F. Wilson - Dydeetown World

Brode's derisive laugh sounded uncomfortably like mine when she had told me that.

Brode: The Outworlds! You little idiot! What were you thinking of?

Jean: I was thinking of sunshine and fresh air and futures for them. The Outworlds need able bodies. They'd be treated as Realpeople there. No more living in sewers and tunnels.

The barroom was dead silent as Brode paused and looked around at his aides who were out of the frame. Finally, he spoke.

Brode: You know you're scheduled for memwipe first thing tomorrow, don't you?

Heard a sharp intakes of breath nearby. Doc had moved up beside me. His jaw was set.

In the chamber, Jean only nodded sadly.

Jean: I know. And after that, I won't remember any of the kids. I'll be working Dydeetown again for Ned Spinner. I won't be any good to them anymore. But Mr. Brode, sir — She looked up at him here and her big blue eyes shone in the harsh light of the interrogation room. — Do you think you could do something for them? You're powerful. Can't you help them get a fresh start someplace? I won't be able to.

Heard a loud sniff from behind the bar. There was Minn, wiping her eyes. Never thought there was a single tear in her whole body. She shot me an angry Don't-look-at-me look, so I turned away. Looked around. Saw Doc and a few of the regulars puddling up. Not all, of course, or even most. This was a tough room to play. But you had to believe Jean — she was on Truth.

For a heartbeat or two, even Brode looked moved. Then his features hardened.

Brode: That's impossible. We -

The vid skewed, twisted, turned to confetti, then Newsface Seven appeared. Her oval, eyebrowless face smiled reassuringly.

"We are experiencing technical difficulties — "

Her face dissolved into confetti and the chamber filled with scenes of the urchins' eviction by the M.A.'s none-too-gentle yellowjackets. Four's voiceover sounded strained: "(garbled) — let me finish! This was how they treated the kids today! Tomorrow might be worse! Do something about Wendy! Call your — "

More confetti, then Newsface Seven again, her expression bland.

"There now. All difficulties have been cleared. This is Datastream Host Seven. On with the news…"

We waited to see if Four would get back onstream, but apparently he had been shut down for the night. For good.

Pretty clear that as a Newsface, Four was dead. They'd have to generate a new face to replace him. That was easy. Four was just a program.

But what about Lum? Arrel Lum was real. What were they going to do to him?

"Since when did Four turn into an ooze?" said someone near the center of the room. Looked and saw it was Greg Hallo. Nice guy, but he tended to overdo the vape-ka.

"Yeah," said somebody else. "What's he starting trouble for?"

"Maybe he thinks we'll vote for clones' rights on the next referendum," someone yelled.

There was laughter, but not much.

"I find nothing funny in the prospect of a beautiful woman being memwiped," Doc said.

"Not a woman, Doc," said Hallo. "A clone ."

Doc was getting hot. "One who's done more for urchins than any Realpeople I know!"

"Urches are urches, clones are clones," Hallo said. "That's the way it was, that's the way it is, that's the way it's gonna be. We don't need the boat rocked."

Hallo spoke for a lot of people, in and out of Elmero's.

"We know you're an old oozer, Doc," somebody yelled, "but we love you anyway!"

The room broke up into arguing factions. Wasn't interested in what they had to say, so I left."

Tubed home. B.B. wasn't there, only Ignatz. Was tired, lonely, and down. Could've used a button real bad now. But even that avenue of release was closed to me. Felt like a dissociator grenade about to explode and I didn't know why.

Flopped on the bed and listened to the fuze ticking in my head.

Sleep was a long time coming.

Was already awake when the doorbuzzer sounded. Watching a bit of graffiti on the datastream. A simple piece: Jean's face and a voiceover: "A modern Joan of Arc? Don't let it happen!"

Turned and through the door I saw two impatient looking yellowjackets. My stomach did a freefall drop.

"Administrator Brode wants to see you immediately," the bigger one said as soon as the door slid open.

"And a good morning to you, too," I said. Was still in the jump I'd worn all yesterday. "Mind if I change?"

She grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the hall.

" 'Immediately' means just that."

Didn't fight them. No percentage in that. We chuted straight to the roof and flitted for the Pyramid at top speed in the official lane. Brode really did want me there fast.

The Pyramid gleamed golden in the morning sun. As we banked toward one of the landing decks, I saw the crowd.

The entire plaza and all visible spaces around the structure were filled with people. Filled . There didn't seem to be room to breath down there. The crowd trailed off into the dark tunnel-like feeder streets. Looked like a million sugar ants around a giant honeycomb.

"Core!" said one of the yellowjackets. "There's even more than before!"

Saw the look of concern pass between them. They were worried. They'd been trained in crowd control but I was sure neither of them had ever seen anything like this. Doubt if anyone on Earth had.

"They can't all be urchins," I said.The shorter yellowjacket, the male, turned to me. "It started off all urchins — they're the ones crowded around the entrance. We've kept them out of the complex. But the largest part of the crowd is all adult Realpeople."

Couldn't believe my eyes and ears. "Realpeople? Why?"

"A show of support, I guess. We anticipated a few oozer groups showing up, and maybe some independents. But nobody figured on anything like this!"

"Maybe you should have," I said, but didn't explain.

Had figured in a flash why there were so many Realpeople down there. It was geometric. Every urchin had a couple of parents and a legal sibling or two. And two or four or more aunts and uncles and grandfolks to boot. You get all those guilty-feeling people, and maybe a few of their friends and neighbors along for the fun of it, coming down to the M.A. Central Pyramid to make sure the little kids didn't get bullied like they did on the vid last night, and you've got yourself a crowd of astronomical proportions."

After we landed on the topmost flitter platform, the doors popped open, and that was when the noise hit. Even way up here you could hear it. Eerie. A deep, almost subliminal sound, coming to you not just through your ears, but through your skin and the soles of your feet as well. If an angry, stormy ocean could talk, it would sound like that crowd.

" WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE! "

They hustled me inside, down a chute, through some halls until I was deposited in a bare room where Administrator Brode waited. His mouth was set in a grim line. He looked tired. We were alone except for one beefy aide by the door. In a far corner, the datastream was playing.

"Over here," he said, motioning me to his side.

He deopaqued the wall and there we were, looking down on the roiling mob in the plaza below.

"Surprised you haven't slimed them," I said.

"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. But there are too many Realpeople, some of them no doubt influential. We can't risk any of them getting smothered."

Could see what he meant. Slime could produce hilarious results. Seen vids of some of the old food riots when it was sprayed on the mobs. The silicone emulsion allows for zero traction. Once it gets on you or on the street, you are down . You can't stand, can't hold onto your neighbor, can't even kneel. Really funny. But in a crowd like the one in Pyramid Plaza, some folks were bound to get smothered.