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Chapter 22

The patrol craft passed overhead like a bird of prey, its navigational lights winking through the bridge superstructure. Silverfish motioned to the others to stay crouched under the overhang while he peered over the top. Finally he waved them out. "Hurry. Before they come back."

Sage struggled to extricate himself from the space beneath the massive girders that formed the pedestrian sidewall. His knees throbbed from squatting—and now Silverfish was gesturing to him to remain crouched as they hastened over the remaining bridge span. It was an abandoned structure smelling of ancient rust and grease, and every creak of its beams sent a fearful tremor through Sage. It was a long way down to the river's swirling, muddy waters. He avoided looking over the edge and scurried after Silverfish.

The sunset had faded to a sullen red glow against the clouds. Beyond the far riverbank, the slumburbs were already in shadow. Until now, Sage hadn't actually believed that they would cross the river to the slumburbs. Not really. He thought of Kyd's urgency and wondered what would have happened if they had just stayed put and allowed themselves to be questioned by the ComPol. The thought made him shiver.

"Move it!" Ramo hissed, poking him from behind.

Sage had been trying to ease a kink in his back. He muttered, crouching low again, and quickened his pace.

By the time they reached the far side, the patrol craft had passed over twice more—each time sending them back into hiding. Sage could barely stand upright by the time it was safe to do so. They ran down the off-ramp, and Silver led them to a sheltered spot behind an abandoned building. Sage found a railing and hung from it by his hands, trying to relax his tortured back.

"Only a few more miles," Silverfish said jovially.

"Miles!"

"Keep it down. We're not in the clear yet." Silverfish stood looking back at the city, and Sage came to stand beside him—gazing across the river at the lights of the tall buildings, the lights of the world he was leaving behind. A feeling of homesickness welled up in him; and he wondered dizzily if this was how Tony might have felt, if he'd looked back from his starship to see the Earth disappearing into the night, never to be seen by him again. His brother might have the courage for such things, but he didn't. Never had, never would.

"Hadn't we better get moving?" Ramo muttered, rubbing his hands together. "It's gonna get awfully dark. And cold."

"Right you are. Sage?" Silverfish's eyes were calm and businesslike, but as Sage turned, he caught a glimmer of understanding in them. He nodded, and they moved on.

 

* * *

 

The slumburbs seemed to go on forever—the ancient, decaying buildings, and the streets lined with stunted trees and guttered with accumulated rubbish. It was a landscape forsaken by civilization. Here and there a lamp flickered, but mostly the world was in shadow. They passed few people and fewer vehicles, except for abandoned wrecks. Sage wondered, Can it possibly get worse?

There had been no further sign of pursuit. It was unlikely, Silverfish told them, that the ComPol would search for them in the slumburbs at night. The 'burbs weren't the Company's territory. "But," he said, "if we want to make it for dinner, we'd better keep up the pace."

"Dinner?" The word made Sage light-headed. He stopped dreaming about his apartment, with its lights and bed and console, and started thinking instead of hot-bread with butter, and blueberry pie with moke. And maybe some Risky Crispies.

"That's right. We've been promised a home-cooked meal—but if we get there too late, they might give up on us. It's not but a mile or two more."

"That's what you said an hour ago."

Silverfish smiled and kept walking.

 

* * *

 

As one stretch of pavement turned into another, as night deepened, and as Sage grew wearier, stray bits of memory began fluttering through his thoughts—memories of his presence in the core with Ramo, memories of what they had done. Little of it made sense to him, but enough to make him realize that, yes, they had made far more than a minor adjustment to the core's programming last night. Freed of certain moorings . . . set upon an altered course . . . what were the core's intentions for the Company, for the war, for Tony?

The war. It seemed so distant, so unreal. Suppose there was no war. Suppose he had been deceived. Suppose he was guilty of treason, and sabotage. Sage shook his head blearily. He was nothing more than a pawn in the confusion.

As they moved farther from the city, the slumburbs seemed to come back to life. They had passed through a no-man's-land of desolation in which few lived but the poorest of the poor; but now they were seeing evidence of a comeback—intact buildings, and houses with panes in the windows. Streetlights remained scattered and mostly dark, but the pavement, though broken, was less strewn with trash. There was, Silver assured them, life after the city. They were starting to see more people about, and an occasional vehicle bumping along on the fractured concrete, headlights bouncing crazily.

Their destination turned out to be a dilapidated-looking house flanked by an empty lot on one side and a woods on the other. Sage kept his doubts to himself as he followed the others up the front walk. Whatever was inside, it had to be better than the street. "I smell food!" Silverfish sang, quickening his stride.

The front door flew open and light flooded out, silhouetting a skinny figure. "Silver—that you?" the figure shouted.

"It's us," Silverfish said. "And we're tired and hungry."

They trooped into a warm, brightly lit living room filled with cooking smells and well-worn furniture. Sage took a deep breath and shivered in the warm air. "Egret," Silver said, "this is Sage and Ramo. Is Odesta around?"

