Tomorrow’s Heritage (12 page)

More shots followed, bullets ripping into the mob, the reverberations hitting Todd’s ears again and again. The screams changed. No more cries of hate or demands to kill the Spacers. The rioters fled in terror, forgetting their prey. Again and again the shots came, picking out targets at random. The would-be killers left a trail of blood and bodies as they tried to get to the opening they had smashed with the tram. It was very far off now, from Todd’s position.

Outside the transfer tube, other rioters who had been keeping pace with the ride strip halted, realizing the danger. They scattered, running back across the tarmac toward the hangars and the fields beyond.

Uniformed guards loped past Todd’s party, firing as they came, driving the panic-stricken mob before them. Not all of the mob could run. Some lay motionless on the strip, being carried along as was Todd. Others were wounded and crawling. The guards finished them off casually, like men and women in a factory with a boring job to complete.

Some guards checked the injured Riccardi techs, then called for medics. Another officer and a uniformed man and woman helped Beth Isaacs and Mari to their feet. Todd picked Dian up, holding her close until her reactions cooled.

“Sorry about this, sir,” the officer was saying. Todd’s eyes were drawn to the side arm the man was holding. If Mari had had one of those, maybe the Riccardi techs wouldn’t have been hurt. “Mr. Saunder? And you’re Mariette Saunder, aren’t you? Really sorry this happened,” he said, as if enough apologies would remove their lingering shock. “We thought this bunch of cretins was heading for the syntha-food plants west of here. Didn’t expect them to hit the terminal. Don’t worry about your luggage, folks. We’ll deliver it to your gate. You’re going to the SE private hangars, sir?” Todd nodded. “Fine, we’ll take care of it. And if there’s any damage, Orleans Terminal will replace everything at no charge.”

“Just an everyday riot, huh?” Mari said sarcastically.

The officer’s bland smile never wavered. “Anyone hurt here? The terminal’s doctors will—”

“They’re not hurt. They’re
Saunders
.” Two guards were helping a limping Riccardi tech along the moving ride strip. The tech glared daggers at Todd and Mariette. “They probably staged this. My people are . . . God! Susan’s dead! Those . . . those animals killed her. Do you care about that, Saunder? Do you? You’re going to get a lesson one of these days . . .”

“I know you’re Todd’s competitor,” Mari began.

“Don’t.” Todd pinched her arm lightly. “Can’t you see he’s out of his head? Sure, it’s a rival company. There’s a little friction . . .”

“Spacers. You’re the damned Spacer they should have killed,” the man ranted, focusing on Mariette especially. “Damned Goddard bitch.”

The officer spoke loudly to drown him out. “Eckard, take care of Mr. Saunder and his group, will you? Make sure they get V.I.P. courtesy. And retrieve their baggage.” He saluted Todd, then he and his guards hurried on, cutting in between the Saunder group and the raving Riccardi tech, separating the two more widely. In a moment, Todd couldn’t hear the tech’s curses at all.

“That officious—”

Dian stopped Mariette this time. “It won’t do any good. It never does, with that kind.” More nightmares. Wyoma Lee and a big-eyed little girl, caught in the anarchy of the Death Years and the Chaos. The United Ghetto States had been born out of that miniature dark age. Dian had seen too much, and she remembered too much, unable to forget it, ever.

The ride strip finally ended. Because everyone was weak-kneed, Todd decided they would spend some time in the terminal lounge to wind down. A couple of drinks and some talk to release the tension helped considerably. Beth Isaacs and the techs had to reschedule their flight to New Washington as a result of the delay, but Todd promised them he didn’t mind the extra expense as long as no one was hurt. They carefully avoided mentioning the injuries and death among the Riccardi techs. Todd, Dian, and Mari saw the others off to their jet, then took a courtesy tram to the SE hangars.

“I’ll bet Beth puts through an inquiry to the terminal hospital to check up on them,” Dian said. Mari and Todd glanced at each other over her head, saying nothing. “Beth’s like that,” Dian went on, “no matter how many dirty tricks Riccardi plays on ComLink.”

“Yes, Beth
is
like that,” Todd agreed with a gentle smile. “We could use a few billion more like her. That would solve nearly every problem Earth’s got.”

The seacraft was primed and ready when they arrived at the SE hangars. Todd chatted with the mechanics while Dian and Mari fussed over the luggage, making sure the guards hadn’t overlooked anything. The one case that really concerned Todd still rode safely inside his jumper. He didn’t remove it until they were aboard and rolling out on the taxi strip.

