Fisherman's Hope (The Seafort Saga Book 4)

by David Feintuch

  My legs were shaky. I moved casually to a bench. “We brought innifo for passby east.”

  “Talk Uppie, Fisherman. I’ll unnastan’. You go eas’, den what?”

  “Get past the Unies, find my wife.”

  “Unies bad grodes. Easters too.”

  “I’ll get through. I have to.”

  “Okay.” He raised his voice. “We help Fisherman go eas’. Jossie, Lo, bring innifo Unies. An’ fo’ Easters.”

  “How much?”

  “All!”

  She beckoned another youth. “C’mon!” They disappeared.

  Alwyn whispered to a tribesman, who nodded. A few moments later the Sub lugged in my box of batteries. “Yours, Fisherman.”

  “Innifo for Sub.”

  “Don’ need no innifo fro’ tribe.”

  “Gift, then.” I held out the box. He accepted it. I asked, “Why permabatteries?”

  Alwyn grinned. “Showyas.” He called for lights, led us up a flight of stairs, through a long, dim cavern.

  “What is this place?”

  “Sub’s way, dey called it. Usta ride in, ’fore helis ’n Uppies.

  Give it up, ’bout three life back. Track gone, mostly. We tryin’ tafix.”

  “How many tunnels are yours?”

  “Lotsa, in ’Hat. We block off some part. Bad tribes.”

  “Where we going?”

  “Secret place.” He stopped, waited for Eddie and a throng of tribesmen to catch up. “Onna street, gotta trayfo passby. Dis better.”

  As the corridor gave way to a wider tunnel, Alwyn jumped down onto the roadbed, disappeared into the dark. Uneasy, I followed.

  He waited just around a bend. “Go eas’, you say.” He shone his light into the tunnel.

  An ancient electricar, of sorts. Its lamps gleamed bright. Alwyn climbed in, held a hand, hoisted me up. “Shuttle, dis be. Four Two Square, Grandcen. Back ’n for’.” With hoots and laughter other Subs crowded aboard. I searched, found Eddie chattering with excited tribesmen at the opposite end.

  “The subway was abandoned.”

  “Yeah, long time. But wid ’nough permas ... Alwyn opened a compartment door. Inside, he pressed a lever, with care. The car lurched. Slowly, with a screech of rusty wheels, it slid forward.

  “We got dis track workin’,” he shouted over the racket. “By ourself. Not all trannies be stupe.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Or trash.”

  “I’m sorry. I was angry.”

  He shrugged. “You jus’ Fisherman, not real trannie.”

  At last the shuttle ground to a halt, and the Subs piled out. At street level I turned to wave, but Alwyn was gone.

  Eddie and I emerged into daylight with an honor guard of Subs. While we waited Jossie bargained passage with the Easter transpops.

  She said, “Mace joeys be south, mile. Dey pushout Efdears.”

  “Who?”

  “Efdear Dri’. For groun’car.”

  “Tolya Maces made it ’cross!” Eddie was jubilant.

  I asked, “Anyone hear of a Mace girl who came crosstown, a week ago?”

  Jossie jabbered with our guides. “Dunno. Hear maybe six Unies be diss inna night, on Three Four.”

  “Dat’s Annie!” Eddie’s eyes glowed. “She see Mace gone, askaroun’, someone tell. So she go eas’.”

  I said, unbelieving, “Annie killed six transpops?”

  “If dey in her way. You dunno Annie, Captain. Never did. On ship, in Centraltown, she lost. Here, she home. Ain’ no Bronk, no Unie gonna stop ’er.”

  “Good Lord.”

  The last mile was like a dream; we strode through sunlit streets with a guard of Subs and Easters.

  We crossed a narrow access road, passed ravaged apartment buildings that recalled the devastated Bronx. To our left was the East River, bounded by a crumbling, fenced highway along which occasional groundcars still jounced. A rusted entrance sign proclaimed: F.D.R DRIVE.

  As we progressed, our Easter guards grew more alert, kept hands near their weapons. One of them pointed ahead, said, “Two block mo’, Easter turf.” He hesitated. “’Xcept last block, look out fo’ rumb.”

  “Whyfo?”

  “Frazzin’ Maces wannit. Rumb ever’ week or so, pushem back.”

  Eddie bristled. I gripped his arm, shook my head. He growled, “Tolya at clinic, can’t be sailor ’n trannie same time.”