"Absolutely," said the young man, pumping first Ramo's hand, then Sage's. "Positively delighted. Desty's doing dinner up, you all just go in and get comfortable."

Sage stared back at him in alarm. Egret was an odd-looking fellow, perhaps a little younger than he, with straight, dark, collar-length hair, blue eyes, thin lips, and mahogany-brown skin. He wore a glistening red polyfiber shirt and tight black pants. He exhibited more energy than Sage had ever seen in a human being; he hopped like a hyperactive bird.

He grinned back at Sage. "How do you like it?" he said, pinching his cheeks. He laughed, a short quack. "I used to be a white Caucasian ghost, but I changed last year. You'd be surprised how cheap it is."

Sage nodded, stunned.

"I like it better this way—but I get a discount if I want to go back, anytime up to three years."

Ramo cleared his throat loudly, beside Sage. Silverfish's deep-set eyes wrinkled at the corners as he tried to hide his amusement. He excused himself and disappeared into the next room. There was a sound of pots banging, and loud voices. Silverfish returned, followed by a heavyset black woman wearing a spattered apron. She was scowling as she paused at the entrance to the living room. She pushed back a lock of hair from her face and harrumphed.

"Desty—our two charges," Silver announced. "Ramo Romano and Sage DeWeiler—Odesta Blyntasia, our proprietor and protector."

Odesta studied each of them, her dark round face inscrutable. "You're from the city," she said. Her voice was deep, almost a man's voice. Her eyes were alert; her gaze was cool.

Sage exchanged glances with Ramo. This wasn't exactly the welcome they'd expected. "That's right," Ramo said in a puzzled voice.

Odesta nodded, her eyes closing to slits. "Well. I trust Silver and Egret have made you comfortable. Will you be staying with us long?"

Silver answered, "Until they're called for, Desty. They don't know how long." His voice was chiding.

"Of course. Forgive me," Odesta said in a tone that Sage couldn't quite interpret. She turned to Egret. "Would you show them upstairs? To the middle room? We'll be eating soon."

Egret bobbed his head and beckoned Ramo and Sage to follow. He led them up a flight of stairs and then along a second-floor hallway to a small room where they deposited their meager belongings. He showed them the bathroom and waited while they took turns cleaning up. Sage avoided conversation; he was puzzled by Odesta's reaction, but didn't want to ask. Finally they went downstairs to a huge dining room with folding tables and chairs at one end and an assortment of floor cushions at the other. The room was otherwise bare, with a scuffed wooden floor, overhead lights, and a single framed picture hung on the wall near the kitchen door. It was an ancient flat print of a musician holding a stringed instrument with a wide body and a long, narrow neck. It looked old enough to be from a previous century.

Ramo stood gazing at the print. He snapped his fingers. "Red Skully. Right? Heady-blues artist—twenty-fifties, twenty-sixties?"

Sage opened his mouth in surprise. Who? he started to say, but Odesta's voice suddenly carried through the kitchen door: "And what's to keep us from getting caught in the middle? Why didn't you ask me—"

Silver's voice interrupted: "Desty, there was no time! Sometimes we have to cooperate even if—"

"Awfully loud in there!" Egret called in a singsong, rapping on the kitchen door. He glanced sheepishly at the guests.

The door slid open. Silver and Odesta came out carrying tableware. Neither looked happy. Egret cleared his throat and said, "I'm pleased to report that these gentlemen are of the cognoscenti. They know Red Skully." He indicated the picture.

Silver nodded unenthusiastically. "Have a seat, gents. The others have eaten already, so it'll be a small dinner."

In an uncomfortable silence, they seated themselves around the table while Silverfish laid out the settings. Odesta reappeared with platters of steaming food. "If you're hungry, there's more," she said with a deliberate glance at Silverfish.

Sage decided to ignore their quarrel, whatever it was. He loaded his plate with steamed potatoes and fried yucca and aromatic fresh-baked bread and some sort of lean dry meat. As he lifted a glass of a fruity homemade wine to his lips, his gaze was caught by Odesta's. A fleeting, nervous smile cracked his face in answer to her scowl. Then he busied himself with dinner.

 

* * *

 

Odesta's house was not a place of quiet, Sage learned afterward. The tables were cleared swiftly, folded up, and put away. New people came wandering into the house, and several were introduced, but Sage promptly forgot their names—a young Latin woman, two white youths, and an older gentleman of Asian descent. People continued to troop in until the dining room resembled a beehive. A vispy set appeared from somewhere; and Sage soon found himself trapped, watching an excruciating melodrama about a Tycho Dome detective whose moon-hopping exploits reeked with machismo and scientific implausibility. No one else seemed to mind, and Sage suffered in silence, grateful that the set was not switched to full senso, so that at least his annoyance remained his alone. Afterward, his hopes for something better were dashed when the set was turned to a loud stat-music concert, live from the coast. The chairs disappeared, the cushions were shoved against the walls, the vispy picture grew to fill one whole end of the room—and people began dancing. The room was far too small for the number of people dancing, and more were arriving all the time.

