Saga (7 page)

“What about you, Carter?” asked Milan. We all turned to look at him, slouched in a big black chair, wincing with the unexpected seriousness of the decision before him. He put his hands over his face and threw back his head as if suppressing a yawn.

“Lug-a-bug! No. No. I’m not coming.”

“What are you going to do?” Athena asked him.

“I’m gonna let you all take off. Give you an hour. Then I’m gonna turn myself in, I think. I did nothing wrong, really. Just that mall stuff. They won’t hit me too hard for that. Even if my card status is reduced to zero, that’s no problem. I can start over.”

“Carter, don’t kid yourself. A policeman was killed, right?” Milan spelled out what we were all thinking. “They could lock you up forever. Blood and fury! They could even execute you.”

“No. No. I had nothing to do with that. It was that strange woman.” He was visibly shaking now, tears in his eyes.

“Last chance,” I offered, but to be honest, I didn’t want him to come. His nerve wasn’t going to hold. Still, I had to give him the choice. To me the idea of going back to the cops was total surrender. It was suicide.

“Go on. I’ll be fine,” Carter reassured himself. “I’ll be fine, really. They’ll just mark my card down a bit.”

“Come on then. Follow me.” Something about this office was really giving me the shivers and I wanted out fast.

“See ya, dude. Hope it works out for you.” Milan saluted.

“You, too, guys. Give ’em hell for me.”

We left Carter staring at the ceiling, his round face white with stress.

 

Our progress to the northeast of the City was subdued and deliberately desultory, just a group of kids cruising their boards. On our right were the great towers of the spaceport, their green lights dominating the evening sky. As we glided over parked aircars and took alley walls on the grind, a flash in the distance sent our hearts racing and the birds of the City cawing into the sky.

“Satellite launch,” Athena explained.

We all stopped to watch. For a while, the flare of the spaceship’s engine was too bright to look at even through tinted glasses. Gradually it changed from a white streak to a yellow one, then orange. The early stars were out in a tranquil violet sky, though you had to watch for some time to distinguish the slowly moving sparks that were satellites from stars and planets.

“You know what I can’t get out of my mind?” Milan spoke quietly, looking up at the departing spaceship.

“Yeah,” I answered. “The pirate. Our escape.”

“That’s right. What was that all about? Can you explain it?” I shook my head. “Nope. Magic?”

Athena snorted. “There’s no such thing. Somehow there’s a scientific explanation. Just don’t ask me for it.”

No one did, so I kicked up my board.

“Come on.”

Once we had passed the spaceport, the City took a dive. No more squares of tidy flowerbeds, ringed about with shops and cafés. This was the industrial heart of town. Block after block of warehouses, defended by concrete posts and wire fencing. Occasionally streets of cheap redbrick-terraced housing intruded into the regularity of the factory layout, like sand working its way between great slabs of stone. These residential streets gradually took the place of the factories, until we were in the realm of takeaways, pubs, and small workshops.

“Where the hell are you taking us, Ghost?” Milan asked, smiling at me.

“Here.” I swerved to a halt outside a two-story repair shop.

“Arnie’s Repairs,” Athena read from the sign that glowed neon pink in the darkening sky. “All makes of aircar and street-car catered to. Best rates in town. Quickest service.”

The shutter was down and padlocked. I took everyone around the back and to the fire escape. A moment to check that the window had not been tampered with since I had last been here, then I let them in. The room was small enough for one; four would be a squeeze. It had an old sleeping bag of mine on the floor and nothing else, but I felt a small upsurge of affection for it. No other place I’d slept in felt like home.

“Nice,” Milan observed sarcastically as he ducked in under the window frame.

“It’s temporary. Bathroom is through that door. Kitchen is downstairs. But wait a sec. I’d better talk to Arnie first.”

I descended quietly past the door to the kitchen and down to the main workspace. A serious poker session was under way; the table was covered in green cloth, and the bright pink faces of the players sweated under a harsh light. It was a while before Arnie sensed me. He made his excuses and stood up, pulling up and tightening the waistband of his trousers.

