He did have something his Chinese neighbors would like, though.
“Hold on,” he said.
He went behind the counter and unlocked a cabinet holding his precious music collection, built up like his movies over a lifetime of trading. He squatted down to look at the bottom shelf, wincing as pain lanced through his knees, and pulled out the disks in front to reveal more behind. These were the less popular titles he played rarely or not at all. He’d gotten to the point where he’d trade for everything. Hardly anyone else had a functioning music system, just Doc and Weissman and a couple other citizens, so music disks weren’t preserved like they should be. Video players were even rarer. Regular people used the disks as coasters or for signaling or for hanging above their crops to scare away birds. They traded so cheap he could get half a dozen for a single drink.
Like the movies, he kept everything, even the stuff he didn’t like. Who was he to judge an entire civilization’s music? Preservation was the important thing. After a couple of minutes of searching, and having to sit on the floor to spare his knees, he finally found what he was looking for.
With a grunt he pulled himself up, locked the cabinet, and walked back to the table where Xinxin, Wei, and Da-bin waited for him.
He held up the disk. Its tattered cardboard cover showed some Chinese men and women wearing blue and red robes posing in what looked like a play. They all wore elaborate silver headdresses. The faded label said, “Folk Songs of Canton.”
“I don’t have a movie but I do have this music. Canton is in China, right?”
“It was before China split up,” Da-bin said.
Xinxin frowned at her brother. “The Cantonese are Chinese too.”
Da-bin snorted and looked away. Wei looked away too, like he didn’t agree either but didn’t want to argue with his wife.
Y’all got busy cutting each other’s throats just like we did, huh? How the hell does an entire world get to doing that all at the same time?
Roy walked over to his sound system and put the disk on. The bar filled with the strange, warbling sound of some sort of string instrument. The drunks and the scavengers looked up, curious. A couple of them looked at the Chinese and back at Roy, an open question on their faces. Roy leaned against the bar and crossed his arms.
A female singer came on, singing with a beautiful voice in what he supposed was Cantonese. All those Asian languages sounded the same to him.
Sounded the same to the crowd too. A couple of tables started talking in low, angry tones. One scavenger knocked back his drink, glared at the Chinese, and left. The rest listened. He couldn’t tell if they were entertained or not. They certainly looked intrigued.
Wei and Da-bin listened intently. It seemed like whatever they had against the Cantonese got trumped by hearing some music from their homeland they’d never heard before. Xinxin rubbed her swollen belly, tears brimming in her eyes.
Baruch gestured from his place watching the door, signaling for him to turn it off. Roy ignored his bouncer and went back to the table.
“Like it?” he asked.
“When is this from?” Wei asked, keeping his voice low so as not to interfere with the music.
Roy flipped over the cover and held it at arm’s length until his eyes focused. “Says it was recorded in 2027.”
“Not long before the first big war,” Wei said, bowing his head.
Roy held out the cover. “A gift, for the expecting parents.”
Wei’s and Xinxin’s eyes lit up.
“Thank you!” Xinxin said. “But … we don’t have anything to play it on.”
“You can come and play it here anytime you like.”
“We’ll play it at the party too!” Xinxin said, brightening. “It will give us a chance to talk about the regions of China.”
“It will give the musicians a chance to have a drink break too. Got to keep the musicians happy at a party,” Roy said.
Wei studied the cover. “How about you keep the disc here, and we’ll put this up on our wall.” He and his wife smiled at each other. “It would be nice to have another picture of China at home.”
Tammy, his daytime bartender, walked through the door.
Roy got up. “All right then, looks like things are coming along. Now it’s about time I went and saw The Doctor.”
“About this?” Da-bin asked.
“Um, no, some other business.”
The Doctor had asked him to keep the news about the ship quiet. Things were riled up enough.
Passing through the gate, that young guard tried to stop him again and Roy passed him by, growling, “I’m a citizen.” For once he forgot to wear his winning smile.
Roy found The Doctor where he usually was, cloistered in his office/research lab/home. Roy had been trying to get that guy out more for years. It wasn’t healthy for him to stay cooped up like this. He needed sunlight and fresh air, not that there had been much fresh air lately. Yu-jin getting him to go to Joe’s Chicken Shack not once but twice had been nothing short of a miracle.
The Doctor greeted him at the door with a rare smile and a clap on the shoulder. Roy tensed.
“Good to see you, Roy. You don’t visit me enough.”
“Well, business you know. So what’s happening with the ship?”
The Doctor led him into his lounge and sat down on one end of the sofa, leaving him room next to him. Roy took a chair.
“Drink?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
The Doctor poured them both a generous amount of whiskey.
“With Yu-jin out on patrol I won’t get bitched at for drinking so early. Cheers.”
“Cheers. What are we drinking to?”
The Doctor smiled at him. “To loyal friends.”
