us. They come to trade. Some of them trade stories. In some places, it's warm all the time. And in others, believe it or not, it's cold all the time. And where I am, it's both. Not at the same time, but at different times. It's about three slice–cycles for each change. When I got here, it was very warm. Hot, sometimes. Then it got cooler. Then real cold. Then warmer a bit. Then it was back to where it was when I got here.
The slice is in the sky. You can see it when it gets dark. It gets dark, and then it gets light. Not like home…I mean, not like Underground. Anyway, sometimes the slice is round, like a ball. And sometimes it's so skinny you can barely see it.
Things…change up here, Logan. The Rulers don't act the same way all the time. One traveler even told us there aren't any Rulers up here. Nothing happened to him when he said that, so maybe…maybe it's true. I'll wait until I see him again. If I see him again, then I'll know for sure he was telling the truth.
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