Steve had seen proof of the Mutes’ magical powers on at least two separate occasions, maybe more. He could have told the dark-haired lady in the high-backed chair if she’d been prepared to listen. Just as he could have told her of Mr Snow’s gloriously quirky character, Cadillac’s almost superhuman intelligence, and Clearwater’s flawless beauty. Not to mention the depth of her mind and the powers at her command.
These three were not only human, they possessed an extra dimension that the dark-haired President and the Board were quite incapable of recognising – an awareness of the world, and the mysterious forces at work within it, of the great destiny of the Plainfolk under the leadership of the mysterious Talisman; the Thrice-Gifted One who had not yet manifested his presence. These were things which Steve himself had only just begun, with great difficulty – and considerable reluctance – to accept and to attempt to understand. It was difficult because ‘awareness’ as a word-concept did not feature in the Federation’s dictionary – at least not at the level Steve had access to. It had sprung fully-formed into his mind while in captivity and had left him troubled and confused. His Tracker psyche had felt as if it was being torn in two.
Mutes, Steve had discovered, cherished some batty notions and lived by rules which they regarded as inviolate, but they were at least prepared to listen to new ideas. Most Trackers on the other hand – as the Board of Assessors had recently demonstrated – suffered from tunnel-vision. Maybe it came from living underground. But why should it be so? Everyone in the Federation, including Steve, had been raised to believe that the First Family was the source of all wisdom, all knowledge. They knew everything. How could they deny for centuries what Steve, in five short months, had discovered to be true? What did they hope to gain by sticking their heads in the sand?
Chisum walked into the ward just after 1900 hours.
Steve sat up and swung his feet down off the bed. ‘Hi. You through for the day?’
‘Yeah,’ said Chisum. ‘How’d you make out?’
Steve told him.
Chisum listened sombrely, then sucked in his breath. ‘Sounds like you got a rough deal, good buddie.’ He patted Steve on the shoulder then walked over to a swivel chair. Apart from the beds and a small table, it was the only place to sit. Chisum thrust his hands in his pockets and slumped down in the chair, feet wide apart. ‘Yep… The only way to get through times like this is to believe it’s all for your own good. You have to try and learn somethin’ from it.’
‘John – do me a favour,’ said Steve. ‘Leave the inspirationals to the P-G. Okay?’
‘Just trying to help.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t need any help.’ The anger faded from Steve’s voice. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do. This time, I’ve been well and truly shafted.’
Chisum grimaced. ‘Not quite. Okay, sure, you’ve drawn a shitty detail, but you’re alive, you’re still in one piece.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Steve bitterly. ‘And from where I’ll be, the only way to go is up.’
Chisum sat up and the took his hands out of his pockets. ‘What d’you want me to do? Find you a butt-rag to cry in?’
‘No.’ Steve summoned up a smile. ‘I appreciate you being here. I guess I should have expected something like this would happen. I saw the New Mex State Provo on my way here –’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah, Bart Bradlee. He’s kin. He told me that, officially, I was dead – KIA over Wyoming – and that I was gonna have to stay that way. I didn’t realise they also planned to bury me.’
‘Mutes don’t take prisoners – right?’
‘His words exactly.’
Chisum nodded. ‘S’pose in a way it makes sense. If the word got around about the nice relaxing time you had, maybe Trail-Blazers wouldn’t push so hard. Pretty soon you’d have guys pallying up with lumpheads and shit knows what else. A man could end up not knowing what’s right and what’s wrong. Is that what you want? For the whole world to fall apart?’
Steve felt confused. ‘No!’ he hissed. ‘That’s not what I’m saying. I know what we’re fighting for.’ He waved a hand at the ceiling. ‘That’s our world out there – and I’m prepared to do my bit to help win it back. But we can’t blind ourselves to the truth! I’ve been out there. I’ve lived with these people –’
‘People?’ Chisum looked puzzled.
