Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  We lay down in Chang’s apartment on mattresses he’d had Eddie haul down from an upper floor. He refused my offer of help. Apparently the trader’s trust wasn’t enough to reveal whatever stocks he concealed in the neglected, boarded building.

  Exhausted from tension, I dozed, but at first sleep avoided me. Finally I succumbed.

  In the dark a hand shook me awake. I had no idea of the time. “Why—”

  “Shh.” The old man led me past Eddie’s snores through the curtain, into the store. I followed, bleary-eyed, to the counter where the pot steamed, sat where he directed. The tea was dark and rich, a flavor I couldn’t identify.

  He waited until I sipped through the steam. His voice was soft. “What happen ’tween you an’ Eddieboy?”

  “Happened? I don’t—”

  “Nonna this makes sense.” The trader perched on the edge of his chair, cup balanced on his lap. “A Captain don’t wander streets with a transpop sailor, and sailor don’t look at him like he love an’ hate him at same time.”

  I looked away. “It’s nothing I care to speak of.”

  “You owe me innifo, I save his life.” He puttered with the pot. “But, okay okay, I talk instead.”

  He blew across his tea, reflective.

  “Chang had wife once, long time go. She good girl. But no babies.” He shrugged. “Ain’ easy be a Neut in trannietown. Can’ show no favors. Like, if you kept laser, I’d a had to give you to Rocks. No choice.

  “But if a Maceboy joey come to Chang’s door, eyes all red, actin’ as much a man as he can, wantin’ ta trayfo name of the Broad who diss his mama, a Neut can help little bit. A Neut can maybe see he makes it through first winter, ’til he strong enough be on his own. Maybe even think what a son woulda looked like, he’d had one.”

  Chang stared into his tea. After a moment, “Okay, okay, Eddie all grown, no baby now. Still, traytaman can think, wonder why Captain whose face be on alla holos wan’ dis particular joey ta help him fin’ wife.”

  Silence stretched while I breathed the hot welcome steam. When I spoke, I addressed the wall. “On a ship like Challenger, at first you see Eddie as one of a hundred angry transpop faces.” I sipped at the tea. “But later, when you’re trapped on a derelict vessel knowing no help will reach you, and a joeyboy asks you to make him into something better than he was, you work with him day after day, watching him struggle with the words ...

  Chang was silent.

  “You want so much for him to succeed, you become one with him. He’s too old to be a son. A brother, perhaps. You’re rescued, and he stays in the Navy and ships out with you again. He’s strong and loyal and one of the few people you trust. You’re desperate to keep your wife safe. So when civil authority starts to crumble, you have him guard her.”

  My words came faster. “Then something happens between them, and you rush him off-planet, and because you left her alone she’s raped and beaten and her mind is snatched from her. You want to hate the boy but can’t, because it’s your fault, not his, and the voice you can’t silence tells you so, over and over, in the terrible truth of the night.”

  We drank of our tea.

  After a moment Chang said, “He had no one, after his mama. Girls now and then, is all. When jerries took him with the other young ones, I think he was glad.” His clouded eyes sought mine. “Ol’ Changtraytaman and Uppie Captain, we be his mama.”

  “I’ve done him more harm than you can imagine.”

  “No, you give him someone to respec’. He need that.”

  I snorted. “Respect? After what I—”

  “Revere, maybe. Don’ look so surprise I know dat word, you think I got all those books, don’ look in ’em?” He waved it away. “Nevamin’. I wan’ my innifo.”

  “I can send you money, whatever—”

  His wiry hand gripped my knee with surprising strength. “You keep yo’ coin, it don’ mean nothin’ ta Chang. Want ta pay yo’ innifo, gimme Uppie word.”

  I laughed, a harsh sound. “You said what an Uppie’s word is worth.”

  “That ain’ what Navy say. ‘An officer’s word is his bond.’”

  I flushed. “What do you want?”

  “Take care of ol’ Eddieboss, bes’ you can.”

  “I can’t be sure—”

  “Bes’ you can, I tolya. I don’ ask more.” He got to his feet, showing his age for the first time. “He be like brother, once? You don’ walk away from brother.” He took the empty cup from my lap. “Chang din’ walk away from Maceboy ask help.” He pounded his frail chest. “Eight year, maybe, ol’ Chang keep boy like son, in here.” His look was iron. “I wan’ my innifo. You give or no, as you wan’.”

  With dignity he padded to the curtain, passed through it. For a long time I sat hunched in the chair in the dim light of the battery lamp. At last, I tiptoed back to bed.