The wind was right. He made a good takeoff and banked, peering down at the air terminal and shuttleport and the land around. Orleans Port extended in a narrow strip nearly to the western horizon. The incoming shuttles required a long glide strip; some of the craft using it were military, but mostly they were owned by the three telecommunications corporations or scientific groups. Protectors of Earth subsidized the extremely expensive upkeep of the shuttleport and the domestic terminal’s operation. Despite some of the flaws, such as faulty air-conditioning and a bumpy ride strip on the three-kilometer transfer from shuttleport to global terminal, the overview was one of tidy, well-maintained group transportation facilities.

Beyond the pavement, hangars, and passenger and shipping terminals, things changed drastically. The old cities had reached out to follow the construction while the combined port was building. For a while, there had been a boom along the Gulf, an economic surge the area had needed badly. Agriculture had suffered when the river patterns shifted after the New Madrid quake, and the ripple effect from that catastrophe had crippled industry and tourism. The region had needed the income port construction brought. But the boom was over, and it showed. Decayed and burned-out suburbs surrounded the luxuries and conveniences of the port. Empty factories and construction barns, crumbling highways, ill-kept rapid-transit tracks—the whole area from the dried-up swamps to the Sabine was a vast blot on the land. Off to the west, fires raged, oily black smoke boiling up into the cloudless sky. The syntha-food plant the officer had mentioned? Or was something else being torched? It didn’t seem to matter, in that patch of misery down there.

Unfortunately, the scene was too typical. Todd had flown over other ruins and rotting slums. They seemed to girdle every major population center throughout the world, though some were worse than others. Every time he saw this sort of human dungheap, he felt lucky, and very depressed. His reaction didn’t lessen his impotent anger with the rioters. Yet he shrank away from a sense of guilt, knowing he could never see life from their point of view, never know hunger and frustration so awful it made a man strike out in blind rage, uncaring if he hurt the innocent.

Humanity had a long history of seeking scapegoats. In this era, it was the rich, the Spacers, and anyone who was in one’s way when the agony of deprivation and fear became too much.

And I’m going to turn that fear into stark horror, for some of them. Unless Pat helps me, makes it seem like salvation, not one more, overwhelming enemy from outer space, something that’s going to hurt them and make their hellish lives still worse—if that’s possible.

“The air’s filthy, even without that smoke,” Mariette observed.

“Not too bad. You can get upwind and breathe,” Dian said tonelessly. “In some clear air, you don’t dare do that. The other side’s fillin’ it up with toxins you can’t see, smell, or taste.”

Todd banked again, turning away from the land, heading out over the Gulf, setting a course east by southeast. Dian grabbed at the safety bar and eyed him with worry. As the craft leveled out and picked up speed and altitude, she smiled a bit, settling back in the second seat.

The water was a blue-green carpet flowing back beneath them. It made depth perception tricky. Todd kept close track of the scanners to be sure of his position. There weren’t any tall obstructions on his flight path, and it was easy enough to wink at regulations over this comparatively peaceful section of the Central North American Union. He would have ignored those laws years ago. He and Pat and Mariette had skimmed the low waves and practically scooped up whitecaps, on many a flight out to Sanderhome. By now, though, he ought to have outgrown such reckless stunts.

“Is that one of the cargo blimps?” Dian asked, staring out the side window at a bulbous shape off to their right.

“Probably.” Mariette leaned over the seat to look. “Yes, that’s one. Some of the island groups make fairly steady use of them in good weather. Very fuel-efficient. They can certainly use the money elsewhere. Look! Off there! That’s one of the Sea-Search Rescue Stations. Drop down a little, Todd, so Dian can see the dolphins. .

Dian’s smile widened tolerantly. “I know about the dolphin-human Rescue teams. And Beth received her initial language translation background in one of the island universities, where she did a couple of semesters of good work with the Rescue people.”

“Did she? They do a great job. Don’t know how we ever managed without the cross-species teams . . .”

Todd was encouraged by Mariette’s chatty, cheerful manner. She had insisted Dian ride in the front seat, saying she had seen everything along the route. But now she played tour guide, constantly leaning forward between the seats and pointing out scenes of interest. Todd turned and grinned at her. Mariette rapped her knuckles lightly on his head. “Pay attention to your piloting.”

“This isn’t exactly a heavy traffic route,” Todd defended himself. But he faced forward, all the same.