  “You’re a sailor seconded for special duty, Mr. Boss. I know these were your people, but ...

  “No ‘but’, sir. Still my people, was, willbe.”

  “You started a riot with the Rocks, Mr. Boss. We won’t have another.” He didn’t answer.

  The last block of Easter turf was a scene of appalling devastation. The apartments that once graced the riverside were gutted. Those that hadn’t been torched were near collapse, stripped bare of even their windows.

  “Why do you fight over—that?”

  “Weren’ dat bad, ’fore Mace. Dey try push us out, we push back.”

  “Mace live here?” Eddie was scandalized.

  “Here, inna river, who know.” The Easter spat. “All Maces is glitch.”

  “Be silent, Mr. Boss!” I was barely in time.

  The Easter tribesmen led us cautiously to the disputed block. “We wait. If ya come out, we take ya back.”

  Eddie and I went on, through sidewalks strewn with rubble. The area seemed deserted.

  We reached a corner. A ragamuffin teen leaned against a post under a gutted apartment, fingering a whistle chained around his neck. He jeered, “Whazzis, a Navyboy tribe? Ya pushback Easters?”

  Eddie growled, “You Mace?”

  “Offa my turf. Move yo’ frazzin’ ass ’fore it meat!”

  Eddie picked him up, slammed him against the pole.

  “Leggo me!” The boy snatched his whistle. Eddie twisted it out of his hand, yanked hard, snapped the cord. The boy yelped, rubbing his neck.

  Eddie growled, “You be Mace, joeyboy?”

  “Go prong—”

  Eddie’s hand lashed out, slapped him hard.

  The boy squealed, “We be Mace!”

  “Easy, Mr. Boss.”

  “Learn him manners!” Eddie thrust the whistle into the youngster’s hand. “Call Sam ’n Boney! Call Rafe!”

  “Go—” He stopped short at the look in Eddie’s eye. He blew three short blasts.

  I watched the street, bracing for trouble.

  For almost a full minute, no one came. Suddenly three figures leaped from a low window. Two carried knives, one a studded club.

  “Back, Cap’n!” Eddie twisted the teen’s arm, held him as a shield. “Wanna rumb, Maces? Rumb wi’ Eddieboss?” He squinted at a scrawny tribesman barely out of his teens. “Boney, dat you? Ya growed!”

  “Outaheah, Easter!” They circled. A club lashed out; I ducked back.

  Eddie shoved the boy into the street, snatched the club from the attacker’s hand. “Was it some Easter save Boney’s ass in rumb with Broads, back when? Mira, joey! I be Eddieboss!” He lowered the club. “I look’ allova, fin’ Maces! Ya know Eddie!”

  The teen yelled, “He whomp on me, no reas’!”

  “Hol’ it!” Boney held up a hand, peered suspiciously. “Eddie wen’ outboun’.”

  “I come back.” Eddie’s gap-toothed grin wanned his face. “Home ’gain!”

  “Who bringalong?”

  “Cap’n, lookin’ fo Anniegirl.”

  The Maces exchanged glances.

  I couldn’t contain myself. “Where is she?”

  “Din’ know,” Boney said to Eddie, as if in appeal. “Mace bitchgirl come back inna nigh’, say she been outboun’, see Fish, go nudder place, marry a Cap’n. All glitch fo’ sure.” He shook his head. “Din’ mean nothin’, Eddie. Don’ wan’ no troub.”

  “What’d you do to her?” My voice was hoarse.

  “Din’ do nothin, Cap’n!” Boney seemed eager to please. “Din’ hurt none, jus’ din’ help.”

&nb
sp; Scowling, Eddie took a step toward the tribesmen. They retreated. “Take Cap’n ta Annie rightaway fas’!”

  “Sure, Eddie.” Boney collared the boy. “Fin’ Sam, tell’m Eddieboss back!” He pointed to the alley. “Onna grounflo’. Mos’ly she stay in dere.”

  I swallowed. “Is it safe, Eddie?”

  “G’wan, Cap’n. Dey know we Mace, now.”

  I ran down the alley, disappeared around the building. A rotted doorway gaped. I peered inside. Broken furniture, trash, an appalling stench.

  My wife crouched in the corner, hands over her ears. “G’way, allyas! Don’ care ’bout no rumb, no Unies. Don’ care!”

  “Annie ...

