F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

"Excuse me," he shouted over the noise. "But am I correct in assuming you're this 'Siggy' fellow."

Didn't know what to say. B.B., however, was at no loss for words. He patted me on the arm as he piped up:

"Oya, san! Siggy him! Filamentous fren!"

"I'm Arrel Lum," said the reporter. He had black hair, dark eyes, and a round face. "I'm with Central Data."

Knew that. Looked for ways to keep his questions away from me until I could duck out. Tried sidetracking him.

"The datastream's ignoring this. Kind of a waste of time for you to be here, isn't it?"

"Not at all. Central Data records everything for the record. What's fed into the datastream for public consumption is another matter."

His frankness was engaging, but something about his diction, the rhythm of his voice. Familiar.

"You remind me of Newsface Four."

He smiled. "You've got a good ear. I've been writing his casts and doing his voice for the past five years."

"He's — you're my favorite Newsface."

"Why, thank you. But tell me: Who are you, and what's your connection with these kids?"

So much for sidetracking.

"Know one of them."

"What do they want?"

"You mean you don't know?"

He shook his head. "Nobody can figure it out."

Interesting.

"Embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Not for me," he said with a grin. "I think it's a bloaty show. Just wish I knew what it was all about."

Turned to B.B. "Tell him what it's all about, Beeb."

The urch started shoving his fist into the air and crying, "Wendy! Wendy! Wendy!"

The other urchins around us picked it up immediately. The Siggy chant had been dying out anyway — thank the Core — so now they substituted two new syllables in the same rhythm.

"WENDY! WENDY! WENDY!""

Lum's gaze roved the mob.

"They've been doing that off and on all day," he shouted above the din.

"Well," I said, "then you know why they're here."

"No, I don't. I — " He looked past my shoulder. "Don't look now, but I think you've just become important."

Turned and saw a squad of yellowjackets — six of them — coming my way. My bladder got a sudden urge to empty itself but I stood my ground and held my water. No place to run.

Lum stood back and trained his recording plate on the scene as the yellowjackets bullied their way through the kids. The leader led them around me, brushing B.B. aside like a bug. Found myself enclosed in a yellow ellipse.

"Come with us," he said.

"What if I don't want to go?"

He had beady little eyes, close set and mean.

"The boss says he wants to speak with you. You'll come."

"Bloaty," I said.

Lum peered between two of the security men and called to me over the chant.

"But what do these kids want ?"

"They want their mother," I told him.

Encased in yellow, I was marched off toward the upchutes, leaving him standing there looking like someone had punched him in the throat.

"Are you behind this, Mr. Dreyer?"

Regional Administrator Brode was giving me a hard look as he stood over my chair. Natural silver hair, crinkle cut, square jaw, piercing silver eyes, perfectly matched to his hair. Looked almost as good in person as he did in the holochamber. His stare was supposed to carry all the weighty authority of his office, I guessed.

He needn't have bothered. After all, the C.A. had put him in charge of this Megalops, so he didn't have to do anything special to get me nervous. Passed nervous on the way up here when I learned the R.A. wanted to see me himself. In person. Never knew anyone who'd met him in person.

Yeah, way past nervous. Slipping over into twitchy now.

"Behind what, sir?"

"These urchins all over the place."

Couldn't resist: "Been told there are no such things as urchins, sir."

"Don't you dare get — "

"Don't know a thing about them, Mr. Administrator."

"But they know you. Why? How?"

"A long story."

He let my words hang as he walked in a slow circle around his desk. His office decor was surprisingly lean and spare. Everything cool and functional. The only sign of extravagance was his big ungainly pet dodo bobbing and pecking around the furniture and weaving between his hovering aides.

"Who's this Wendy they keep chanting for? Central Data says there's no one with that name anywhere in the Pyramid."

"That's because Wendy's not her real name. She's a prisoner here."

"Oh, really? And just what is her real name?"

The sudden light in his eyes told me something: The urchin mob had our dear Regional Administrator worried. Why?

"What's in it for me?"

His eyes went hard and cold. Knew right then I'd made a large mistake as he barked to one of his attendants.

"Get some Truth!"

"Not asking much!" I blurted.

He glared at me, as if daring me. "Go on."

"Just want to be left out of this, that's all. Don't have anything to do with this, don't want" anything to do with it. Just know a couple of urchins and ran into this Wendy a few years ago. That's it."

Brode smirked. "Central Data says you know a lot of wrong people, some of them suspected black marketeers."

"Wouldn't know anything about that, Mr. Administrator," I said. "Private investigations are what I do."

"So I understand. Very well. I won't hound you or Truth you. I sincerely doubt you would be worth the trouble."

"Thank you. Her name's Jean Harlow-c. She's a former Dydeetown girl, here as part of a property dispute."

He was suddenly furious.

"Well, isn't that just bloaty! M.A. Central is clogged with urchins in search of a renegade clone! This gets more ludicrous every second!" He turned to one of his aides. "Get him out of here! Then fill me in on this clone!"

No one had to hurry me out the door. Headed straight for the first downchute and jumped. Was coasting fast and alone in the center lane when someone pulled up alongside.

"I need to talk to you."

Lum, the Central Data man. Didn't recognize him immediately without his recording rig and wasn't in the mood for talking to anybody.

"What about?"

"What you said before…about the kids looking for their mother. What did you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Off the record?"

"Nothing's 'off the record' in this place."

He smiled thinly. "Don't believe everything you hear. Follow me."

Thought about this. Why should I trust a Central Data man, even if he was Newsface Four? Why tell him anything at all?

"Please," he said. "It's important to me."

"I'm thinking."

Had a suspicion about reporter Lum. Wanted to know if I was right.

"Lead the way," I told him.

***

Lum was furious.

"You told Brode about her? You dregger!"

We were on level 48 in what Lum called a "blind alley" — a lounge used by the Central Data reporters and technicians between shifts. They had it fixed so the recording plates in the walls could be jammed when they so desired. Told him an edited but fairly complete history of Jean and her involvement with the urchins and how she wound up a prisoner here, candidate for a memwipe. Then related my friendly little meeting with the Regional Administrator.

"You've got it wrong, Lum — "

"Now she's in more trouble than ever!"

"Don't be a jog! What's more trouble than a memwipe?"

He cooled quickly. "I guess you're right."

"Course I'm right. That's why I told him I knew who Wendy was — figured it might buy her some time."

"It might," he said, brightening. "It might pay Brode to give her back to the urchins!"

"What do you care?" I said. "You've never even met her."

"But I want to. More than anything. She's special. I mean, we regularly get data on people and groups wanting to 'do something' about the urchins. They make some noise, they're ignored, and after a while they go away. But this…this…"