  Chapter 15

  IN THE MORNING CHANG tucked the laser pistol in his pocket, unbolted the door, and slipped outside. Half an hour later he returned, a satisfied look on his wrinkled face. “Okay okay, Maceboy. Outaheah, ’fore Rocks say Chang ain’ Neut.” He scuttled across the store, found our sack of foodstuffs. “Don go eas’ on Three Four, Unies too strong. Rocks take you up one block, you trayfo passby wid Broads.”

  Eddie frowned. “Wrong way. We need ta—”

  “You need ta listena ol’ Chang, little Mace. Go back way you came, to Four Two Square. Talk ta Subs, dey let ta walk crosstown unner.”

  “You glitched fo’ sure, Changman. Broads’ll ask innifo, we ain’ got. An’ Subs—”

  Chang thrust out the sack. “Cansa be good nuff fo’ Broads.” He hesitated, fished in, the sack, removed two cans of meat. “These be innifo Chang. Broads won’ know I took ’em, anyway.” He handed Eddie the remainder of his sack. “Jusasec.” He disappeared behind the curtain. It was several minutes before he reappeared, a box in his hand. “Uppie Cap’n carry it fo Subs. Dey wan’ more ’n cansa.”

  “What’s this?” I asked. It was heavy.

  “Batteries. Valdez permas. Subs allatime trayfo permas, nobody know why.” He shrugged. “Don’ badmouth no Sub, dey rumb fo’ dat. With innifo, maybe dey let you through.” He opened the door, said, “Outaheah, bothyas.”

  Eddie looked down, shambled to the door.

  My tone was formal. “Mr. Boss, this is an order.”

  “Huh?” Eddie struggled to change identity. “Yes, sir?”

  “Before you go, hug him.”

  Chang bristled. “Frazzin’ Maceboy try touch Chang, I stick him wid—”

  “Do it, Mr. Boss.” I folded my arms.

  Chang backed away. “I’m a Neut, no one touch a—”

  Sheepishly, Eddie enfolded the trader in his arms. After a moment, Chang was still.

  I picked up my bundle of clothes, opened the door. “Fare thee well, sir. Lord God be with you.”

  The old man pushed Eddie to the entrance. “Try that again, joeyboy, Chang cut you good! Outaheah! Work to do!” His eyes glistened.

  Eddie grinned. “We be gone.” He shut the door behind us.

  I blinked in the sun. The street was full of people. Some sat with trays of merchandise, others stood around, talking. Down the block, children played. “Lord God!”

  “Kinda different.” Eddie pointed. “But trash, mosta what they got. Ol’ Changman has the only—”

  “Lesgo, Maceboy.” Three men. One of them was Butchie.

  “Okay.” Eddie seemed unafraid. “Nor’, to Four Two.”

  “Righ’,” They bracketed us, escort or guards, I wasn’t sure which.

  One of the men fell in alongside us as we walked. To my amazement he chatted sociably with Eddie. Unlike the previous night, streets were crowded with transpops, some with their families.

  I said quietly, “Eddie, why didn’t we come in the daytime?”

  “Tolya. Trannies see us in heli, who gonna help? Even Chang maybe wouldn’ let us in.”

  From block to block we were passed uneasily through t
he tribal territories until at last we approached an open plaza.

  “Where are we, Mr. Boss?”

  “Four Two Square.”

  I looked up. “Isn’t that a skytel? We could go in, get a heli—”

  Eddie laughed. “In, fro’ street? You see door, a window even?”

  “A tour bus, or—”

  “Likely shoot us soon as talk.” Eddie dismissed the idea.

  We ventured into the square. In its center the ruins of a tall building clawed skyward. Across the street, crumbling steps disappeared into the ground.

  “What’s that?”

  “Dunno. Sub tribe live there.”

  “Surely there’s a better—”

  “Only way we fin’ Annie is if she with Maces. How you wanna get crosstown, in heli?”

  “You don’t even know where your Maces are!”

  “Yeah, but we fin’ ’em.” Eddie sounded confident. “Maces won’ scurry roun’ like no mouse. Dey gone eas’, tribes’ll know.” His face darkened. “First, gotta go down.”

  I hesitated at the gaping cavern. “Couldn’t we walk across on Forty—”

  “Too far, too many Mids. An’ dey don’ give passby fo’ innifo. C’mon.” He took a tentative step downward, then another. “Yo, Sub!” His bellow echoed in the darkness. No answer.

