City Wars (8 page)

“All right, then. What assurance do we have that the gamma shower which destroyed E Sector didn’t leave a trail across the country—radiation that could cripple our war cruisers? You heard the analysis report, Hadrian. E Sector was saturated with gamma particles. We can’t even go in to claim the dead for another twelve hours.”

Hadrian leaned over the luminous glass. “Granted that we are not exactly sure of the atmospheric damage caused by the gamma shower. Granted that no accurate land configuration studies have been made since the War. What, then, do you propose?”

“That we send a single cruiser on a preliminary re-con mission … and that we send it now.”

He stood face to face with Hadrian.

“Given no unforseen occurrence,” he went on, “the re-con pilot can transmit back geographical and maybe even tactical info before the main Air forces lift off.”

Hadrian smiled, but only with his lips. His eyes stayed dark on Bowman.

“I’ll note that as your opinion,” Bowman said quietly. “However, consider my plan an order, not a suggestion.”

He headed for the door.

“Come now, Colonel,” Hadrian called after him. “Far be it from me to mock the heroics for which you are so well known.”

Hadrian waited for Bowman to return to the middle of the room.

“After all,” Hadrian continued, “we both know you intend to pilot that re-con mission yourself.”

Bowman was silent.

“Your face gives you away, Colonel.” Hadrian’s appraisal was thoughtful. “It seems this century has its new Lazarus. For the war has brought you back to life again.”

Before Hadrian could lean across the glass once more, Bowman caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. The light from the glass top threw a jumble of shadows across the room as they grappled.

It ended quickly. Hadrian gasped more from anger than pain as a right from Bowman knocked out most of his teeth.

He went down without much of a fuss.

Bowman left then, his knuckles stinging. He tried not to think about all the hell he’d catch when he got back. If he got back.

Cassandra found him at the controls of a two-seater impulse cruiser. It was one of three salvaged from a war zone outside Cleveland many years before. Air Service had cannibalized the other two for guidance parts.

“Jake, they found Hadrian …”

“Apologize to Gilcrest for me, Cass.” He leaned up and kissed her, and allowed himself to think of nothing but the taste of her lips.

Then he reached for the canopy lock control. Her hand covered his.

“This is what it’s all about for you,” she said. “Really.”

He wanted to say something, and yet not deny that part of him that was now alive in the womb of this craft. The impulse engines were synchronizing. He couldn’t reach inside himself for words.

Cassandra pulled back from the cockpit and watched his eyes focus straight ahead. His hand closed on the stick.

She was a safe distance away now, standing erect, silent, the engines fanning her pale blue tunic. He remembered the first time he’d seen her, in Corrigan’s Bar. So beautiful, so officious. The way she looked now.

He blinked his eyes and she was gone.

Bowman lifted the craft from its cradle and guided it out of the hangar. He ascended quickly into the morning sky, the spires and shapes of the city falling away beneath him.

11

Cassandra was with Minister Gilcrest in his chambers when Hadrian burst in, his assistant Wilkins on his heels. The taller man’s face was red and puffy. He held a cold compress to his lips.

“Minister Gilcrest, I demand that man’s commission—!” Hadrian’s words were muffled bursts behind the compress.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Hadrian,” Gilcrest said lazily. “We’d heard you met with an accident.”

He reached up from his leather chair and made a point of lifting Hadrian’s hand away and examining the wound. He shook his head.

“I see Jake hasn’t lost that temper of his,” he said.

“Temper—?!!”

Cassandra hid her smile behind tightly pressed lips. Hadrian glowered back.

“That madman you put in charge assaulted me,” he said with difficulty. “And he’s taken it upon himself to recon the terrain.”

“So the Guardian has informed me,” the Senior Minister replied. “I’m also under the impression that the positioning and disembarkment schedule of our Air forces has been computed and authorized by Colonel Bowman.”

“That’s correct,” said Wilkins, stepping from a corner. “All is in readiness for the attack.”

Gilcrest waved a hand.

“Then I see no cause for alarm, gentlemen,” he
said. “I’m confident that the Colonel’s recon transmission will be soon forthcoming, and the attack can commence.”

Wilkins seemed about to reply, but Hadrian spoke first.

“Those who side with me are greater in number than you think, Minister.”

“Oh?”

“Your influence in Government ebbs with every hour you delay in giving the citizens of Chicago what they want.”

Cassandra took a step forward.

The movement was not overlooked by Hadrian. Attempting a painful smile, he said: “My observation may have been unfortunate, but it is nonetheless true. However, it was intended merely as an observation.”

Gilcrest stirred in his chair. “You know, Hadrian—”

“But for now,” the other man interrupted him, “there is much to do. We must prepare for the attack.”

Hadrian gestured to his assistant and they walked out without another word.

Cassandra’s jaws snapped in anger.

“That arrogant—”

The old man chuckled and looked up at his youthful protector.

“Perhaps it is just as well that he left, Cassandra. I didn’t know what I was going to say to him anyway.”