Roy squirmed inside. It was going to be one of those visits. If he’d been called here on business, Doc would have been all stressed and would have told him what needed to be done before he’d even sat down. Sometimes, though, he’d get lonely and needy and call Roy in for a drink and a chat. Roy had been hoping that would stop once Yu-jin came into his life. Those two had become so close so fast that it had spread all sorts of rumors. Clyde was convinced they were sleeping together but if that old fool thought about it for a second he’d know that wasn’t true. The Doctor had AIDS, had been treating it for decades, and in all that time he’d kept strictly celibate. He didn’t want to risk letting that disease get out into the general population again. Plus, he wouldn’t be interested in a pretty young girl like Yu-jin anyway.
Dumbass.
Even so, there was something there that wasn’t entirely Platonic, and it wasn’t just the orphaned scavenger looking for a daddy figure either. It went both ways. That relationship was part friendship, part mentor/student, part father/daughter, and part romance.
Not that it stopped The Doctor from inviting Roy over. That guy never gave up. Forty years of cold shoulders hadn’t stopped him at all.
“You seen Pablo?” The Doctor asked.
“Not since you have.”
“Do you think you could you talk to him? Make him see reason? Maybe you can put some pressure on, just subtly.”
Roy shook his head. “Boy’s too smart for that, and too determined. You got to see it from his angle. He’s got a great new toy that lets him talk to his friend and makes him important. Why should he give that up?”
“That kid’s got some steel in him,” The Doctor murmured, swirling the whiskey in his glass.
“Just like his momma.”
The Doctor grunted. “I sure as hell hope he doesn’t grow up to be like her.”
“Why don’t you give her citizenship? She’s earned it.”
“She’s got associate status.”
“Which doesn’t mean anything anymore now that everyone gets to come inside the walls during an attack.”
The Doctor absentmindedly rubbed the bullet wound he’d gotten during the siege. “Yeah, that worked out real well for me.”
“It was the right decision. It doesn
’t matter that it was forced on you. You did the right thing.”
A trace of annoyance passed over the mayor’s face before he regained his composure. If someone else had said that to him, like Annette or Kevin or even Marcus, the Doctor would have freaked out and started screaming.
But not with Roy. He never got angry with Roy.
Couldn’t he get angry just once? Scream and shout and hurl sarcastic insults like he did with everyone else? Now that he had Yu-jin, couldn’t he treat Roy like everyone else?
“So how are the Burbs?”
Roy shrugged. “Crazy as usual. People are taking sides on the whole Chinese New Year thing. Some for, some against, and a whole lot of uncomfortable, quiet people in the middle who could go either way.”
“How about Reverend Wallace?”
“He’s been real quiet. Too quiet.”
“Churches,” The Doctor spat. “I should have banned them when I had the chance.”
“That would have never flown and you know it.”
“Trying to rebuild civilization and handicapping ourselves right from the start.”
“People need hope.” Roy had never been much for churchgoing, but he did have his own understanding with the man upstairs.
“Don’t they have enough hope here?” The mayor was almost pleading now. “Free medicine, lights, protection, law. What else do they want?”
“For this all to make sense.”
The Doctor snorted. “Might as well ask for the Moon base to reopen.” Suddenly he changed the subject. “Has news leaked out about the freighter?”
“Not yet. You know it will, though. Annette knows, of course. She told Pablo to keep it a secret.”
“Let’s hope she’s as good a mother as she is a sheriff.”
“She is,” Roy said, surprised at this unexpected compliment of someone he loathed. Actually he loathed a lot of people and disliked pretty much everyone else. He appreciated talent, however.
“Any trouble at $87,953?”
“None yet. Business has tapered off a bit. I’m not sure how much of that is anti-Chinese bullshit and how much is simply hard times. With the food situation lean and a bunch of the scavengers heading inland to get away from the rains, I’m bound to have a slow season.”
The Doctor gave him a warm smile and refilled Roy’s glass.
“You know, I’ve never told you how much I appreciate the work you do out there.”
Actually you have. Several times. Usually it’s at the end of a bender when you’re out of your mind, so I can’t blame you for not remembering. Hopefully you’re sober enough not to get all teary on me like last time.
“You see, Roy, you’re keeping civilization alive. You got movies and music and a place where people can gather.”
“I wouldn’t have any of that if it weren’t for the electricity you provide.”
“We provide, Roy. We provide. You’re a citizen too.”
Perhaps you should remind your guards.
Roy decided not to say that out loud. The Doctor would only stomp out to the gate and make a scene. Roy wanted the guy to get out of the house more, but not that way.
“Well, I’m only running a business, nothing special.”
“Nothing special? You keep the old culture going. And you’re my eyes and ears in the Burbs. That’s important.”
“Yeah, well, these eyes and ears are catching a lot of talk that’s mighty close to Blame.”
The Doctor sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Annette tells me the same thing. You know, I think the whole Blame law was a mistake. It seemed to make sense at the time. Oh sure, it was Weissman who was pushing it, what with Casey Andrews and his crew calling for the rich to be banished.”
Roy chuckled. “Jackson sure is a chip off the old block.”
The Doctor grimaced. Roy knew he had respected Casey even if they hadn’t always gotten along. Branding and exiling his son hadn’t been an easy decision.
The Doctor threw his hands in the air.
