Voices of Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 5)

by David Feintuch

  Sickened, I turned away.

  Minutes passed, before I roused myself. “Good-bye.”

  “See ya.” He was engrossed in his console.

  “I’m not sure I can make it back to a tower.” I felt leaden. “If I don’t, I’m sorry I hurt you ...”

  “Yeah, sure.” Suddenly he looked up, mischief in his eyes. “Back to a tower? I can get you clear out of the city.”

  “How?”

  “Watch.” Once more he keyed the puter, netted to the Greater New York Police. “UNAF NYCom to Greater NYPolice. By Ion Sanders, nephew of Senator Richard Boland, trapped roof on Fortescue Tower Broadway/Fortieth. Due to emergency no military craft may be diverted to civilian purposes; request immediate repeat immediate assistance.”

  I asked, “Where’d you learn to talk like that?” In his school papers, Jared had been lazy and disorganized.

  “By observation. Shut up.” He tapped on.

  “Request GNYP transport Sanders ASAP repeat ASAP to Trenton Shuttleport where home travel arranged. Confirm response to Captain—quick, P.T., give me a name—”

  “Vishinsky.” It was all I could think of. I wondered what the supervisor of our gate guards would think of my choice.

  “—Vishinsky, immediate.” He closed with a long routing. “See? Nothing to it.”

  My eyes flickered from the console to the banks of inputs, the multi lines, the satelnet links. “You have the power you wanted, Jar.”

  “Yeah.”

  We waited for the confirmation. Minutes passed. I wondered if they’d seen through Jared’s ruse. If hostile troops were on the way, it would be just as well. I’d pay my debt.

  The speaker crackled. “Stand by for emergency transmission, Earthport Naval Command to all U.NA.F. and Naval stations.”

  “Maybe I can get visuals.” Jared fiddled with the frequencies. The screen swirled.

  A new voice. “This is Admiral Jeff Thorne, CincHomeFleet, at Earthport Naval Station.” Jared found the frequency; suddenly the screen cleared. “New York UNAF, put Ruben on the line. All other stations, now hear this!” Thorne’s face was red. “The fucking trannies hacked into Naval comm codes. Effective forthwith all current codes are abandoned. Unseal codes slated for Tuesday next, in the pink envelopes—”

  “Jeff? Ruben, New York Command.” The General sounded breathless. “What in hell’s gone wrong? You blew out four of my command posts and you’re knocking down Unie helis left and right! Hold your goddamn laser fire! You’re killing troops!”

  “It’s the trannies.” Thorne swelled with rage. “Laser fire is stopped, as of two minutes ago. We—”

  A printer beeped. I glanced down. Confirmation from GNY Police: ETA fifteen minutes.

  “Why the hell are you in clear? Go to scrambler!”

  “Not ’til we straighten this out. You want us chasing our own tails? Listen, damn it. I shuttled up from Lunapolis to take personal charge. We’re going to new codes, both ground-side and the fleet, but let’s not trust them; who knows how deep the trannies hacked. There’s to be no laser fire from Earthport’s batteries unless I personally approve each target. And I’ll do so only when I have confirmation from you, with visuals and voice.”

  “That’s cumbersome as—”

  “Ernst, how many more troops must we kill before we learn?”

  “Agreed, but we have a complication. SecGen Kahn’s livid about the laser attack on Wirtz. He’s suspended the oversight committee, and taken personal charge. He wants the old city cleared.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do your best—”

  “Of buildings,” Ruben said.

  A gasp. I realized it was mine.

  “Their blowing the seawall was the last straw. Kahn says it’s time to renew the city, and he’ll take the heat. I’m ordered to pull back our troops so we take no more casualties. He wants laser strikes from Earthport targeted on abandoned stores and apartments. We’re to level anything not on our tax rolls, which includes all the trannie areas. After, they’ll be redeveloped as towers and parks.”

  A long pause. “I see. And the trannies?”

  “Survivors will be resettled. You’ll have Kahn’s confirmation through channels. In the meantime things may get a bit confused; we’re shutting down satdish relays and fiber optics to the nets.”

  From Thorne, no answer.

  Jared muttered, “Shit. I’ll have to cut loose, or I’ll leave tracks.”

  Ruben said, “Jeff, I was surprised as you, but it may be for the best.”

  “Yes, of course, I ...” Thorne pulled himself together. “I’ll need target coordination from your people.”

  “You’ll have it. First priority is securing the midtown towers; they’re vital. Then the old subways where the trannies hide their HQ.”