“Hey, kid. Got anything for me?” We met in the shadows of the staircase, his face lit up with a greedy smile.

Now, a lot of people wouldn’t like Arnie. He was ugly for a start, overweight, and greasy. But to some extent that was an occupational hazard. What was the point of washing when you were going to get covered in oil? He saved the big shower for Sundays and going-out days. You might hope, though, that beneath the rough exterior was a heart of gold, but if there was, he’d have had a transplant long ago and taken it to the bank. Arnie was one of those people who live for status, and he was driven by the idea of earning enough to upgrade his red card to an orange. Even these poker sessions were no idle fun. He took them in deadly earnest and would be in a storm of a temper the next day if they went badly. But he was no fool. For one thing, he understood that the workshop was never going to make him an orange. So he had a secret dream, and I had to admire him for this. He intended to win the annual aircar race one year. It was sort of a mad ambition, but not completely. Out back in the lockup was an old army airtank. Arnie knew how to fix it up enough to have a shot at the race. Assuming he could get the parts. Which is where I came into the picture.

“Yeah. Good news: I’ve got the top three on the list.” I handed over a heavy bag that I had been lugging along from our den.

“Ohh. Ace. Nice work, kid.”

“But I have to ask you a favor.”

“Name it.”

“Three others, stay a week, in the spare room with me.”

“Hmmm.” His face dropped heavily. Then he fixed me with a stare from his watery gray eyes. “Deal.”

And that’s how it was between Arnie and me. We made deals; we stuck to them. We didn’t intrude much on one another, and so we got along fine.

“You know what
this smells like?” Milan waved an arm around outside his sleeping bag.

“Sweat? Mold?” offered Athena, voice muffled by the fact that she was still inside hers.

“No. It’s the smell of freedom. We may be in a stuffy little room, but we can do anything we want.”

It was nearly midday, and the others were waking up at last. I suppose all the excitement of the previous day had tired them out. I had been up all morning, mainly wondering about Cindella. How had she made us all invisible? It was as if she had entered our world straight out of a story, a story with pirates and magic. In a way, it was exhilarating. I’d always felt that there had to be more to the world than met the eye, that there were hidden connections and paths that were beyond our senses, but not entirely beyond. At special moments, like when boarding a near-impossible trick, you touched those paths, and you were part of some immensely vital whole. It was all very vague, and I broke into a self-deprecating smile that had nothing to do with what the others were saying.

“And what are you going to do with your freedom?” Athena stuck her head out and reached around until she found her glasses. Score one for short hair, I thought as I looked at the great tangle of dyed black locks she was pushing aside in order to see us.

“Ahhh.” Milan put his arms behind his head and sighed with pleasure. “Let me see. First, I think I’ll go boarding. Then maybe swimming. Then have a shower and sleep in the afternoon, before finding a party to go to in the evening. Sounds good.” He nodded to himself.

“Is that what you want from life?” Nathan was up and dressed in his neat denim jacket and jeans.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Milan replied, ignoring the critical tone of the question.

“Not me.” Athena was energetic now, sitting up and gesturing with one arm. “I thought about it during the night. I’m going to form a new guild, get on the High Council, and really cause a stir.”

“Far out.” Nathan had a thing for old-school superlatives. “What kind of guild? What name?”

“A guild for all the anarcho-punks out there. A guild that doesn’t care about cards or the Queen. You know, one that refuses to go along with the system. So I was thinking of names like ‘Insubordination’ or ‘Defiance.’”

This made me smile with genuine amusement and admiration. Most guilds, especially the old ones, had very snobby names: “Noble Spirit,” “Path of Virtue,” “Honor Bound,” and “Warriors of Valor” were at the very top. They were out to attract the elite cardholders, and even the vast numbers of no-hope guilds copied their style.

“That’s a great idea, Athena! I’ll help you with logos and artwork.” Nathan paused. “But I wonder, maybe it shouldn’t just be negative?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, how about ‘Equality’ or ‘Harmony’?”

“No way, Nath. Jumping jeebies, you’ll never get anyone to join a guild with those names.” Milan turned onto his side so he could see them, drawn to the discussion. “I know. It should be called
Parrrrty
!”