“But what could we do? It wasn’t like Casey was the only person pointing fingers. We had to have order, and so we fell into the old trap, trying to change behavior without changing people’s feelings. It just bubbled inside, not getting fixed.” He looked Roy in the eye. “You know what I mean?”
Roy nodded, holding his gaze. “Yeah, I know what you mean. There’s no point hoping people feel one way when they feel another.”
The Doctor hung his head.
Roy got up. “Well, thanks for the whiskey. Speaking of, I need to work on another batch. Best to get going.”
The Doctor didn’t say anything as Roy got up. As Roy passed by the sofa, the Doctor grabbed him by the arm.
“It’s good to see you again, Roy. It’s always good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, buddy. Say hi to Yu-jin for me,” Roy said, extricating himself and heading for the door.
“Roy?”
Roy paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”
“When you leave here, do you wash your hands?”
“Yes.”
Roy turned and walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. He only made it a few steps down the corridor before he heard it lock forcefully behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Yu-jin trudged wearily back to her home in the Burbs, her mind as worn out as her body. She needed to see Reginald, but right now he was dealing with Clyde’s hysterics. She preferred to skip that scene and report to him later.
She found Randy working hard at his sketch pad.
“Hey,” she smiled as she walked through the door.
“You’re back,” Randy got up and embraced her. “I was so worried. Did Clyde treat you OK?”
“Everything went fine,” she replied before realizing that news of their capture would make it through every corner of the Burbs before dinnertime. “Well, we did get captured.”
“Captured!”
“Weissman’s men surrounded us. Took our weapons. Clyde looked like he was going to have a stroke.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No, I’m fine. We’re all fine except for one guy who got grazed by a bullet. It was weird, but Weissman seemed eager to talk to us. He showed us around and told us what he traded for with the ship. I think he wants to reconcile with Reginald.”
“With who?”
“The Doctor.”
“Oh, right, why do you call him by his name when no one else does?”
The question sounded like an accusation.
“Because he’s my friend, Randy. My old, gay, completely no threat to you friend.”
Randy made a face. “That’s not what I mean.”
Oh yes it is.
Randy put a pot on the stove and started reheating some porridge.
“You must be hungry. Sit down,” he said, clattering around the kitchen area.
“So how was your day?” Yu-jin asked after a long pause.
“Dull. No work. That sketch is just my own thing. If I don’t get some commissions pretty soon I’m going to have to hire myself out as a day laborer. The pantry is getting pretty bare.”
Yu-jin almost offered to get a bag of flour from New City but stopped herself. They’d already had that argument.
“Ramirez invited us to his prayer group tomorrow,” Randy said.
“Tomorrow is Sunday already?”
“Yeah, remember Sunday? Harder to remember now that we don’t have a church to go to.”
“Sorry. I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
“I didn’t say it was. It just pisses me off that the main church in town is run by that racist asshole.”
“You and me both. But isn’t Ramirez Catholic?”
“Yeah, so? It’s that or go back to Reverend Genocide. Unless you want to go to that Pentecostal meeting.”
“Flop around and speak in tongues? No thanks.”
“Well, then it’s turn Catholic or join Ahmed and his crew and become Muslim.”
“Y
eah, just what I need. Another reason for people to hate me,” Yu-jin said, looking glumly at the floor. “Besides, Muslims aren’t allowed to drink.”
“Oh, right. Fuck that.”
“What’s the Catholic service like?” Yu-jin asked. She’d only started attending church when she first came here five seasons ago. The New World United Church had seemed just like the name said as long as they thought she was Korean. She hadn’t tried any other meetings.
Randy shrugged. “Dunno. At least they’re Christian. I’m tired of not going to services on Sundays. It feels like the week is incomplete.”
“We’ll go. It’s in the morning, right? I think we’re heading out to the ship tomorrow.”
Randy turned on her. “When did that get decided?”
“I told you the ship is in trouble. Of course I have to go and translate!”
Randy turned back to the stove and muttered something under his breath.
Yu-jin flopped on the bed. She really didn’t need this right now. All these little battles and off-hand comments. OK, both of their lives had been turned upside down, but Randy only seemed to remember his own problems.
“It’s movie night. Want to go to $87,953 later?” he asked.
“Not sure I’m going to have a ‘later,’” Yu-jin sighed. She could feel sleep tugging her down. She needed to eat, though.
Yu-jin pulled herself off the bed and sat at the table, where Randy had just clunked down her bowl hard enough to make his point.
Yu-jin said grace. Just as she finished she heard the spattering of rain on the tin roof. She’d only taken three spoonfuls of the porridge before she caught a chemical tang seeping into the house.
“Aw crap, another one!” Randy cried, stomping around and placing a sheet over the house’s lone window.
“What’s going on? This is the fifth toxic rain this month.”
“People say there must be a leak out to sea somewhere, maybe an island or an oil derrick or something.”
“Great, and I have to go to sea tomorrow.”
“Certainly not if it’s raining! You can come to church with me. We don’t have to do all the Catholic stuff. Ramirez said so. Just pray and gather for the potluck after.”
Emergency Transmission Page 11