“But, sir …”

Cassandra came around the chair to face him. She was momentarily startled at the age that had seemed to gather around his eyes.

“Sir, if I may express an opinion.”

“By all means.”

“Well, Minister, it is obvious what kind of man Hadrian is … and what he’s doing.”

“Extremely,” Gilcrest agreed, sighing. “I’m afraid political maneuvering has lost all subtlety in these times. The war fever allows him the priviledge of harboring ambition quite openly.”

“Then you agree …”

He patted her hand: an archaic gesture.

“I’ve watched Hadrian at Tactics sessions for some time now. Seen how he expresses his views in such a way that he convinces the other ministers he’s speaking for them as well. Hell, he convinces
me
half the time.”

“I still feel—”

He got to his feet with some effort and took Cassandra by the shoulders. Then, to her surprise, he drew her close and kissed her on the forehead.

“Cassandra,” he said quietly, “I’d like you to do something for me.”

She could only nod.

“I want you to go down to Records and pull the bio tapes on Hadrian. You might as well check up on that assistant of his, too … Wilkins. Okay?”

“Now, sir?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“But, sir, with all respects, you can tap Records for that information yourself … right from this room.”

“I’m aware of that, Guardian,” he said. “But all Records searches are logged, and I’d like this one kept confidential. Think you can slip in and out unobserved?”

“Of course. And I’m sorry, sir.”

He smiled, and she was touched by its warmth. “Just do as I ask. No reason why Hadrian should be the only one with tricks up his sleeve.”

“Pardon, sir?”

The old man chuckled as he walked her to the door. “An expression I heard once, when I was a boy. Leave it to me to date myself like that, and in front of an attractive young woman. Probably ruined my chances for sure.”

She turned at the door and looked at him through lowered lashes.

“Don’t be so sure, sir,” she said.

He laughed again and watched her walk down the corridor and then turn out of sight.

Gilcrest went back into his study and scanned the row of books on the shelves. He was looking for one in particular, one very old and —

It was a slip of paper.

Gilcrest bent closer, peered.

The paper had been placed between two old volumes, with enough extending so that he’d be sure to see it. He pulled it out and opened it, knowing what it was before reading the words.

They’d drawn a crude map, and written instructions on finding the place where his wife was being held. They wanted him to come alone, and again to tell no one of his journey.

For a moment, he paused to wonder how they’d managed to spirit the message into his private rooms. But he let this thought go quickly. There was little time to do anything but act.

He glanced at the map they’d provided. He was familiar with the area, as he was with almost every street and corner in the city. They’d chosen their hiding place well.

Gilcrest crumpled the paper into a ball and dropped it on the carpet. Then he went to his bedroom, hurriedly changed to nondescript clothes, and signaled for his private car. Then he went out into the corridor and called to the sentry standing at the pneumatic.

The sentry trotted over.

“Yes, sir?”

“I wonder if you’d check the Alert Com light sequence at the end of Corridor D,” Gilcrest said. “I thought I noticed something flickering.”

“Probably some circuit breakdown, sir. Shall I signal Engineering?”

“Why don’t you run down and check it yourself first. It may be nothing.” Gilcrest smiled. “You know, I can’t always trust these old eyes of mine.”

The sentry, fresh-faced and newly shaven, returned Gilcrest’s smile and saluted.

“Back in a minute, sir.”

After he’d disappeared around the corner, Gilcrest closed and sealed the entrance to his quarters and stepped into the pneumatic. With any luck, when the sentry returned to report the Alert Com in good order, he’d see the sealed doors and simply assume the
Senior Minister had gone back to his study to work.

The pneumatic sped up to street level. Gilcrest’s car had already been wheeled out of its stall. He nodded to the attendant holding the door for him, then slid into the driver’s seat. If the attendant thought it odd that Gilcrest was not utilizing a Government driver, he kept his musings to himself.

The old man drove out of the garage, flicking the switch on the dash that tinted all four visors, concealing his features. Then, cautiously, he moved the unmarked Government vehicle into the flow of traffic.

She’d scanned the Records bank twice, just to be sure. But there was no mistake. While the required information was available on Hadrian, Wilkins’ bio tape was incomplete. There was no record of his activities or whereabouts prior to joining Weapons Division.

Cassandra was still pondering this as she came down the corridor, Hadrian’s tape under her arm. She found the sentry standing before the doors to Gilcrest’s chambers, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I guess.” He jerked his thumb down the corridor, in the opposite direction from which she’d come. “Minister Gilcrest sent me to check the Alert Com, and when I got back, he’d gone to his rooms again. Even sealed the doors. You’d think he’d at least wait around for my report.”

“Perhaps he’s working,” she said absently. “Don’t worry about it. Go back to your post.”

The sentry nodded and retreated.

Cassandra hesitated only a moment. Then she inserted her passkey and unlocked the sealing mechanism, releasing the doors.

A quick check through his chambers confirmed her suspicions. The Minister was gone. Something about the sentry’s story hadn’t sounded right. Gilcrest was not given to worrying about minor electrical malfunctions.