“Defiance,” Athena stated firmly. “But I take your point, Nath. We can put some positive symbolism into the logo and tags, to show we have a creative agenda.”

“Cool.” Nathan was pleased, and his face immediately relaxed into the distant expression he got when thinking about designs. He noticed me looking at him with amusement, and blushed.

“What about you, Ghost? What are you going to do?”

“I just want to know who I am. Anyway, we can’t hang about here all day. We have to go and earn our rent.”

“Rock on. What’s that involve?” asked Milan with real interest.

“A visit to a few aircar factories. But listen: one word of advice. When we go down, try not to sound like a fool in front of Arnie. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t say much at all.”

“Hell, Ghost, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Milan put on an aggrieved tone, but his smile showed he didn’t mean it.

 

Downstairs, Arnie was sitting at the table, cursing aloud to himself, his face red.

“Bad luck at the poker game?” I asked, leading the others forward.

“Mudgrub to the poker game!” He suddenly turned sheepish with a glance at my friends. Arnie wasn’t good with strangers. “Er, sorry. I mean, who cares about poker? Look.” He brandished the newspaper. “There is a new Grand Vizier, and the idiot has brought the race forward to this Saturday. This Saturday! There’s no way I’m gonna be ready, and I paid my deposit and everything.”

His list was in my inside pocket. I took it out and looked over it again carefully. Nobody said anything for a few minutes. That was good. Let Arnie get used to them.

“We can get you everything on this list by tonight. Would that swing it?”

“Maybe.” He sounded calmer now. “I’d have to close the shop and work on it all week. But yeah, if you can get that gear, I’d have a chance.”

“We can.”

“Well, sit down. I’ll get you some coffee.”

When Arnie came back with a tray of chipped mugs, I did the introductions.

“Milan, Nath, Athena.”

“Nice to meet you, man.” Milan got up and offered his hand. “You really going into the aircar race?”

Arnie hesitated before returning the briefest of touches. “If you kids come up with the goods. If they go in without a major hitch. If my guild comes up with the crew.” He emphasized the “if” to let us know he wasn’t very hopeful.

“Which guild are you in?” asked Athena.

“Valiant. Also known as Guild of Sucksville,” muttered Arnie. “Guild of Fatheads and Lazy Asses. Guild of Take-Your-Dues-and-Give-You-Nothing-Back. Guild of Losers.” He sat down heavily and then brightened up for a moment. “Still, I see that Ancient Honor is gone. Wiped out with the fall of its Grand Vizier. Serves ’em right, pompous indigo snobs.”

“We’re forming a new guild today,” announced Athena, and inside I winced. Arnie’s outlook was very different from ours. “It’s called Defiance.”

“Defiance, huh?” He rubbed his heavy, unshaven jaw.

“What’s it cost?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Arnie was suddenly interested. “What’re the benefits?”

“None.”

“Hmmm. Good luck.”

“Right. We’ll be off. See you around sunset.” I got up and kicked my board on before anyone could start talking politics; the others followed quickly enough.

Arnie grunted.

People got very worked up about their guilds, even red-card holders—especially red-card holders. When a guild got a sufficiently high ranking, it was given control of residence allocation, local amenities, planning decisions about traffic, all that kind of really boring stuff. Following the rise and fall of guilds had never interested me, but then I wasn’t a member of any guild. I couldn’t be; I was a cardless, unregistered person. Each guild tended to be based in a particular part of the City and tried to outdo its local rivals for control of petty privileges. The very top guilds, though, they were above parochial squabbles; they gathered the blues, indigos, and violets from all districts and fought for positions at the imperial court.

 

“First stop, Mosveo International.”

We had boarded along the edge of a disused canal to the back of the factory. This was the ugly side of the City, and I wondered if the others had seen this kind of area before. The old canal was just full of rubbish, from small colorful scraps of sweet wrappings caught in the reeds to great objects like abandoned streetcars and entire portapotties. The stagnant water was an ugly brown, and it gave off a fetid odor.