A Sub turned to Raulie. “Who Alwyn?”
“Boss Sub, long time back. ’Fore Halber, ’fore Josip even.” Raulie spat. “Fisherman jus’a scaretale fo’ joeykits.”
“Naw.” The Captain stepped forward. “Looka my face. I the one. Come back now ta see Halber. Where he be?”
His accent sounded amazingly like theirs; I wondered where he’d learned the dialect. Then I remembered his trans-pop wife.
“Dissim?” Raulie’s voice sounded unsure.
“Nah, Halber decide, like wid Uppiekit.”
The Captain jerked as if galvanized. “Uppiekit? Was he small, about this size?” In his excitement, the Captain forgot to speak their jargon. “Light brown hair?”
“Ain’chur bidness, Uppie.” Murmurs of agreement.
The Captain looked around. “Was it in this room? Yes.” He pointed to a post. “Alwyn stood dere, shiv in hand. Benin’, Subs was holdin’ Eddieboss ’gainst wall. Gonna diss me, cause I come down unner. Sub law, den.” He drew a hand through his wavy hair.
“Alwyn held shiv like dis, han’ unner.” He demonstrated. “Circle roun’ me. ‘I call ya out,’ I tellim. ‘Rumb fo’ boss, by Sub law.’”
An old woman’s shrill cackle broke the silence. “An’ Alwyn say, ‘A Cap’n talk trannie?’ He couldn’ believe. He ask Fisherman, ‘Ya win, ya stay Sub?’”
The Captain’s voice was a whisper. “Long as I wan’. Same as you.”
The wrinkled old crone nodded. “It be him, joeys.”
Raulie asked cautiously, “One Alwyn chased outa Sub?”
“Naw.” The old woman shook her head vigorously. “Alwyn made that up, long afta when Josip think ’bout callin’ him out. Alwyn din’ chase. Stopped rumb, helped Fisherman fin’ his girl.”
Raulie snorted his contempt. “Helped an Uppie?”
“Took me crosstown ta Easters,” the Captain said.
“Noway.”
“In unnercar. All lit up wid—”
“WHO TOL’FRAZZIN’ UPPIE ’BOUT UNNERCAR?”
The room was electric with tension. I gripped my laser.
“I rode it,” the Captain said patiently. Calmly, he walked up to Raulie. “I joinup wid Subs wayback. Be Sub now too.” He pulled open his jacket. “Gon’ diss a Sub? G’wan, den. Do it.”
Arlene bristled. “Nick ...”
“Do it!” After a tense moment the Captain pried the knife from Raulie’s nerveless hand.
My finger relaxed on the trigger. It was as if a ghost had risen.
“Where is Halber?”
Adam glanced at me, and at Arlene.
The apparition in the Sub cavern was the Nicholas Seafort of old, the Captain who would not be denied. Gone was his mild mien, the apology in his bearing that bespoke his years of anguish.
“Halber be here.”
“All right, then. Where’s Halber?”
At the deep rumble, the mass of Subs began to part, like a wave in slow motion.
Bearded, stocky, muscles bulging from within the multicolored tatters of his clothes, Halber thrust his way through the hushed crowd.
They halted face-to-face.
“Fisherman be I. Capt—”
“I know. Been lissenin’.” Halber’s mouth flickered with distaste. “What you wan’?”
“Two boys—joeykits—went underground. One is Jared Tenere, this man’s son. The other, Philip, is mine.”
Halber said nothing.
“Take me to them.”
Halber regarded him a moment. “No.” He turned to a Sub. “Loadup unnercar at Seven Nine wes’, bring joeys ta Hunnert Ten stair. Come back here fo’more. Fas’!”
The trannie bolted from the room.
“Halber—”
“Dis my turf!” The Sub Boss’s muscles rippled. “Who ask ya bust inta rumb? Busy. Talk afta.” His eyes fastened on Pedro Chang. “Wasn’t righ’, Neut, bring Uppies unner.”
Chang’s voice was brittle. “Hadda.”
“Can’t trus’ no more.”
“Maybe not me. But him.”
“Got no time fo’ fooltalk, ol’ man. Whatcha sayin’?”
Chang tottered to his feet. “Fo’get ya frazzin’ Parkas, I brung the Fisherman! Pipes go muddy: tellim ’bout it! Alla tribes restless fa pushout: tellim! Trannie life collapsing TELLIM fa Chrissake! I brung only Uppie in worl’ who lissen!” He panted. I slipped behind him, eased his chair forward.