‘Mutes! Christo! What are you – an Assessor?!’ Steve stood up and began to pace up and down. ‘John – I’m not some dumb scumbag, and I’m not passing on rumours or spreading alarm and despondency. I know what I saw! The Southern Mutes I saw in our overground work-camps may have had all the fight knocked out of them but the Plainfolk are something else! All that stuff about faulty memories is garbage. These people are bright – and dangerous in ways you can’t imagine! But nobody wants to know! No one will admit it!’ Steve broke off and waved dismissively. ‘Arrghh, what’s the use. I can see you think I’m crazy too.’
‘Not true,’ said Chisum. ‘But if you came on strong like this with the Assessors, I can see why they dumped you in the A-Levels.’
Steve gave a harsh laugh and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Like you said, I suppose I should consider myself lucky. Could have ended up taking a nose-dive down a main vent.’
‘Yeah… well, that’s a risk we all run,’ agreed Chisum. He moved his chair closer to Steve and studied his face intently. ‘You smoke any shit while you were out there?’
‘You mean rainbow grass?’
Chisum nodded.
Steve hesitated before replying. ‘A few times, yeah. They, uh – well, they kinda pressed it on me. First time round it practically tore my throat out.’
‘I hear Mutes are piped into it all the time.’
‘A lot of them are,’ murmured Steve. ‘How about you?’
Chisum shrugged. ‘Now and then. It’s hard to find.’
Steve shook his head in disbelief. ‘I can’t figure you out, John. One minute you’re a reel-to-reel man giving me the hardline news, the next minute you tell me you’re smoking shit. You into blackjack as well?’
‘Isn’t everybody?’
‘Are you crazy?! You wouldn’t catch me within a mile of any of that junk! What happened with the Mutes was a different situation. I didn’t want to rub them up the wrong way. But not down here.’
‘Didn’t do you any harm, did it?’
‘That’s not the point!’ hissed Steve. ‘That stuff’s Code One! How can you even think about it? Columbus! I mean here, in the White House!’
Chisum grinned broadly. ‘Exactly. If you’re gonna do anything wrong, this is the safest place to do it.’
‘Listen, just – don’t let’s talk about it. You’re a crazy man, John.’
‘The whole world is crazy,’ replied Chisum. ‘Or hadn’t you noticed?’
Steve didn’t reply.
Chisum kept his voice low. ‘The reason I asked if you’d smoked grass is because it can blow your mind. It distorts things. Bends the real world out of shape – so you no longer know where the edges are.’
‘Maybe. I’m not an expert,’ admitted Steve. ‘But let me ask you something. We’re both cold turkey now. So go ahead. Tell me where the edges are, John.’
Chisum smiled evasively. ‘That’s a good question.’
‘Here’s another. What are you trying to tell me?’
Chisum tapped the tips of his fingers and thumbs together then spread his palms. ‘There’s all kinds of grass, Steve. I know, because one of the labs I worked in did some research on it –’
‘You certainly get around.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Chisum affably. ‘That’s what makes me such a useful guy to know. Anyway, what I’m trying to tell you is that it affects different people in different ways. I’m no expert either but I know what’s going down the wire. Maybe a lot of what you saw while you were out there didn’t really happen.’
Steve eyed Chisum then shook his head. ‘John, I’m telling you. I’ve
seen things you wouldn’t believe.’
Chisum nodded. ‘That’s what I mean.’
‘I’m not talking about hitting the sky.’
‘Just for the record, reafers call it “tunnelling out”.’
‘Reafers…?’
‘Yeah, If you don’t have a pipe, you use a rolled leaf. A reaf – get it?’
‘Got it. What I’m trying to say is that I know the difference between “tunnelling out” and hard-rock reality.’
‘Lucky man…’
‘Don’t kid around. I’m talking about the big one, John. Mute magic’
Chisum laughed and waved his hands in front of Steve’s face. ‘Whoa! Hold it right there!’
Steve frowned. ‘What are you frightened about – somebody listening in? You already burned out the wires, John.’