  “I ... very well.” Thorne’s voice was bleak. “I’ll gear up on our end, and wait for Kahn’s confirmation.”

  “Very well.” General Ruben sounded cross. “Now for God’s sake go to scrambler. Christ alone knows who’s listening.”

  The screen cleared.

  I found myself huddled in the corner, weeping silently.

  Father, I understand now. About the monastery. Why you go on retreats, why you took refuge for all those years. You’d done something unbearable.

  As have I.

  I doubted I could get them to listen, but I had to try. I turned to Jared, put a touch of awe in my voice. “I’ve never seen anyone schuss the nets so well. Ever.”

  Jared’s chin went up. “You always thought I was stupid. No, don’t deny it; it’s all right. I just needed a chance to show you.”

  “It’s ... wonderful.” I paused. “Jar, I’ve had a rough week. Before Fath gets hold of me, I deserve a vacation. Could you set it up?”

  He shrugged. “If we hurry. The nets will be going down. Where to?”

  I thought a moment. “How about the Lunapolis Hilton?” Jared slipped on a throatmike. “Puter. Oral. Code Bossman Alpha. Travel, air. Ticket to passenger pickup, charged to Holoworld Ltd. Next departure after 2100 hours this day Trenton Shuttleport, destination Earthport / Lunapolis.”

  Chapter 52

  JARED

  P.T. ALWAYS LACKED TRUE imagination. But what could he expect, burying his head in schoolbooks?

  Why bother with a vacation when he could stay with me and have a ringside seat for the end of the world? Now all he’d get was acceleration ache and a room in a tourist warren.

  On the other hand, a comfortable hotel bed wasn’t that bad an idea. I stretched, easing my aching shoulders. I’d sat at the console for what seemed like weeks, with nothing but bathroom breaks. I needed a meal, a bed. Decent clothes to replace my trannie rags.

  First, I had business to conclude. I toyed with the London CLIP, sliding in through the back door I’d installed. The CLIP’S preprogrammed robins were industriously searching out my worms, so I tossed in birdseed to distract them.

  It served the multinats right, the bastards. With the immense power of central linked processors, they netted every tiny detail of our lives. But the same connectivity that allowed Dad instant access to my grades also handed me his Terrex card; what goes round comes round. If you link the facets of our lives to prevent rebellions, you hand rebels the key to success.

  On screen, I flicked idly through SearsNet clothes catalogs while waiting to rendezvous with my Arfie. It was high time to wield the chaincutter, and how we broke links would determine whether I could be traced.

  Of course, from my standpoint it didn’t matter. Even if they traced our operation to this room, I’d be long gone. I had set up a series of credit accounts that would keep me in funds regardless of whether Dad cut my allowa—.

  My mouth tightened. All right, don’t overreact. Yes, I supposed I’d miss him. He was the only adult I’d ever known well.

  Nonetheless, he wasn’t worth my regrets. He wasted his life as the Old Man’s pet rabbit, ignoring me in the process. He was so selfish and conceited, he imagined he knew best for
me, though it had been decades since he’d been a joeykid.

  I was better off without him.

  So why was I sobbing?

  Bullshit; I was getting as bad as P.T. I was exhausted and overwrought. I wiped my eyes, schussed through the nets, gave myself a zarky new wardrobe, courtesy of SearsNet and Bank of London.

  Still, for a moment I yearned to pick up the caller, dial a familiar voice. Arlene. Uncle Robbie. Anyone.

  Instead, the caller buzzed me. I took it warily. “Yeah?”

  “I sendin’ Raulie ta bring ya home.”

  I snorted. “Learn how to start a conversation. It’s ‘Hello, this is Halber,’ then—”

  “Shut ya face, joeykit!”

  I said coldly, “Don’t talk to me that way, Halber. That time is past.”

  “Time be past fo’ thousands a trannies! I got tunnels full a dead, hear me?” With an effort, he made his voice calmer. “Bad day. But ya done good, Uppie. Raulie saw heli fall right outa sky. An’ Unies climbin’ inta troop carry, ridin’ ’way. Dunno they be back, but least it give us time.”

  “Yeah.” I wondered whether to tell him he’d soon be a laser target. He’d just snarled at me worse than Dad, and treated me as a child. Besides, what was the point? His people had nowhere to run.

  “I wanna meet wid Raulie an’ Pook an’ you. Figga out what ta do nex’. Can’t get through ta Changman on frazzin’ glitch caller.”

  I felt a peculiar pride; despite his ill temper he thought me a leader with whom to confer. But knowing what was coming, I’d be out of my mind to go down to the Sub caves. “You need me here.”