Sage fled to the relative quiet of the front room and dropped into an easy chair, groaning to himself. What had he gotten himself into? Had it been just their luck to arrive on a party night? Or, Heaven forbid, was it like this all the time? He wished he could call his mother and at least let her know that he was all right. He glanced around the room. No console. Perhaps it was hidden.

His rumination was interrupted when Silverfish sauntered in and perched on the end of a nearby sofa. "A little much for you?" Silver asked, tugging at a bit of loose stuffing on the couch. He looked up, catching Sage's eye. "They're a bit rowdy," he said sympathetically, "but they're a good bunch. They come from miles around. Most of them don't have good vispies at home."

Sage shrugged and said nothing. A silence hung between them, punctuated by the rhythms of the music in the next room. The vispy lights flickered in the doorway. Silverfish cocked his head, studying Sage. His eyes were intent beneath his thick, dark brows. "Don't worry about Desty," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly tone. "It all happened pretty suddenly, and she wasn't prepared. That sort of thing upsets her."

Sage barely heard Silver's words. "Do you have a console I can use?" he croaked suddenly.

Silver looked surprised. He shook his head. "Sorry."

Sage sighed and sat back and stared at the opposite wall.

"Anyway, you're supposed to be keeping your whereabouts secret. Or had you forgotten?"

Sage blinked. In fact, he had forgotten, in the confusion and hunger, until Silver's words brought it all back: the AI and the war, and Kyd's urgent command to get out of sight. Fear rose in his throat. How was he to know who was a friend and who an enemy? Why should he trust these people any more than the ComPol?

He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him; he'd been rocking dizzily. "Hey!" Silver said. "Are you all right?"

He choked, struggling with words, struggling with his thoughts. "What . . . is it . . . we're supposed to be doing here?" he whispered. He was suddenly, unaccountably, fighting against tears. "What do you want of us?" he demanded, his voice trembling.

"Whoa! Nothing! Just for you to stay quiet until the danger's past. Until it's safe."

Sage shook his head violently. "Safe? When's that going to be? How are we going to know, if we can't talk to Kyd, or Pali, or my—"

"Hey!" Silver said. "Slow down. Let us do the worrying. If your friends need to get word to you, there are ways."

Sage shut his eyes, trying desperately to think, to remain calm. The pounding of the music, the people, the lights—it was becoming too much for him.

"Listen," Silver said. "Why don't you—"

Something flipped inside him, and he found himself suddenly chortling savagely. "Silverfish!"

Silver looked at him in puzzlement.

"Silverfish." Sage grinned like an idiot. "Is that your real name?"

His host's mouth opened in surprise, then closed. "Well, it's not the name I was born with," he answered. "But it's what I've been called for, oh . . . I guess, about twenty years."

Sage persisted. "It's sort of a strange name, isn't it?"

Silver's bushy eyebrows went up. "I guess it is."

"Name of a bug or something."

Silver's mouth slowly widened into a toothy grin. He laughed out loud, rocking back.

"Well? Isn't it?"

"It's the name of a fish," Silver said when he got control of himself. He held up a hand to forestall Sage's protest. "Yeah, I know there's a bug called that, too, but that's not what I was named after."

For some reason, Sage found that annoying. "How'd you get the name, then?"

"I got it when I was a kid in the country," Silver said. "Used to be these fish in the streams, bright shiny things always leaping right up out of the water. We called them silverfish—I never knew their right name. But anyway, my mom, who was mixed-blood Amerind and very traditional, used to say that I flashed through the house just like a silverfish—and the name stuck." Silver shrugged. "So think of me as a fish if you must—but not a bug!"

"Who's a bug?" boomed another voice.

Sage looked up to see Ramo standing behind Silver. "No one's a bug," Silverfish said, turning. "I thought you were dancing it up in there."

"I was. But I thought I'd see what you folks were up to." Ramo dropped into the sofa, breathing hard. "Good crowd you've got here, if I do say so. Do you do this often?"

Silver smiled. "Once in a while. Actually, I was just going to suggest to Sage that he try a little dancing." He looked at Sage. "It might relax you, take your mind off things."

A console would help me relax, Sage thought. He shook his head.

"Sure, come on," Ramo said. "It'll do you good." When Sage shot him an irritated glance, he shrugged. "Hey, no one's going to force you."

"Don't you like to dance?" Silver asked.

Ramo cut off his reply. "The guy's all left-brain. He doesn't know how to shut down and switch over. I'll bet you never even listen to stat-music, do you, Sage?"

"I like music," Sage said defensively. "I just don't happen to like this—" He caught himself and shrugged in embarrassment. He suddenly felt chilled, and he crossed his arms, rubbing his biceps. "Why don't you go back in there if you like it so much?" he muttered angrily.

Silverfish looked curiously from one to the other. "Suit yourself!" Ramo said, standing up. Sage averted his eyes from Silver's gaze and sank deeper into the easy chair, trying futilely to warm himself against the chill.

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