“You wanted to play air jockey and override the auto-program,” Mariette said. “It’s your job to get us there in one piece. Correction, three pieces.”

Dian’s brown face broke into her sunshine grin, lifting Todd’s spirits. He forgot the ugly riot, the grimy slums around Orleans Port, enjoying the flight. They talked and took in the scenery. Occasionally Todd detoured, on request, to give them a good view of something below. Both Todd and Mari vicariously enjoyed Dian’s fresh viewpoint of what she was seeing. She had been on numerous commercial flights around the globe and on many small-craft trips with Todd, but never on a flight to Saunderhome.

Todd checked in at scheduled times, getting the weather, setting up an ETA with Saunderhome’s automated control system. As scanners started picking up their destination after an hour’s flight, Mariette squeezed Dian’s shoulder and pointed once more. “Up ahead. About one o’clock. There! That’s Saunderhome.”

“We’re still a good slice out, and it’s visible already. Big place. You didn’t tell me it was that big,” Dian teased Todd.

His mouth quirked and he steadied the craft, aligning the vector. “You never asked for specifics. It’s just the little old place we call home.”

Mari crossed her arms on the back of Dian’s seat, pillowing her cheek on her hands, looking at Todd. “Remember?”

He was momentarily startled to realize how closely their thoughts had run. “I remember,” he said. “Especially the first time Dad let me handle the Swift all the Way.”

Dian was amazed. “A Swift? A model ‘97 Swift? A prop plane? Were they still operating when you could fly?”

“They certainly were.” Mari tugged at the curling hair on the back of Todd’s neck until he shivered away. “He was fourteen, all legs and arms and impossible curiosity. He’d been practically chewing on the Swift’s wings and whining until Dad let him take the controls. ‘How come Pat can fly it and I can’t?’ ” she mimicked in a boy’s cracking voice. Todd laughed at the reminiscence.

“It was in the Twenties then,” Dian said, counting time backward from Todd’s present age. The darkness was in her expression again.

Todd sobered. “Yeah, bad times. For you, your grandmother, us—everybody. Somehow Dad and Jael managed to dodge the worst of it. Ward’s inventions were really starting to earn us some clout. He and Mother began building Saunderhome in 2015, after Jael swung some sort of deal with a Caribbean ruler who was trying to hang onto his island empire. Dad picked up that old Swift somewhere, restored it, and made flights back and forth from Saunderhome to Florida.” Nostalgia made him sigh. “The damned thing bucketed like a dolphin chasing a rescue hoverboat in a high surf. Sure was fun to fly, though. Nothing like it around today. No more seat-of-the-pants stuff . . .”

“Teach ‘em young, huh?” Dian spoke lightly. She offered no comments on what she and Wyoma Lee Foix had been doing while the Saunder fortunes were accumulating, buying them dream palaces and private aircraft as toys.

“We’ve all been handling fliers and boats since we were kids,” Mariette said. “Cars, too, when there was some place to drive them. Never made a mistake yet on land, sea, or air . . .”

“It only takes one.” Todd saw Mari’s reflection in the console plexi. Her bright smile vanished at that veiled reference to Ward’s fatal crash. Dian sensed the instant shift in mood, but she didn’t pry.

Finally, Mariette perked up, forcing away the memories. “Dian? Over there—the lee islands. There’s some incredible fishing there, and great boating waters. We lease it now and then as sort of an extra playground. There’s a botanical museum there, too. You might enjoy a side trip over from Saunderhome while we’re here.”

“Sounds interesting,” Dian replied politely.

Todd took an update call from Saunderhome Control, adjusting his approach slightly. The flier responded beautifully. It wasn’t the same thrill handling the Swift had been, so many years ago. But he was still very much in control of a fine machine, making it move with him. As much as he loved life in Geosynch HQ style, there were times, spacing, when he missed this, missed all of it. Contact with the planet, with weather, with unregulated air currents, oceans of water, land, wild growing things—
everything
. That was his youth, before he had discovered space travel, before he had looked down on Earth from an exalted distance and seen it reduced to a floating ball of brown and white and deepest blue.

Youth!
He chuckled to himself, arousing the women’s wonder. He didn’t explain his amusement He had been thinking like an old man in his dotage, looking back over six or seven decades, not less than four. He wasn’t ready to be stored in the Enclave yet! He had many vigorous years left, years in which to fly and love Dian and touch the Earth and surround himself with space . . .