Chisum stood up and moved the chair back to its original position. ‘Look, you’re a nice guy. A little mixed up, but okay. And you’ve got a great sister. Let’s not spoil a beautiful friendship.’
Steve stood up. ‘You disappoint me, John. You’re quite happy to buck the system, but the moment somebody threatens you with a new idea you run for cover.’
‘Nobody’s perfect,’ replied Chisum. ‘Let me give you some friendly advice. There ain’t no such thing as magic –’
‘John, it’s true. I swear it.’
Chisum shook his head. ‘Look. I’m a good eight years older than you. I haven’t been topside but I’ve been around. Truth doesn’t win wars, soldier-boy. Okay, I bend the rules a little, but I also know what’s right. Just get one thing fixed in your mind. Mutes are the enemy. And no matter how tough they are, we are gonna pound ’em into the ground. Because there ain’t room for both of us. If we in the Federation, in the generations to come, are ever going to be free to live in that great big blue-sky world up there then the Plainfolk and the last of the Southern Mutes will have to go. The big ones, the little ones, the ugly ones and the not-so-ugly ones. We’ve got to get rid of them all, Steve.’
Chisum paused and stared hard at the young wingman. Yes, he thought, the pressure’s building nicely. This guy is not going to be able to hold it down much longer. It was a shitty job he had to do but Chisum was honest enough to admit to himself that he enjoyed it even though, in his shadow world of half-truths and outright deception, he no longer knew – as Brickman had reminded him – where the edges were.
Chisum clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. ‘Okay! Change the subject. And I’m only gonna ask you this one last time.’ He aimed a finger at Steve’s chest. ‘Do you want to see Roz?’
Steve chewed the idea over.
‘Once you hit the A-Levels, there’s no knowing when you’ll be back up.’
‘I know,’ said Steve. ‘The way things are I don’t really care about what happens to me. It’s just that none of my kin-folk are supposed to know I’m alive.’
‘Yeah, well she knows. And she’d like to see you.’
Steve eyed Chisum squarely. ‘What’s in it for you, John? Come on. Level with me.’
‘Well, I’m not after your kin-sister’s ass, I can tell you that. Don’t worry. She sits on it real tight.’
Steve felt the colour flood to his cheeks. This guy really got under his skin. ‘So what’s the angle?’
Chisum shrugged. ‘I like doing favours – okay?’
Steve laughed. ‘Don’t give me that shit! You’ve been putting out for me since I walked through the door. Why? You don’t know me and you don’t owe me.’
‘Wrong,’ said Chisum. ‘I know a great deal about you. Roz is really hung up on you – but then she doesn’t know what a hard-assed sonofabitch you really are.’
‘Okay, okay, if it’s not me, what does Roz have to deliver?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Chisum. ‘It’s the way I operate. I’m a fixer. A little favour here, a little favour there.’
‘John, she’s fifteen. A first-year M D student. If it’s not her ass, what the eff-eff are you after?’
‘Nothing,’ repeated Chisum. ‘Not right now, anyway. I’m just making a small investment in her future. I told you. That kin-sister of yours is a bright kid. She’s on her way to the top. It’s good to have friends in high places. I’ve got markers out from here to Phoenix.’ Chisum paused and smiled. ‘You don’t understand, do you? Never mind. What’s it to be – “Yes” or “No”?’
‘You mean about Roz? I don’t know. It’s difficult. How are you gonna –?’
Chisum cut him off. ‘Look, don’t worry about the details. If I couldn’t fix it, I wouldn’t have suggested it. You don’t know me all that well but when I promise something I deliver.’
Steve took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s go for it.’
Chisum grinned happily and clapped his hands against Steve’s shoulders. ‘Attaboy, that’s more like it! Stick around. I’ve gotta make a few calls.’
Leaving the isolation ward, Chisum hurried to the nearest closed video-booth and carded himself through with the aid of a special code to the ST-Section of Records control. The code routed his call through to Fran without the intervention of an operator. Her head and shoulders, clad in the familiar silver jump-suit appeared on the screen.