  The broken stairwell led to a rubble-strewn landing. Below, another staircase. Well, in for a pence ... I trotted down, gripping my box. “Anyone here?”

  “Easy, Cap’n.” The foot of the staircase was a black cavern.

  I squinted. “Where are your bloody Subs?”

  A voice in my ear. “We here.”

  “Jesus!” I jumped half a meter, dropped my bundle. “Lord God in—”

  A snicker. “Whatchew wan’, Uppie?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I be joey what belong down here. You be joey what don’.”

  “Ooh, he got a trannie frien’!”

  “No rumb,” blurted Eddie. “Innifo!”

  “Too lay’ fa innifo. We gotcha, now.” Hands seized my arms, pried loose my box.

  Eddie squalled, “You frazzin’—” A thud. He gasped, and his words came painfully. “Tha’s righ’, whomp on someone can’ see ya! Jus like a Sub!” He cried out again, groaned.

  “Let him alone!” I tried to pull loose. “We came looking for you!” A fist drove into my stomach. I doubled over, retching. Hands grabbed, hustled us through the darkness.

  When I could breathe again, I found myself surrounded by tribesmen in a large tunnel lit by dull overhead bulbs. Eddie lay slumped in an alcove.

  My captors were heavily festooned with earrings and chains, their clothing a hodgepodge of lurid colors. Men and women alike had their hair tied with bands at the sides and back. Some sat cross-legged eating from metal plates at a communal pot that simmered over a hotpad; others jabbered among themselves. Ancient broken furniture was strewn about.

  “Where are we?”

  No one answered. I leaned against the concrete wall, nursing my aching stomach. “Where’s my box?” Again, silence. I decided I was already lost, cast caution to the winds. “Animals!”

  One youth looked my way. “Uppie talk. Think all trannies be—”

  I spat. “I’ve seen trannies, real ones. Broads and Maces. Mids. You Subs are trash, not trannies!” It brought a few of them to their feet.

  Eddie groaned, rolled to his knees. Someone kicked him. He lashed out at the foot, missed.

  “Fadeout, Subs!” Across the cavern, a figure waited. “Lettim talk.”

  My fists bunched. “Who are you?”

  “Alwyn be I, Boss Sub, ’til some joey call me out.” His eyes roved, as if seeking a challenge. He found none. “An’ you?”

  “Nicholas Seafort. Captain.”

  “Jump off yo’ tour bus, didja?”

  “We came to find you. We brought—”

  “Batteries. Nice a yas. C’n always use ’em.” Alwyn beckoned to a scrawny girl. “Tell Jossie an’ alla res’, come mira. Few minutes we gonna diss an Uppie.”

  “Righ” The girl scampered off.

  “Shouldn’a come down, joey.” He came close. Young, muscular, his dress was somehow different from the rest. Fewer colors, more patterns.

  “They told us you take innifo, for passby. We—”

  “Dey?”

  I pushed down my smoldering anger. “A trader. He gave us batteries for you.”

  “We take innifo when we wan’. No one tell us. You coulda took a heli steada playin’ wid trannies. Now you got youself diss.”

  “We need your help. I’m looking for my wife, a transpop girl. Mace.” How could I get through to him?

  He swung to the others. “Says his bitch a trannie!” It brought jeers.

  Bitch? I surged forward. “She’s my wife, damn you!” Someone shoved me back; I slapped the hand away.

  Alwyn’s voice rose. “Lissenup, Sub!” It brought quiet. “Don’ matter why he come. Law be, no one in sub but Subs, less’n we okay firs’!” Murmurs of agreement. “Anyone speak fo’ Uppie?” Silence. “Then he—”

  “I do!” Eddie struggled to his feet. “Leave ’im ’lone! I brought ’im. Diss me, you wan’ blood!” Three Subs tackled him, brought him down amid curses and blows.

  “You be nex’, joeyboy,” Alwyn told him. “Afta Uppie.”

  The sound of running steps. A dozen more tribesmen crowded near. Lord God, help me. I need time, for Annie.

  The Sub leader whipped out a wicked blade, held up a hand for silence. “Uppie, this be why we diss ya. Like you say, we trash.” He overrode grumbles of discontent. “But we got lives, jus’ like you. We make kidjoes, same way Uppies do. An’ Subs die, same as you, jus’ fasta!”

