John Shirley - A Song Called Youth

Kitty shrugged. “I’m not leaving.”

The secretary pushed the call button. Two guards came into the office almost immediately.

That’s when Russ returned, pausing in the outer offices to ask if the repairman had come for the viddycom.

He stopped when he saw Kitty Torrence. The guards were turning her away.

She was crying, shouting she wanted to see Russ Parker.

“Wait a minute,” Parker said. “I don’t recall having been asked if I’d see this woman. I told you I was coming back.”

His secretary reddened. “Well… we thought, you know, you being so busy…”

It’s Praeger, he thought. He’s told them to insulate me from the technicki.

“Send her in,” he said firmly, glaring at the receptionist. He was glad of something to take his mind off the black rubber thing on the screen. And he was scared to be alone in there.

He went into his office. Kitty came in and sat down in the only other chair. The door closed.

Her cheeks were streaked, her eyes puffy, but she’d stopped crying. She hadn’t brushed her hair in a couple of days.

No preliminaries. “They beat him over the head just now,” she said, “for nothing.”

He knew who she meant, of course. “I’ll look into it.”

The words came out of her in a rush. “That’s not enough. Let him go. You have the power to let him go. All we want is to go home to Earth. We can’t cause trouble for you if we’re not here. Let us go.”

His mouth was dry. “I… it’s not in my power to let him out or to let you go back to Earth. The space on the few ships the New-Soviets will let through is for emergency purposes only—administrative purposes.” He realized he’d put that wrong.

“Administrative! Yeah, for Admin! You guys can leave whenever you want!”

“That isn’t true.” Oh, God, no, it so wasn’t true. “And as for letting him out of detention—it’s not in my hands. It’s in Chairman Praeger’s hands alone, and I don’t think you’d find him a sympathetic listener. At any rate, there’s strong evidence your husband was directly involved in sedition. It’s only at my insistence, frankly, that you’re not in jail, too.”

Kitty Torrence closed her eyes. Her fists balled. “All we want is to go. To leave you all alone to your little war.”

“Look, I doubt you’d get flight clearance for Earth even if I could arrange for you to go—you might lose the baby during G-stress on reentry. And, anyway, it’s a big risk for anyone. There’s a world war going on out there—not just on Earth but in orbit, too. If the military situation changes, the shuttle could be shot down. I’ll tell you something more: There’s a good chance the whole thing will blow up into nuclear war. In which case the safest place to be is right here.”

“I can accept anything, even staying here, if Lester’s with me.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t got the authority.”

She leaned forward and said, “You think we don’t know about RM17?”

He couldn’t speak for a moment. He saw a flicker of triumph in her face. It made him angry. But he knew she was only doing what anyone would do, in her place.

He glanced at the door. “I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but it’s all…”

“Murder is murder.”

“Now look, Mrs. Chesterton…”

“Murder is murder. Murder is…”

“ All right. That’s enough.”

He sagged back in his seat. “Look, the damn Colony is falling apart. Colony maintenance is at an all-time low. Especially since the explosion. Maintenance supplies are trickling through the New-Soviet blockade so slowly… we’ve got just enough to keep going. We’re getting sabotage like you wouldn’t believe. Vandalism. We’ve got random violence—people are getting stir-crazy. I just don’t have time to take your problems on.”

“Murder is murder. You people are going to have to murder me, too, if you want me to shut up about it. Unless you let him go.”

He opened his mouth to tell her not to threaten him, that there hadn’t been a murder. But he couldn’t say it. It was as if his voice box just wouldn’t work. Not for that particular lie.

He thought, Jesus, Son of God, I’m listening. Tell me what to do.

He didn’t expect an answer. But the strange thing was…

He suddenly knew what he had to do.

He said, “I don’t think I can help you.” But he was writing something on a pad, keeping his body between it and the office’s wall camera. “Here’s a special pass to see him whenever you want.”

When he handed it to her, he could tell by her suddenly guarded expression that she’d caught it; that he’d given her two documents. A pass and, under it, a note. She looked at him; he looked at her. She nodded and left the office. Probably wondering how she could trust the chief of security. And realizing she had no choice.

The note read, My office is bugged. I’ll contact you and we’ll meet in the Open, at the Monument. Let you know when the meeting will be. I’ll try to help you. Destroy this, after you get home.

He watched her go, thinking: Now I’m in it deep.

But, hell, he’d made a choice. He’d chosen sides.

Faid was a wiry, nut-brown man with a droopy mustache and large, excited eyes. He wore a rather battered Japanese action suit today, tiger-striped, and he added a large smile when he saw Russ. “This is one funny place to meet,” Faid said in a rather thick accent. “It’s all broken here, rather.” He’d learned his English in London, and he mixed Britishisms with his bad Standard.

Russ said, “Hell, it ought to be useful for somethin’.” They were in one of the closed-off cafés on the Strip, the small section of the Colony that had been designed as the recreational center for its technicki population. The shops and cafés and spas were closed now; there were no supplies to keep them open. Russ, as Security Chief, had a key to all the silly little units on the arcade.

The place was dusty—more proof that the air filters were working badly in the Colony. Normally dust was precluded wherever possible, since it increased wear on the LSS equipment. Dust was a life-support risk. The windows were blocked-off paperboard; the only light was from the electric lantern Russ had set on the table.

“Shall we be sitting down, then?” Faid asked, gesturing toward a table. “I think the service will be slow, what?”

Russ smiled. He shook his head. “Can’t stay long.” He took two passes from his pocket, handed them to Faid. “You’re security, you know how to use ’em.”

“I was security, bloody not security anymore…”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s Praeger’s doing. But take these. It’s up to you if you want to actually use them—the situation is like this: I’m going to be taking some risks. I’m going up against Praeger. Chances are I’ll be arrested. If you help me, there’s big danger in it for you, and maybe not much else. But I thought you might want to, anyway.”

Faid nodded. “You bloody well are knowing me too good, Russ!”

Russ pointed to each of the passes. “This one gets you into any place in Security Section; this one can be used to transfer prisoners. When the time comes, I’ll want you to get this man out of detention and hide him.” He gave him a piece of paper with the name and prisoner number of Kitty’s husband. “I promised someone about him. And if he’s loose, he just might do Praeger a dirty, which’ll please the bejeezus out of me. Only, not yet. I don’t want to do it that way except as a last resort.”

Faid wagged a finger at Russ, saying, “You are knowing me too good!” And then he grinned and stowed the passes in his pocket.