Halber’s face was cold. “No time.”
The Captain snapped, “Make time.”
Chang said, “Halber, ya gotta lissen!”
With a roar, the Sub Boss snatched a chair, swung it over his head, smashed it down on the grimy concrete. He grabbed the splintered remains, flung them past his tribesmen to the far wall. “Gonna call out Halber, ol’ man? You want run Sub?”
Arlene’s eyes darted to mine. Slowly, she raised the tip of her stunner.
But Halber’s storm passed as quickly as it had arisen. He jabbed the Captain’s chest. “Alrigh’, Fisherman. Trayfo.”
“I’ve got coin, I can get cansa. Or Valdez permas—”
Halber spun to Adam Tenere. “Jared Washinton Uppie. Wanna see ’im?”
“Yes.” Adam’s voice was hoarse.
He leered at Arlene. “An’ ya wan’ Peetee?”
“Where is he?”
“Where ya won’ find. We trayfo. Subs c’n take Parkas. We gottem corner at Hunnert Ten wall. Dey stay in Park no matta what; outside wouldn’ survive a min. So we c’n take ’em ’ventual. But too many Subs already diss. You got lasers, stunners. Help us wid Parkas, an’ I take ya ta joeykits.”
“No!”
Halber breathed hard, staring through the Captain. After a moment his voice was quieter. “Fisherman, Parkas be trash. Even eat they dead, sometimes. Can’t walk in street near wall widout fear Parkas grab ’em.”
“I won’t kill for you.”
“Dey no better ’n Crypsnbloods. Ask Chang!”
The old man’s voice was subdued. “He right in that, Fisherman. Parkas be outcasts, prey on trannies. Can’ talk wid ’em, can’ trayfo. Even Neut ain’ safe.”
Nick Seafort’s fists knotted, and he cried, “What do you want of me?” Whether his plea was to Halber or Lord God, I wasn’t sure.
Halber licked his lips. On one hand he faced a war, on the other, an Uppie invasion of his tunnels. And his former ally Chang had brought us underground ...For a moment I saw the loneliness of the power I myself sought.
Halber’s face raised. “Be Sub, ya tol’ us wayback.” For a moment he smiled, and his eyes were cruel. “Fisherman, I call ya inta tribe. Our Sub dyin’ at han’s of Parkas. You c’n save. Watcha do, Sub? Ignore, or help?”
“Don’t ask it!”
“I ask.”
For a moment the cavern was still as a grave.
Nick Seafort sagged in defeat. “All right.”
Halber waited.
The Captain turned to us, his stream of orders as natural as if he were on his cherished bridge. “We have two pistols, two stunners. Arlene, Adam, Robbie, one for each of us. We’ll do what’s necessary, no more. Halber, take us north to a Hundred Ten in your subcar; it’s faster than anything but our heli. Mr. Chang, you’ll wait here. Halber, Chang is ill. Detail two of your men to help. See he has water, and anything else he needs.”
“Alrigh’.”
Seafort’s voice sharpened. “They’re his helpers, not guards. Mr. Chang is free to go where he wants.”
Raulie took in a hissing breath, but Halber merely nodded. “You heard ’im.”
“One last thing.” The Captain faced his wife. “If I don’t survive, see that Halber takes you to P.T. If he refuses, kill him and search on your own.”
An hour later, we lurched down a dark tunnel in a rusting yellow-lit car, surrounded by an uneasy throng of unwashed trannies gripping homemade weapons of every description.
Arlene’s mouth was set in a grim line. When I made to speak to her, she merely shook her head. Ad
am seemed dull and drained. I myself wanted nothing more than to be rid of our new allies. The Captain might cherish the ludicrous pretense he was a trannie Sub, but not I. Lord knew how I’d let myself be drawn into such folly; if Dad heard, he’d be outraged that I would risk our future. Would the headlines read, “Assemblyman Boland Risks All For SecGen’s Son,” or “Boland Joins Trannie War In Senseless Quest”? Or, even, “Boland Killed In Trannie Fray”?
I owed Adam much. But Dad’s forthcoming campaign was the culmination of his dreams, and my own. I’d maneuvered SecGen Kahn into clearing the streets, which could only rebound to our interest; he would suffer whatever backlash ensued, while the trannie hovels would be cleared for new tower construction.