  He pointed upward. “Onna street, no hosp, no job, no teachin’. Looks like alla ’Hattan goin’ like Bronx, nothin’ but Crypsnbloods. We can’ stop dat. But look ’roun, Uppie! We got food for any Sub who wan’, and for frien’ if Sub bring down. We got beds, onna track. We got Sub turf, Sub law. I be Sub Boss ’til someone call me out. Here, we say who come in, who don’.”

  “You kill strangers on sight and call it law?”

  “Justice. You Uppies killin’ us day by day. I come to yo’ skytel, ask help, what I get?”

  Somehow I had to divert him. I could think of no way. “Alwyn—”

  He crouched, gripping the knife. “You be meat, Uppie.” He took a step.

  I backed into the wall. Despair overcame the last of my sense. My voice rang out. “Alwyn Boss Sub, I call you out! Rumb fo’ boss!”

  His jaw dropped. “Uppie can’—”

  “Gimme blade!” In a fury I lashed out, shoved him across the room. “Law, you say? Rumb wid Cap’n unner Sub law!”

  “A Cap’n talk trannie?” Alwyn’s gaze held what might even have been respect.

  “I be trannie, joey; we all be!” My voice grated. “Ain’ no diff when Lor’ call us out!” I spat at Alwyn’s feet. “C’mon, rumb!”

  “You win, an’ stay Sub?”

  “Long as I wan’. Same as you!”

  His mouth twitched in a grudging smile. “Righ’, same as Jossie, give Cap’n shiv!”

  The young girl thrust a knife into my hand.

  Alwyn feinted. I dodged aside, ran to a steel beam in the center of the tunnel. He followed. Around us a wary circle formed.

  We thrust and parried, neither drawing blood. Sarge, what was it you taught us? Crouch, palm upward? I tried.

  Across the cavern Eddie struggled to his feet, tribesmen clinging. With a roar he shook them off, jumped onto a table. It shuddered, but held.

  “Mira, trannies! He ain’ no Uppie Cap’n!” Eddie stomped at grasping hands. “He the one onna joinup sheet!”

  What in the name of ... ? Alwyn, as puzzled as I, raised his hand. I nodded, stepped back.

  Eddie’s voice dripped contempt. “Subs too glitch to know why news screen allatime talkin’ about joinup?”

  “Say fish, outdere!” A teen. “Ju
s’ a scare story.”

  “An’ who foun’ fish?”

  “Some ship—”

  “His ship!” Eddie’s shout echoed. “He no cap’n, HE DA FISHERMAN!”

  Into the hush, Eddie spoke more softly. “He’s da one what come back in dead ship, save Hope Nation! He da Fisherman Cap’n!”

  Alwyn tapped his sheath, slid the knife in for me to see. I nodded. He came close, examined my face. “Swind?” His tone was cautious. “Fisherman be real? Not jus’ inna holos?”

  I was too enraged to care. “Look at a frazzing poster; it’s my face they used! I’m Nick Seafort!”

  He shook his head. “Don’ need. Same face.” His hand darted out, grazed my shoulder, pulled back as if scorched.

  “What was that for?”

  Alwyn grinned. “How many trannie c’n say touch Fisherman?”

  I snarled, “How many trannies c’n say wan’ diss Fisherman! You still scum! Puttin’ down shiv don’ change nothin’!”

  He swallowed. “Doin’ by law, is all. Evenup?” He held out his hand.

  I slapped it away. “You wan’ evenup, new law. Else, g’wan, rumb wid me, Subs get new boss.”

  Alwyn rubbed his stinging hand, spoke with dignity. “New Boss? Subs c’n do dat, anytime dey wan’. I make mistake wantin’ ta diss Fisherman, so Subs fin’ better boss.” He drew his knife, extended it blade first. “G’wan. Alwyn die proud.”

  “Captain.” Eddie jumped down from the table.

  “I know.” I took the knife, pressed it to Alwyn’s breast. He didn’t flinch. After a moment I reversed it, held it to my own. “G’wan. Life for life!”

  Slowly his hand came up. His fist closed around the hilt. I held my breath as the point pricked my tunic.

  His hand fell. “Fisherman Cap’n, be you frien’ wid Sub?”

  “Frien’.” My hand crept out. “An’ tribe.” In hushed silence, we clasped. Eddie sighed.

  “What new law you wan’?”

  “Joey come down see Subs, not reason enough ta diss ’im.”~

  “How dey gonna respec—”

  “Diss whoever ya wan’ if they attack ya. Else, no.”

  After a moment he turned to the others. “Law?”

  Grudging murmurs, then general assent.

  “Tribe say okay. Now, whatchew wan’ wid Subs, Fisherman?”