Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  The sailor scowled. “Dis be Pedro Chang, neut I tolya ’bout. He gone glitch wid old. Usetabe, had mo’ chips innis head ’n any six trannies.”

  Pedro Chang drew himself up to his meager height. “Glitch, he say? Wan’ me believe trannie joinup inna Navy an’ come back fro’ outboun’, bringin’ Cap’n widim? Who glitch?”

  I moved closer to the light. “Look at me. At my uniform.”

  Chang came close, peered up at my face. “No joeyboy swind Pedro Telamon Chang.” He padded slowly around me, grumbling. “Neuts gotta be smarter ’n alla tribe. Rock or Mace or Broad, don’ matta. Traytaman gotta be tough.” He came close, fingered my tunic. “Navy weave, yeah, but any joe could get. An’ Cap’n threads be white. I got holozines.”

  I didn’t move but my voice was as ice. “Take your hands off me.” Chang’s fingers hesitated, fell back. “A Captain wears what he pleases. I wouldn’t wear dress whites in a thrustersuit. Or here.”

  He clicked his teeth. “Oh, high and mighty, is he. Jus’ like Uppie.”

  “Do you read, old man? Are you smart enough to remember pictures? Do you even have a holovid?”

  Chang glared at me, spat.

  I hefted my pistol, strode to the door. “Eddie, come along! I’ll take my chances out there.” I twisted at the locks. “We have at least fifteen charges, maybe—”

  “They kill you, Captain Nicholas Seafort.” The old man’s voice was changed. “You slaughter fifteen, maybe more, if you get to the recharge in ya pocket. Then the rest club you to death.”

  “You fraud!” I clawed at the chain. “What’s happened to that thick dialect, now? I don’t need you, I don’t want to know you.”

  Chang ducked under my arm, rebolted a lock. “I don’ put nothin’ on. I talk trannie ’cause I be one. Jus’ cause I c’n talk more Uppie if I try, no reason you look down on me.” His rheumy blue eyes found mine.

  “I don’t care what—” I swallowed. “All right.”

  Chang swiveled to Eddie. “So dat mean you be Navyboy. If Cap’n marry trannie, I guess trannieboy c’n be joinup.” His gaze returned to me. “Allatime you on news screens. Course I knew ya, righ’ from start. Alla trannies watch screen, high up on tower, but they think stories ain’ real. Now, what you doin’ inna street?”

  “My wife, Annie Wells. She was a Mace. We’re looking—”

  “Was, is, willbe. Trannie stay trannie inside.”

  Eddie rumbled, “You don’ know, ol’ man.”

  Chang trotted up to Eddie, jabbed his finger in the seaman’s brawny chest. “When Maceboy came cryin’ dat his Ma be dead, an’ wan’ venge on the Broad dat done her, was it ‘ol’ man’ you call me, or Mista Chang, hah? When I trayfo Broad’s name so you diss the righ’ one, even widout you had innifo, was I ‘ol’ man’?”

  Eddie reddened. “All righ’, din’ mean nothin’.”

  “Glitched, I be? Maybe I slap yo’ face fo’ you, Maceboy. I did it when you little, an’ raz ol’ Chang.”

  The sailor shuffled his feet. “Din’ mean nothin’, I said. An’ don’ go slappin’ no one. I ain’ joeykit no mo’.”

  “An’ I be Pedro Chang, the one frien’ dat Maceboy had.” After a moment his expression softened. “Could be still, Maceboy had manners.”

  Eddie forced his knotted fists to relax. “Don’ flare. Frien’ what I need, now.”

  “Ah. Now we talk.” The old man scurried to the chairs, transferred clothing onto other piles, bade us sit. “Why you look for Annie?”

  I said, “She disappeared from a clinic in the Bronx where she was getting hormone treatments. She’s wandering around somewhere, confused and miserable.”

  “If she be alive.”

  I forced myself to acknowledge the thought. “If she’s alive.”

  “No good, dem Bronks catch her. Can’ trayfo, can’ even talk widem. Glitched, alladem.”

  “Eddie says she’d try to go hom—come here.”

  “If she could.”

  Eddie clutched at Chang’s bony arm. “Wha happen ta Mace?”

  The old man slapped at Eddie’s fingers with annoyance. “Don’ hol’ on, you ain’ no babykit.” He trotted across the room, rummaged in a bin, emerged with a teapot. He plugged it into the permabattery, poured water from a plastic jug on the floor. “Mace Three Four got tore down two year back. Walls goin’ bad, chunks fallin’ on street. Jerries come in, by hunners. Bulldozers. Maces tried ta hold on, got some of themself killed.”

  From the drawer of a battered desk Chang emerged with teabags. “Less’n a week, dey all onna street.”