  “Why?”

  “My nets are still up. I’ll try to hit the Unies again.” False, of course. A move against the alerted U.N.A.F. would be suicidal. They’d have a gunship lobbing missiles through the wall in less time than ... I shivered.

  He grumbled, “Wish I could talk ta ol’ Chang.” I’d never met the old man he’d sent as a negotiator, but Pook described him as senile and foolish. An apt spokesman.

  Well, it didn’t matter. My tower had food machines, water, and softies. While the Unies targeted the streets, I would stay right here. Then, when it was safe, I’d allow myself to be found.

  I felt a pang of ... not guilt, but mild regret. “Halber, you ever think of leaving the tunnels?”

  “Tolya we was gonna run fo’ the Hud, coupla hours back. But thas cause we desperate. No place fo’ Sub tribe onna street. Sub be our home.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” On my screen, a window flickered and was gone. My link to the London CLIP was no more. “Halber, I gotta go. Bye.” I flicked off the caller, knowing it would enrage him. I didn’t care; it was time to tighten my skis and schuss to safety. Carefully, oh, so carefully, I left intricate instructions for the Arfie. By now it was roaming the free electron slopes, well clear of New York. Then I began to extricate myself, brushing fresh snow across my trail as I backed out.

  I was none too soon.

  One by one the pylons snapped, and the ski lift slowly crashed into the powdery snow. Unicredit went off-line, then Citizaccess. Holoworld. I watched the last of my net connections flicker and die. When the fiber optics went, I keyed to satlinks, adjusting settings to compensate for the crawling pace. Not long after, I lost my main feed, the Geosynch Optinet. I’d barely logged through my first alternate when it too went dead. Without much hope, I tried other links, but my suspicions were confirmed. They’d shut down the nets.

  My work was done. I dialed into a local news carrier to watch the fun, but halfway into connection my screen blanked.

  I sighed, keyed my puter to satdish. Outgoing feeds were down. A thin blade of panic stabbed at my spine; I was isolated, lost in a deserted tower in the middle of a war. But as I flicked frequencies I found incoming links were undisturbed: Worldnewsnet, Holoworld Hourly, romances, even the mindless puter-construct soaps that livened the dreary afternoons of stay-at-homes.

  I settled back in my chair, hugging myself, staring at the screen.

  Chapter 53

  POOK

  CHANGMAN LIKE TA COMPLAIN he get ol’ tryin’ ta teach me patience. Always I ignore. Now, followin’ Halb through sub tunnels wid Subgirl Allie trailin’ behind, I gotta learn it fo’ myself. Halber keep changin’ his mind what he want. Firs’ he say attack Unies, don’ matter where, so long as trannies take venge fo’ gas.

  But afta Unie sojers’ hit trannies so bad near U.N., he talk ’bout tribe ’scapin’ ’cross Hud Riv. Den he call Jared Washinton Uppie, an’ now he wanna stay in Sub ta rumb.

  Final, eatin’ bit a stew in lair, he rub eyes like he daze. “Pook,” he say, “how c’n I think if I can’ keep ’wake? How long it been since I rest?”

  “Dunno, Halb.” I cautious eva since he swat me ’cross room, screamin’ at Raulie ta blow wall. “Coupla days?” Word go roun’ dat ’xplosion be zark; Uppies runnin’ aroun’ like pissoff ants. But now sub tunnels south a Twenny be flood. Less ’n less our turf left.

  “I’m gonna lie down.”

  “Chinas been waitin’. An’ Faron’s Easters say got nowhere ta go, tunnels full, Lexes won’t move deeper ’cause—”

  “Chris’!” He fling metal stew dish cross room. It roll an’ clatter. “Gimme peace!”

  I say real careful, “Wan’ I should talk ta ’em, Halb?”

  “You? He spit wid scorn. “Joeykit Mid talk ta tribes fo’ Subs. Fahh!” But afta min he add, “Blowin’ wall was yo’ idea ... wouldn’t make no promises, wouldja?”

  “Naw.”

  He sigh, see empty mattress, hand me caller, kinda slide down wall. “’Kay.”

  Lotsa times I watch ol’ Chang trayfo wid Mids an’ Broads. So I know I gotta stay in charga, an’ not lettem push me roun’. ’Notha thing I notice, the louder trannies get tryin’ ta trayfo, the quieta go Chang, ’til dey gotta shush ta hear ’im. It work every time.

  So I fin’ Chinas’ speakfo. Joey come roilin’ in, all fury an’ noise an’ sputter. Unie sojers pushem outa turf, streets full a mud, where dey spose ta go? Sub flood fo’ mile north a China. Wha happen Halber’s promise Sub be open ta all, hah?