She went into the study and put down the Hadrian
tape. Government ministers rarely left the labyrinth, and to do so without the protection of a Guardian was—

Then she saw the wad of paper on the carpet. She bent and flattened it out in her palm, quickly read the few terse lines. The old man’s actions made perfect sense now.

She looked at her watch, tried to estimate how much of a head start Gilcrest had gotten. At least twenty minutes.

Cassandra studied the hand-drawn map the kidnappers had provided, committing it to memory. Then, crumpling it for the second time, she tossed it aside and headed for the door.

They surrounded him, filling the room with their number. They didn’t speak directly to him, yet were always talking, murmuring among themselves in that terrible throaty whisper. Talking about him.

Gilcrest hadn’t recalled the day being so windy. Yet the old building groaned all about him, and dust fell occasionally, and he felt chilled.

He didn’t know people lived in this area of the city, not anymore. Government could ill afford to rebuild the whole of Chicago, so prime sectors had been selected for redevelopment. This place, this ghetto, hadn’t known new mortar, new steel, or the freshness of an architect’s perspective in over half a century.

But this was where the rebels lived. The rebel lunks.

For the first time, Gilcrest felt shame as well as fear. What would that old book have said? That sins would be visited upon him …

He shuffled his feet, trying to keep warm. He could hardly believe it was just midafternoon, so dim and cool was the room.

The lunks made no move toward him, merely continued whispering among themselves. What was it they were saying? No, they weren’t just talking. There was a rhythm, a cadence. And it was getting louder.

Gilcrest jerked up his head, as though the recognition jolted him.

They were chanting.

Something in their chanting made Gilcrest realize that he might possibly not leave this place alive.

Abruptly, the chanting ceased.

Broken whispers, excited, breathless.

Gilcrest looked up as the circle of lunks parted to admit a strikingly clear-eyed young lunk in a thick coat.

“Welcome, Minister Gilcrest,” the young one said, trying hard as he smiled not to let his features droop. From his stance, the careful movement of his arms, it was apparent the young lunk was concentrating very intensely to maintain motor control. Gilcrest made a point of not pitying him.

“I have come,” the old man said. “As requested.”

“As demanded—! As demanded by the lunks.”

“Very well,” Gilcrest said. “To whom am I speaking, then?”

“I am called Giles by my brothers and sisters. You may use that name as well.”

“All right. Giles.” Gilcrest selected his next words with care. The circle of lunks had closed around him again. “I have come in good faith into your domain. I expect now to be assured of my wife’s safety.”

Giles took a measured step. “We are not greatly interested in what you expect, Lord Gilcrest.”

“I am a Government minister.”

“Minister, lord, master … they are all the same word. They all signify the same perversion of justice and freedom.”

Gilcrest said, “I am sure that in many ways your actions are justified, but my wife is—”

“Your wife!” Giles raised an arm, as though to
swing. Gilcrest had never seen—had never even imagined—a lunk given to rage.

Giles steadied his voice. “Your wife, Lord Gilcrest, is safe. Quite safe. And quite hidden.”

“But your mesage said—”

“We have,” Giles exclaimed suddenly, and gestured in a way that included the silent creatures surrounding them; “we have a list of demands, Lord Gilcrest. Demands that deal precisely and concretely with correcting an injustice. That address themselves to eliminating a perversion. For it is time, great master of our destinies … Even you, in that hole from which you and your kind rule—even you must see that the time has come. For my brothers and sisters in this room … for all lunks throughout the city.”

Gilcrest was only vaguely aware that the chanting had begun again. Softly, insistently.

Giles came about to face him. A darkness seemed to have fallen in the room, and shadows hid much of the lunk’s expression. But Gilcrest could feel the hatred.

“How long,” Giles said quietly, “did you expect us to wait? How long did Government think lunks would wait for equal status in Chicago, free and equal status with Urbans…?”

“Lunks are free citizens—”

“Lunks are free, yes! But we are not citizens. We are not educated, our wounds are not treated, the very sickness that marks us goes unhealed.”

“The doctors—”

“And yet greater still—!” cried Giles, voice trembling—“greater still is the pain of not knowing hope, not knowing dreams, not harboring for oneself a single wish other than for the peace of death. Death, Lord Gilcrest! The only peace for lunks.”

Giles moved away from the old man, regarded him. In his fervent emotion, the young lunk had begun to lose control of his limbs. Only now could Gilcrest hear the self-loathing that underscored Giles’ voice.

“But we are free,” Giles was saying, his head bobbing. “As you say, Minister. Lunks are indeed free. Free to wait on tables, carry the bricks to build your
city. Free to sweep and haul and tend to the disposal of Urban waste … I could only wish for you one day of such freedom. Such pathetic freedom.”

Gilcrest waited, but Giles appeared to be finished. He stepped back into the circle, joining his brothers and sisters. And then he was chanting too, and with every breath the volume rose.