  Voices from outside. “Hey, Changman! You neut or Mace?”

  Chang looked disgusted. “Rocks don’ know bein’ patient.” He shuffled to the door, spoke through it. “I talkin’ wid Maces. You wait ’n see, like I tolya. Filmatleven!”

  “We ain’ got all—”

  “You ain’ got nothin’! Wanna see if ol’ Chang still got nitro, jus’ waitamin!” Footsteps retreated. Chang grinned through stained teeth.

  “Where my Mace go?” Eddie asked.

  “The Rocks wouldn’ give passby widout innifo. Maces din’ have—”

  My voice was sharp. “What’s innifo? Everyone keeps saying that.”

  The old man put three cups on the dusty table. “Trannie word. Wha’s innifo?”

  “I just asked you!”

  “An’ I tolya.” Seeing my puzzlement he repeated slowly, “Wha’s innifo me? Can’ tray widout innifo.”

  “They wanted—bribes?”

  “Course. If Maces wanna cross Rock turf, need innifo. Dat trannie way. But they din’ have lotta trayfo lef, pushed outa Macestore. So they fight their way crosstown, past Rocks, past Unies even.”

  Eddie leaned forward, eyes riveted on the wizened old man. “Did they make it?”

  “Dunno, for sure. Rocks din’ stop ’em. Heard they got past Unies, heard maybe they push out Easters, but maybe Mace all dead, who know? No one eva came back.” He poured scant portions of tea into our cups. After a moment he reconsidered, poured again until they were full.

  “Mr. Chang, did Annie come to you?”

  “I din’ see her.”

  Eddie growled, “Ya waitin’ fa innifo?”

  Chang snapped erect. “I givin’ you good tea I c’n trayfo cansa or even a holovid. Don’ you talk me no innifo!”

  “Fadeout. Din’ mean nothin’.”

  “’Sides, I already got all your innifo.” Chang squatted by our sack, lifted out a can. “Real meat, good. Vegs, okay.” He sifted through the sack. “You bring good trayfo, boy.”

  Eddie said dryly, “That was the idea.”

  “Oh, listen ta sailorboy talk Uppie!”

  “Cap’n taught me.”

  “Sen’ you school, hah?”

  Eddie averted his gaze, said with care, “The Captain taught me himself. On ship.”

  “Captains don’ do that.”

  “This Captain does.”

  Pedro Chang trotted to my chair. He stood over me, arms folded, studying my face. At length he nodded. “Okay, you looked after Eddieboss, I help you some. Not too much, I be a Neut.” Before I could ask, he said, “Neut means, don’ take sides. What’d you do ta get them fizzed?”

  Eddie said, “I dissed a Rock. Maybe two.”

  Chang sucked air through yellowed teeth. “Can’t fix dat, take too much innifo. I gotta give you back.”

  I said, “Is there another exit?”

  “Rocks watchin’ all ways out. They not so stupid as Maceboy think.” Chang perched on the table, sipped at his tea. “But ol’ Chang smart traytaman. Maybe trayfo.”

  “What is—”

  “Trade for,” they said simultaneously. Eddie turned back to Chang. “Like you say, we ain’ got innifo, ’xcept what we gave ya.”

  “Them Rocks won’ give up venge for cansa. Dunno what ta offa.” Chang rubbed his chin. Finally he brightened. “Chang don’ offa’ nothin’. Askem.” He took up a cudgel, crossed to the door, hammered on it. �
�Rocks! You wan’ talk to Chang or no?”

  Cautious footsteps. “You got nitro?”

  “You need to fin’ out, o’ we jus talk?”

  “We wan’ Maceboy.”

  “I know dat. One Maceboy, one Rock, talk in Chang house. No rumb.”

  “Jus’ a min.”

  Time passed. Chang leaned against his door, eyes bright. Finally the voice came again. “Alri’, but two Rocks. Jus’ talk, no rumb, cool?”

  “Chang put his word. Go for Rocks too.”

  “Zark. Openup.”

  Chang said softly, “Inna back, both of you, ’til I call.”

  “C’mon, Cap’n.” Eddie was out of his chair. “Cuppa?” He pointed at the tea.

  The trader said, “Leave it. Rocks know you here.”

  Eddie led me to the curtained doorway. The apartment behind was scrupulously clean. In one corner was a carelessly made bed. The wall was lined floor to ceiling with old books printed on real paper. A corridor led back to a heavily barred door.

  Straining to hear, I thrust an inch of the curtain aside.

  Bolts scraped. Pedro’s tone held dignity as an ill-kempt woman entered. “Welcome to Chang house, Tresa.”

  A tribesman pushed past her. “Nevamin’ fancy talk, we wan’ Mace!”