  I sen’ Allie ta ask if space in tunnels furtha north. Meantime South Harl stomp in, deman’ rest a trannies help take back Amstadam; Unie patrols had streets block.

  He be interrup’ by pissoff Lex. His joeys can’ crawl inna dark tunnel two block from stair, while frazzin’ Easters what ain’ lift finga ta help got turf right by staysh.

  “Okay okay,” I mutta low. Wish I had tea ta offa, like Chang. “We fix, make yas happy.”

  “How? You ain’ even Sub. How ya goin—”

  “We take care a. Filmatleven.” Prolly what Chang ’d say.

  But South Harl joey scowl. “Wan’ help now; tomorra maybe Unies be back strong wid—”

  “Pook, Lexes ain’ gonna let no frazzin—”

  Caller buzz. Annoy, I turn it on an off quick, so it stop. “No prollem, Lex. We sen’ someone talk ta Easters, soon as—” Goddamn caller buzz again.

  I fling it ’gainst far wall, but somehow it ain’ broke. It keep buzzin’, insistent. Cursin’, I go get it. “Yah?”

  “Halb?”

  “Naw, Pook. Who be?”

  “Raulie, on Two Six near Broad. Need Halb quick.”

  “He sleepin’. Watchawan’?”

  “Gimme Halb NOW, ya frazzin’ Mid, or I skin ya head ta toe!”

  I go chill, cause ain’ nothin’ in worl’ worse ’n a pissoff Sub. Dey grab ya inna nigh’, pullya inna tunnel, throw back skun body inna morn’. Nobody mess wid Subs. Still, I wish could crawl through caller wid shiv. Raulie ack like I never help Subs, when I give ’em Jared, and I think up blowin’ wall.

  My teeth bare, but instant ’fore I speak, I feel Changman watchin’ from nowhere, an’ say quiet, “Halber tol’ me lettim sleep. Meantime I hannel calls an’ talk ta tribes.”

  ’Steada rage, Raulie’s voice go beg. “Pookboy, I never seen nothin’ like this. Tellim I say jump in unnercar,
meet at Two Six in few min. Hurry!”

  Was Raulie blew up wall, Raulie what bust inta towahs. If he soundin’ scare ... I push pas’ Easters an’ Mids and Chinas ta where Halb lay curl. I reach ta shake him wake, but think better. I kneel, talk close ta ear ’til he groan, turn ova.

  Allie say, “Lemme, Pook.” She bend ova, prod him wake. He sit up sudden. I jump back, like he stewdog gonna snap wid fang. “Raulie want ya fas’, Halb.”

  Halber growly wid loss sleep. He chew me fo’ leavin’ him a bunch hysteric trannies allatime want somethin’. Den he stomp ta unnercar, beckon me comealong. Allie come too, like invited.

  Ride south quiet, tense. We race through staysh. I look away, ’fraid I see bodies lyin’ stack, wid blood roun’ mouth. But Subs wave as we pass, while joeys of otha tribes run fo’ stair at two angry lights comin’ rumble outa dark.

  Car slow. I run ta driva seat. “Whassamatta?” I peer at track.

  Halber bring us ta stop. “Ain’ no staysh at Two Six. Jus’ ’scape hole.” He open door, jump down. “Wait here.”

  “Wanna come.”

  “Don’ matta.” He stalk inta dark. Runnin’ ta keep up, I fall flat an’ smack my face. I curse, jump up afta disappearin’ Sub. Benin’ me, Allie giggle. I think ’bout cuttin’ her a nice fresh Mid mark.

  Raulie be wait ’cross track, near side openin’. “Halb!”

  I stumble on track, but Allie grab my arm ta steady. I push her off, proud, but afta min take her nan’ fo’ guide.

  Raulie beckon us ta grate ovahead.

  We climb ladder ta ledge. Halber say, “Well? Whas so import I couldn’ res’?”

  “Lissen!”

  Cracklin’ soun’. Rumble.

  Pushin’ aside grate, Halber growl, “What now? Frazzin’ Unies can’ make up their mind, come afta us, run away—” he poke head out ta street. “Oh Jesus Lor’.”

  Icicle ooze down my back. Gotta look. Squeeze pas’ Halber’s arm, look roun’.

  Crackle be from fire. Whole block burn, as far south I c’n see. Crumble brick walls fill road.

  ’Cross street, build slides slowly inta street. I duck from crash, get tangle in Halber’s arms. He thrus’ me ’way.