‘3552 has agreed to see his kin-sister.’
‘Well done, John. Will you be using the same accommodation unit?’
‘Yes – Eight on Three-8 Santanna Deep. If you could place your people on standby…
‘They’ll be waiting for your call. How is the subject?’
‘Badly shaken. I assume that was your intention?’
‘It was indeed, John.’
‘The subject will need an ID to effect this rendezvous.’
Fran nodded. ‘His new card has already been delivered to the gate unit in readiness for his transfer tomorrow morning. If you ask for it I am sure there will be no problem. Call me at anytime if you need further assistance.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
Fran’s head was replaced by the Amtrak logo.
When Chisum reappeared, about an hour after he had left the ward, Steve was just stepping out of the shower.
‘Nice timing.’ Chisum tossed a yellow bundle across the room.
Steve unrolled the yellow and brown Seamster jump-suit and eyed it with evident distaste as he finished rubbing himself dry. ‘Do I have to wear this?’
‘Yeah,’ said Chisum. ‘It goes with your new ID.’ He pulled the card out of his breast pocket and flipped it onto the bed. ‘You’re not supposed to have that till tomorrow morning but the guy on the gate-house owes me.’
Steve looked impressed. He slid the card out of its protective wallet and examined it carefully. ‘Incredible… are you sure this will give me access to transporation on this level?’
‘It will tonight,’ said Chisum. That problem had already been taken care of. ‘Come on, get dressed. Roz is already on her way over from State U.’
‘Sure.’ Steve laughed quickly. ‘You know, I can’t really believe it. I just hope, one day, I’ll be able to pay you back.’ He began to dress with growing excitement.
Chisum sat against the edge of the table and watched silently. It’s not fair, he thought. This young guy and the girl, who had been raised believing Annie Brickman was their natural mother, are both bright kids who really feel good things about one another. And we’re going to screw them up and bust them apart. Here he was, once again, saying ‘Trust me’ to people who, because of what was about to happen, would probably never trust each other again.
How many did that make now? Chisum had lost count. In the beginning the betrayals had worried him; had kept him awake at night. But not now. Anyone who did the kind of job he did was soon stripped of all feeling. At one time he had been concerned to cover his own ass but, having learned, through his work as an undercover agent, of the First Family’s chilling disregard for the lives of individual Trackers, Chisum had begun to find it more and more difficult to place any value on his own.
Dressed in his new chr
ome yellow and brown coveralls, and matching hard-hat, Steve followed Chisum onto the shuttle that linked the White House to Grand Central. Chisum, who was carrying a square-sectioned emergency aid case, was wearing the green jumpsuit that marked him out as a paramedic orderly. The suit had broad red and white chevrons on the upper part of the sleeves, aligned with matching bands that went across the chest and back.
‘Relax,’ said Chisum, as the shuttle moved off.
‘I’m trying,’ replied Steve. He waved a hand over his coveralls. ‘You just can’t imagine how it feels to have to wear this…’
‘Listen,’ said Chisum. ‘There are thousands of guys who never get a chance to wear anything else. Don’t knock it. They do a good job. If it wasn’t for them –’
‘Yeah, I know. Don’t tell me,’ replied Steve with heavy sarcasm. ‘There’d be no air in the vents and the cans would back up.’
Chisum shook his head. ‘You guys from Lindbergh Field are all the same. You really think you’re ace. If you ask me, they ought to have you all shovelling shit for a spell before you go topside. Might do you good to find out how the other half lives.’
‘I’ve done my quota of PD. And I busted rocks for twelve months on the shuttleway to Phoenix.’
Chisum laughed drily. ‘Yeah, I know. The Yippie’s year. You spend six months on the dig, six months in the sick-bay and all twelve putting the horse between the shafts.’
‘Putting the horse between the shafts’ was the Young Pioneer equivalent of the Flight Academy’s ‘putting the bomb in the barrel’.
First Family Page 13