  “We talk, maybe you get.”

  He growled, “Talk too much, maybe we take!”

  Chang bristled. “You give word, no rumb. How much innifo Rocks’ word?”

  The woman was indignant. “Rocks’ word good! Fadeout, Butchie.”

  Eddie whispered, “Sheet. Rocks’ word don’ mean nothin’.”

  “Okay okay, sit an’ drink Chang coffee.” The old man busied himself with the pot. “Why you wan’ Maceboy?”

  Tresa said, “Arno lyin’ inna street, head all smash. Wan’ Mace fo’ evenup!”

  “Arno allatime bigmouth. Was askin’ ta get diss.”

  “Nah, he jus’ talkin’, an Mace whomp him wid sack a rocks.”

  Eddie hissed, “Not jus’ talkin’. He call it Rock turf—”

  I jabbed him in the ribs; he lapsed into dark muttering.

  Chang poured into metal cups, handed them around. He turned to the woman. “Trayfo evenup?”

  “Din’ ya hear Butchie telly a venge?”

  “Okay okay, Chang be neut, he giveya Maceboy, ya wannim.”

  I stiffened. “You said he was your frien—”

  Eddie shook his head, whispered, “Chang ain’ givin’ me ta Rocks.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He give us tea.” It made no sense, but I kept silent.

  “What kinda trayfo, afta he diss Arno?” Butchie’s laugh was raucous. “Alla Chang store, fo’ evenup?”

  “Know better’n dat, Butchie. Trayfo wha’?”

  “We don’ tray Arno’s venge fo’ no cansa.”

  Chang didn’t hesitate. “Okay, okay, Rocks knows what dey wan’. No trayfo. Finish coffee, outaheah.”

  Tresa was thoughtful. “Maybe trayfo evenup, one way.”

  Chang waited.

  “I saw Uppie joey hadda laser. Trayfo cansa an’ tea an’ laser, fo’ evenup.”

  The old man reared back. “Laser pistol, evenup fo’ one frazzy Rockboy? Laser be whole Rock tribe, an’ a few Unies fo’ change.”

  “You sayin’ Rocks ain’ worth—”

  “I sayin’ none a tribes got lasers! Rocks got laser, be bossman onna street!”

  Butchie muttered, “C’n rumb wid Broads, we gotta laser. Wid Subs, even.”

  Exasperated, Tresa snapped, “Keep shut, Butchie! I can’ tray wid Chang, you sayin’ dat.”

  Pedro shook his head. “Can’ trayfo laser. Uppie still got it.”

  Tresa nodded as if he hadn’t spoken. “Laser, three recharge. An’ cansa. Evenup fo’ Arno.”

  Chang folded his arms. “Nah, if Chang get laser he keep it, giveya Maceboy.”

  “You stayin’ Neut?” Butchie’s tone was ominous.

  “Wid laser in his pocket, Chang be Neut, Rock, anythin’ he want!”

  Tresa’s tone was plaintive. “You say cominheah ta trayfo. Now you won’!”

  “I neva tolya no laser. Uppie got laser, maybe won’ giveya. Askem, be bes’.” Chang trotted to our curtain, yanked it open. Before he turned away, one shrewd eye winked. “C’mon out, talk wid Rocks.”

  He might have given us warning. Warily, I stepped out of the alcove. Eddie followed.

  “You meat, Maceboy!” Butchie.

  “Dogs prong ya motha!” Eddie’s muscles rippled. “Frazzin’ Arno was on Mace turf—”

  “Nuffadat!” Chang’s growl cut across the rising tension. “Here fo’ talk, no rumb. Put word, bothyas did!”

  Reluctantly, they subsided. Chang placed his chair between the warring parties, addressed me. “Cap’n, you wanna givem laser, evenup Mace fo’ Rock?”

  His gaze gave no hint of the expected answer. I thought for a long moment. The laser was our only protection, and Naval Stores wouldn’t be pleased at the paperwork involved in its loss. On the other hand, Chang was a skilled negotiator. Should I seem eager, or no? They wanted Eddie’s life, and I couldn’t allow that. If I guessed wrong, the war would escalate. I glanced at the sullen Rocks. If only Eddie hadn’t ...

  I flicked a finger at Eddie. “Give up my weapon, to help that trannie scum?” My voice was cold. “You’re glitched, old man. Anyone goes for my laser, I’ll fry the lot of you!”

  Eddie’s fists bunched. “Don’ you go callin’—”

  “Shut your mouth, joeyboy!”

  Chang said, “Gotta put you out, if no. Den dey gonna getcha.”

  I snapped, “They’ll burn first!”