  She didn’t hear. I took a deep breath, said more loudly, “Annie, I’ve been searching for you.”

  Slowly, she came around, raised her head. “Whatcha doon here, Nicky?”

  “I came to take you home.”

  “I be Macebitch.” She whimpered; the sound tore at my soul.

  “You be wife, Anniegirl, fo’ever an’ mo’.”

  For a second, she smiled, then she shook her head. “You be no trannie.”

  “I be what I haveta he, ta bringya widme.”

  Her eyes explored mine. “Don’ wanna go, Nicky.”

  “What you want, Annie? This?” My wave took in the filthy room.

  “Dunno what I wan’!”

  “That’s why I came for you.” I crossed, squatted at her side. “You’re sick from the drugs. Come home.”

  “We don’ got home!”

  “I’ll take you to Father, then. Away from cities.”

  “Cities is what I know. I be Mace.”

  “Not no more, Anniegirl.” The voice in the doorway spoke with authority. “You be like me. Nothin’ now.”

  “Eddie!” She scrambled to her feet.

  He set down his club. “We ain’ trannie, ain’ Uppie. If ya home ain’ wid him, where?”

  Her face twisted. “If I ain’ Mace, I do what, Eddieboss? Die?”

  He shook his head. “Go wid him. He love you.”

  “Annie—” My voice was hoarse.

  She ignored me. “What kin’ lovin’, drag me ’notha planet, leave me fo’ grades prong me ’til dey done, drag me back here, throw me in frazzin’ hosp?” She slid down the wall, her face in her hands.

  Eddie took a slow breath. His words were careful. “None of that was his fault.”

  “Whose, den? Who sent ya ’way?”

  “My faul’, prongin’ you when I had no righ’.”

  “We tribe!”

  “Not no more.” He crossed the room, hauled her to her feet. “Go with Cap’n now. Bes’.”

  “Wid Nicky?” She twisted around, studied me as a foreign object. “I wan’—wan’—”

  With a cry, she spun again, wrapped herself around Eddie, buried her head in his chest.

  He stood motionless, arms at his sides. As Annie began to weep, his eyes came up to meet mine.

  I nodded.

  Slowly, he enveloped her in his broad strong arms, rocked her. “Cap’n the man fo’ you, Anniegirl. Hasta be. But I be here, long as he let me. I be here.”

  In the awful quiet of the room I whispered an impotent echo.

  “I be here.”

  True to Alwyn’s word, the Subs provided an escort back to civilization. Twenty Subs and a handful of Mace led us uptown along the river to the new U.N. enclave. Annie clung dazedly to Eddie. She let me take her other hand.

  At the U.N. we merged with the lines of tourists passing through the electric fences. Though the government seldom acknowledged transpops as a constituency, under the open access policy even they were allowed in the International Lobby.

  I called the Sheraton, told Adam to pick us up. When I asked the Subs how they’d make it home safely, they just laughed. We left them, and waited on the rooftop.

  I took Annie to our suite. She was docile, as she’d been since leaving the crumbling apartment.

  I helped her bathe away the grime of the streets, spoke gently about my search. It seemed to please her. She told me nothing of her own escapades, and I was afraid to pry.

  At the hotel, our dinner was overcooked and tasteless, and made more bothersome by the fact that I was approached for autographs. At the end, I signed for the meal with indifference.

  Annie was safe.

  I booked the three of us on the morning suborbital for London and went to bed, exhausted. Annie rested her head on my chest, willing to be cuddled. Just before I slept she squeezed my shoulder and murmured, “Maybe time make it different, Nicky.”

  As Cardiff neared I switched off the autopilot and guided the heli by my own hand. I’d never before flown home, but once I spotted the Bridgend road I followed it through twisting hills until I spotted a pasture and a stone house, set near the foundations of an ancient barn.

  Father would consider setting a heli down in his yard a prideful ostentation, so I landed in a meadow across the road. Annie jumped out before Eddie could help her. “This where you from, Nicky?” Her cheeks were flushed.

  “Not exactly. The house, over there.”

  She giggled. “Tha’s what I meant.” She looked about. “Feels funny, no streets. Kinda like Centraltown.”

  “Not quite as untamed.” I took the duffel Eddie handed down. “Better let me do the talking, when we go in. Father... I hesitated. “He’ll treat you well once he knows you, but he’s suspicious of city folk.” We started up the lane.