The subway lurched; I grabbed a bar. Time later for the political repercussions. My goal was to stay alive, and of course find P.T. and Jared. I had no doubt Arlene would kill Halber without hesitation if he failed to honor his promise. I brushed the barrel of my laser. Three recharge packs would surely be enough. I had only to keep my head.
I staggered, as an inexperienced driver applied the brakes. Steel shrieked against steel. I marveled that trannies as ignorant as the Subs managed to restart cars in the abandoned tunnels, without a power grid.
In moments we found ourselves in a filth-strewn station.
“Hunnert Ten,” Raulie told us. “End of Park.”
“Halber, where are your joeys?” The Captain.
“Got some outside wall, case Parkas try goaround. Don’ think dey will. Otha Subs pushin’ north through Park, pas’ lake.”
We headed up the stairs.
“The Park’s surrounded by walls?”
“Both side, an’ end too. Not enough Subs ta guard all, but Parkas be glitch if try ta break out sides. Easters gather, an’ High Mids, waitin’ fo’ venge.”
“They’re fighting with you?!’
“Trannies togetha? Nah, you mus’ be glitch as ol’ Changman. What we did, tol’ ’em Parkas migh’ try pushout. Too many Mids was Parka dinna, over years. So tribes be waitin’.”
I felt a chill.
“We go in at Hunnert Three, maybe. Subs in Park got Parkas pushed pas’ dat.”
We emerged in fading light, joined a troop of about fifty Subs, among them children no older than Philip. I grimaced, sickened that the savages would risk their young in a greedy war for territory.
We strode down the center of the street alongside the park. Raulie danced at my side. “Usual, no Sub eva go above-groun’, ’less he give innifo passby. Tonigh’, diff.”
I paid little attention to his babble.
“Mira, joey! Subs walkin’ down Cenparkwes’ like we own!” His eyes glowed. “Park be Sub turf, now on!” He giggled. “Ya Uppie Subs c’n visit us wheneva ya wan’!”
I snapped, “I’m no Sub.”
“Nah, ya be Uppie piece a shit think ya own da world. But looka Fisherman, walkin’ wid Halber!”
Ahead a cluster of Subs guarded an opening in the wall. About them lay a handful of dead and hideously wounded.
Halber’s voice boomed. “Lissenup, joeys!” My mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. For a moment, he was a drill sergeant at Academy, calling the attention of his cadets. “We goin’ in. Know ya be hurtin’. But I tolya we pushout Parkas. Tolya we’d use unnercar for special surprise, din’ I? It worked; by movin’ fas’, we got Parkas run allaway to Hunnert Ten wall. Now we show ’em otha surprise.
“These Uppies,”—his wave encompassed us all, except the Captain—“got lasers an’ stunners.”
“Uppies?” A murmur of surprise.
“Dis be Fisherman.” He stood next to the Captain. “Sub Fisherman from long back, come ta help his tribe. No time ta ’xplain. He figh’ fo’ Sub. Do as he an’ I say. Lesgo!”
The Captain slowed Halber with a touch. “Have you a plan?”
“Yeah, diss ’em all.”
He turned to me. “Rob, how wide is the Park?”
It was in my district; I ought to know. I concentrated. “Perhaps half a mile.”
“Halber, how many Parkas are left in the north end of the park?”
“Four, five hunnert, prolly.”
“How many Subs inside the Park?”
“Two hunnert, no more. ’Bout as many dead.”
I caught my breath. It had been a costly war.
The Captain said, “Have your joeys guard the northwest corner against a breakout. We’ll push straight north to the wall, then swing west.”
Halber frowned. “We can’ let Parkas in east corna break south. Nevah fin’ ’em in trees an’ ruins.”
“That’s right. So you’ll also have to reinforce your line at a Hundred Three.”
Glowering, Halber folded his arms. “Who said you in charga?”
The Captain waited, saying nothing.
A sigh. “Alrigh’, do as he say. Raulie, send half the joeys to hold line. Rest, go wid Fisherman and me.” He crossed to the wall, hoisted himself over, looked coolly at the Captain. “You comin’?”
We boosted ourselves over the low wall, struggled through yards of brambles and bushes.
Arlene said, “Rob, stay close. I know you’re not a street fighter.”
My pride was wounded. “We went through the same training. I’ll take care of myself.”
The Captain said, “We use stunners first. Lasers are a last resort. Shoot to make them run. Kill only when you must.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I doubt the Subs will show as much mercy.”