  “Rocks wan’ Maceboy ’n you, both. Or trayfo—”

  “Talk English, you old fool! And forget about trading with trash like those two!”

  The Rocks were on their feet.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Chang patted the Rocks toward their chairs, pushed at Eddie’s unyielding form. “No rumb in Chang house. Uppie thinks like Uppie, whatcha ’xpec’? He won’ give laser fo’ evenup.”

  Tresa hawked and spat. “Uppie, you gon fry us Rocks? How many, ’fore resta tribe on ya? An’ afta, what, skinya, maybe?”

  My smile was nasty. “Try me, bitchgirl.”

  Chang padded toward me, hands held out in a placating manner. “Okay, okay, Cap’n. Maybe you no unnerstan’, lotsa Rock tribe inna street, not jus’ two three. If rumb start, don’ matter how many it take, dey gonna getya. Bes’ you trayfo.”

  I thrust him away, hoping he wouldn’t fall. “We should have cleared the streets years ago! I’ll stay here until my bodyguards come looking. There’s plenty of food.”

  Chang bent over the Rock negotiators, spoke in a low tone. “Lemme talk widim. ’Ol Chang be traytaman, maybe c’n trayfo.”

  Tresa’s tone was hoarse. “Nevamin’ no trayfo, give us Uppie!”

  Chang patted her shoulder. “Maybe I talk, he lissen. But gotta talk solo.”

  Tresa stalked to the door, spat once again. “Bigmouth Uppies think ya own the worl’! One day we get allayas!” She let Chang unlock.

  The trader pushed Butchie gently toward the door. “Letcha know. Filmatleven.” As soon as the Rocks were gone he re-bolted the locks.

  “Mr. Chang, I’m sorry if I—”

  “Gottem now!” His eyes danced. “Cap’n oughta be traytaman, let Chang sail starship!” He trotted across the store, turned the teapot high. “We givem time, hour maybe. Den we deal.” He veered around Eddie, who hadn’t budged.

  “Trannie scum?” The seaman’s eyes blazed.

  “Mr. Boss, I didn’t—”

  The old trader poked at Eddie’s chest. “Stupid Maceboy, chewin’ on Cap’n fo’ save yo’ life! When crybaby joey teen came knock’n Chang door, din’ I teach him smarts? Hah! Chang and Cap’n know, even if Maceboy don’.”

  “Know what?” Eddie’s tone was menacing.

  “Yo’ Cap’n—” He spoke with dignity. “Your Captai
n knew Rocks won’ tray if they be too mad at Eddie. So he makem mad at hisself. Make all us mad. Now dey forget ’bout you, an’ tray.”

  The sailor glowered. “How I know he din’ mean it? How I know ’bout anything he say? My frien’, once. Teach me read, talk. Den he sen’ me—” Eddie stopped short, muttered, “Dunno.”

  “He still you’ friend, silly young Maceboy.”

  “How you know?”

  “’Cause he gonna give me laser ta save you.” Chang held out his hand. “An’ cause ol’ Chang can’ be traytaman, not knowin’ insidea joes.”

  I slipped the laser from my pocket, placed it in his hand. My eyes turned to Eddie.

  The sailor shuffled his feet. After a moment he turned away. “Can’ figure out nothin, no mo’.” His tone couldn’t conceal his relief.

  When Chang judged the time right, he called back the Rock tribesmen. He dismissed with scorn Tresa’s demand for more booty. She countered by offering safe passage for me alone; Chang wouldn’t hear of it. “Came togetha, leave togetha,” was all he’d say.

  Finally they settled on Chang’s initial goal: a trade of my laser and recharge packs for our free passage through Rock territory, in the morning.

  “An no venge,” the old man admonished. “Evenups, bothadem.”

  Grudgingly, they agreed.

  “Speakfo?”

  “Alla Rocks. I be bitchboss, ya know dat. I say even, is evenup!” She spat at Eddie’s feet. “But nex’ time, Maceboy, ya be meat!”

  Eddie growled, but between my fingers digging into his forearm and Chang’s warning glare, he said nothing.

  When they had gone I asked, “Will they keep the deal after they get the laser?”

  Chang’s eyes flashed. “Transpops ain’ like Uppies. Word be good. Dey don’ have much else.”

  I let it be.

  Chang puttered about his quarters, disappeared into the cellar, and reemerged with a handful of cans. Humming to himself, he began to cook over the hotpad. The aroma of savory chicken wafted through the store. At length he beckoned us into his apartment, sat us at a rickety table that reminded me of Father’s. We supped on chicken stew with pop-rolls fresh out of the self-heating package, and more of Chang’s precious tea.

  Afterward he showed us the lavatory. To my surprise, it had running water and was fairly clean. Somehow, I’d expected an unspeakable midden.