  “How long we stayin’, Nicky?”

  I’d already told her, but repeated it patiently. “We’ll see how you do. I may go back to Academy and let you recuperate with Father.”

  “He ain’ ... isn’t gonna like me.”

  How to explain? “If he sounds harsh, remember it’s his way. I’m his only son, and he talks to me in the same manner.” I wished he’d been home when I tried to call. Though my own welcome was never in doubt, I hoped he wouldn’t rebuff Eddie and my wife. If he got on his religious high horse and lectured them I’d have to find some way to intervene.

  Annie put her hand through Eddie’s arm. “He give me trouble, Eddie take care of him, woncha?” She might have been teasing. Perhaps not.

  The sailor gently disengaged his hand from hers, fell back as we strolled to the house. I was grateful,

  As the sagging gate creaked I felt a twinge of guilt. Time and again I’d promised Father I’d fix it, and always it was left for last. This time I’d take care of it.

  As always, the door was unlocked; Father kept nothing to interest thieves. “Father?” I went in. We’d wait in the kitchen until he got back from shopping.

  A teacup and saucer sat unwashed in the sink. He would wash them before taking the daily bus to town; no chore must be left undone. I looked into his bedroom; the bed was neatly made. I checked the lavatory, the storeroom.

  “Nicky?” She met me at the door. I brushed past, a growing unease quickening my step.

  I found him facedown by the woodpile behind the house. He’d been getting wood for the stove. It had been several days. Dogs and other wild things had worried at him.

  I knelt beside him, tried to take his hand. I couldn’t force myself to do it; the body was too far gone. I forced down my gorge, sought some prayer that would please him. What came to mind was, “For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?”

  It was so grotesquely inappropriate that I bent my head in shame, conjured Father’s stern visage from the days when I memorized my boyhood verses. I barely noticed Annie’s soft hand squeeze my shoulder.

  At last I whispered, “I have set the Lord always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth: my flesh also shall rest in hope. For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell” I looked up. “He’d like that verse, if he didn’t think it too prideful.” I crouched on my knees, oblivious of the damp earth staining my trousers.

  “Nicky.” She dropped
behind me, circled me with her arms.

  I pressed her birdlike hands to my chest, those hands that had killed six Unie transpops who stood in her way. With revulsion I thrust away the thought. She was Annie Wells. My wife.

  After a while I went to a neighbor, called the coroner. When the van with its flashing lights had carried Father from his house I sat at the rickety table in the bare kitchen, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea.

  The old copper teapot needed polishing; I’d have to put it on my list, along with the gate.

  “Don’t cry, Nicky.”

  “I’m not.” I brushed my sleeve across my eyes. “Where’s Eddie?”

  “Outside, straightening the wood.”

  Without a word I rushed out to the woodpile, flung myself at Eddie’s crouching form. “Get away from that!”

  “Jus’ picking up what he drop—”

  “I see what you’re doing! Leave it alone!” I swept the firewood from his arms, battered at his massive chest.

  Eddie regarded me stolidly. “Whompin’ ol’ Eddie ain’ gonna bring him back, Cap’n.”

  “Don’t talk back to me, you trannie—” I checked myself, too late. “Go in the house!”

  I busied myself with the wood. Presently I understood I’d been arranging and rearranging the logs, trying to refashion the bundle Father had dropped, exactly as he’d left it. I slumped against the woodpile, hugged myself, rocking back and forth.

  In the pasture, birds chirped their discoveries.

  After a time I shivered, thrust my hands in my pockets, walked slowly back to the house.

  “Sit down with me, please.” I pulled out chairs for them. “Mr. Boss, I have no excuse. I’m sorry.”

  “For callin’ me trannie? It’s what I am.”

  “It’s not a nice word.”

  “Nah, we use it alla time.” He shifted, and the chair creaked.

  “The tribes do, but I have no right.”

  For a second a wan smile flashed. “Why not? You a Sub now.”

  Annie giggled. Her hand stroked his arm.

  “Pedro Chang made me realize ... I trailed off, lost in reverie. “I have no friends left, Eddie. Derek Carr is lightyears away, if he lives. Alexi is learning to manage on his own again. Other than them ...

  “Cap’n—”

  “Once, I sent you away. Would you stay with me now?”

  “You don’ need no trannie frien’.” At first I thought it was sarcasm, but then I saw the anguish in his face.