“That’s their doing, not ours. Understood?”
We murmured assent. I marveled at how the battle had become his to command. For years Arlene and Adam shielded the Captain from stress. We’d all cooperated, knowing his fragility.
“Switch weapons with me, Rob.” He held out his hand for my laser.
I gaped.
“Give it here, and use the stunner.”
Dumbly, I complied. “Sir, why ... ?”
“I’ve killed, and I don’t wish the memory on you.” His face closed to a mask.
A long trek through bushes and brambles, to the remains of a road. Our breath came harsh in the moonlight. After a time, we turned northward.
The Subs made no effort to hide behind us; they spread into a line some three deep, perhaps twenty men wide. We moved forward, weapons brandished.
Arlene Seafort was at her husband’s right. Where he moved, so did she.
We met resistance at about a hundred yards. A cry cut short; a Sub pitched backward, a spear through his throat.
The snap of a laser; a dreadful shriek from the dark. Subs cheered.
The Captain’s harsh voice split the night. “Run, Parkas. Here be death.”
I strained to sense the whisper of a spear.
Ahead, through the brush, torches flickered. Guttural cries pierced the gloom.
Nearby bushes parted with a crackle. Someone shouted a curse. Screams. Clubs whirled, spears flew. A lithe Parka catapulted onto a Sub’s back. In an instant the Sub’s head was jerked back; a knife glinted. The splash of blood. Together they went down. The Parka rolled off, launched himself at me. I had barely time to bring up my stunner. I fired; he grunted, sagged atop me. Pressed into the cold earth, I struggled to free myself.
Adam thrust aside the limp form of my attacker. “Up, Rob!” A Parka woman sent him sprawling, raised her club. He rolled aside, kicked her in the stomach. Again she charged. He fired into her face.
Her hair crackled, burst into flame. Her features hissed and sizzled, too quickly for her even to scream. She dropped like a stone.
I vomited on my boots.
“No time!” Adam hauled me along. “Keep up with the others. Where’s your stunner?”
“Lost it.” It was all I could manage.
“Christ, Robbie.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
Halber shoved him forward. “Parkas runnin! Get ’em!” He put fingers to mouth, emitted a shrill whistle. “Now, Subs! Pushem ta wall!” Feet pounded, and our
escort surged to a run.
Above, lights circled. They veered to the north.
Halber tugged at the Captain’s arm. “If you be Sub, time is NOW! Park gonna be ours!”
Arlene’s eyes met mine, with grim realization of the work ahead. “We’d better hurry, Nick.” She urged him forward, and he complied.
I leaned retching against the northern wall, my hands sticky with blood.
As we’d thrust northward the Parkas grew ever more desperate in their sallies. I’d snatched up a fallen club and swung it with bloodthirsty determination. I knew how it felt to split a warrior’s skull to fragments, to stave in the ribs of an armed and frothing child.
Somewhere, I’d lost Adam. The Captain had hurried east, trying to stop the relentless slaughter of cornered Parkas. Arlene was with him.
It was over, and I wanted nothing more than to return to our hotel and wash the death from my body. Searching for P.T. and Jared no longer seemed of consequence.
Halber’s Subs had held Hundred Tenth north of the wall; they milled jubilantly in the roadway amid the disfigured corpses of Parkas and their own.
Overhead, lights loomed. The whap of heli blades. In the dark fields of the Park, screams.
On the road beyond the Park wall, the Sub trannies, used to impotent heli patrols, ignored the sound of motors.
Suddenly, death swept the street.
The snap of lasers was lost amid the helis’ drone, but the bolts cut a deadly swath through the Sub ranks. At first, consternation. Then terror. A band of trannies raced for the shelter of the Sub stairs. Few reached it.
Sickened, I looked away.
Feet pounded. A mighty hand seized my arm, hurled me against the wall. Halber’s eyes blazed. “Whatcha done, Uppie?”
I strove to keep my voice calm. “We fought on your side, remember? I have no idea why the jerries—”
In the bloodied street, a heli landed, its blades slowing. Unie troops poured out.
“Dey govermen, not jerries! Whatcha done?”
“I told you, I don’t—”
He clubbed the side of my head. I reeled. With one hand he held me fast against the wall. His fist flew back for another blow. “Tell!”
My words tumbled. “The Captain’s wife ... desperate to find her son. They called in the Unies. They’re—”
Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5) Page 31