Cassandra Kresnov 04: 23 Years on Fire (41 page)

“She arrived recently?” Gunter asked.

“Yes. Gunter, we have to go!”

Gunter nodded. “Tell her to come and say hello if she’d like. I’ll tell the Tings you went another way.”

He leapt vertically, straight up, and onto the rim of a factory wall overhead. And disappeared.

Danya headed not to Treska’s, but to Abraham’s Mosque. They took a back way, which took longer but would keep them away from anyone reporting to the Tings, through Buckethead Market with its crowds and commotion, under the wary eye of stall owners naturally suspicious of lurking street kids. But the merchants had little to do with Steel Town owners like the Tings, and street kids were common everywhere through Droze, for the most part they were invisible.

“Great,” Danya muttered as they walked fast, “well, we’ve lost that job for good. And any other job in Steel Town, no one will take us now. Where are we going to get money, Svet?”

He felt a rising sense of panic. They’d been doing quite well lately. Not like before. Svetlana had already forgotten a lot, in the years immediately after the crash. She’d been four, barely old enough to do more than sit in whichever derelict hideout he’d found for them, and look after baby Kiril, sometimes with the help of other street kids, sometimes not. She’d cried a lot, skinny, bedraggled urchin that she’d been then. And when they’d really begun starving, she’d stopped crying, from sheer exhaustion.

Danya remembered long days and nights scavenging for scraps, coming home to share whatever he’d managed to find, and the horror at seeing his little sister and baby brother so thin and sickly, ribs showing, eyes hollow. He’d given them portions of his share too, until he’d been weak and stumbling from hunger. They’d joined a gang of other street kids then, which had probably saved their lives, because the scavenging became more coordinated, and food improved.

But the gang had fought and split up, as gangs tended to do. For a while they’d run with Peng and Kumetz, but Kumetz had disappeared one night and never resurfaced, while Peng got caught on a security fence and bled to death before Danya could get him to help. Of the sixteen members of that original gang, Danya knew of only seven, excluding themselves, who were still accounted for. Some of the rest might still be alive, but given the tales that were told about some kids who were taken, it was probably better if they weren’t.

Those first two years had been the worst. Then Droze had begun to recover a little, businesses had emerged from the chaos, survivors began to organise and form some semblance of a livelihood. Suddenly there was a little money around, and clean water, food and meds. Scavenging had become easier, and a few little charities sprung up, mostly run by religious folk like Abraham, who frightened or guilt-tripped the faithful into contributions that they’d spend on providing for street kids.

Also, Svetlana had turned six, at which age she’d proven a truly exceptional pickpocket and general thief. So exceptional that Danya had forbidden her from using her talent unless absolutely necessary, for fear she’d get cocky one time too many. Like this time.

“Why aren’t we going back to Treska’s?” she asked him now, knowing better than to argue the point.

“Because we have to go to Abraham’s and get Kiril,” said Danya, walking a little faster up the narrow, crowded street.

“But why not let Abraham look after Kiril for a little bit longer?” Svetlana complained. “He’s just a baby, he’ll get in the way . . .”

“Svet,” said Danya in frustration, “you don’t know what you’ve done. If you steal from someone in Droze, they know who you are. They know who we are, all of us.”

“Oh, they won’t come after Kiril!” Svetlana said scornfully. But her voice was tinged with fear. “It’s just one vial, he’s got nothing to do with it!”

“He’s got everything to do with it,” Danya retorted. “You don’t know how they think. And you don’t know how they think because you never fucking listen!”

He wanted to run, but that would attract attention. Svetlana walked fast at his heels, head down, all pouting, rebellious and frightened at the same time.

Danya could see something was wrong before they even got near Abraham’s Mosque. People were running, shouting alarm, others were emerging from shop fronts to see what was going on. Some shop fronts were closing, big rollers hauled down, windows shuttered and barred.

Danya ran behind a truck loaded with bags of fertiliser, and peered toward the courtyard where the Mosque was. There was dust everywhere, big clouds of it, and more people running. Someone was being carried by others, obviously hurt.

“A flyer!” someone was shouting to a neighbour. “It came down by the Mosque! Lots of men with guns, they went inside!”

“They shoot anyone?” came the incredulous reply.

“Didn’t hear any shooting.”

“What’s anyone want with Abraham?”

Svetlana ran out, but Danya dragged her back.

“We have to find Kiril!” Svetlana shouted, eyes filled with tears. “This is my fault, they came for Kiril because of me . . .”

“Svet, calm down.” Danya pulled her down, and they crouched together, watching the commotion. “There’s no way this has anything to do with you. The Tings couldn’t afford a flyer. Men with guns in flyers means corporations. The Tings don’t have anything to do with corporations.”

Or at least, nothing important. A wind blew the dust toward them; Danya pulled up his goggles to keep it from his eyes. He could see Abraham now, tall in robes, discussing with neighbours, describing what had happened. No sign of any kids. Probably they were being kept safe inside.

Someone joined them behind the truck. “Danya,” said the new arrival, “was Kiril in there?”

Danya looked—it was Modeg, a slim black guy in a heavy jacket. He was Rimtown district Home Guard, which meant he was probably armed. Home Guard wore no uniforms least the corporations just pick them off with snipers. Only locals knew their identities.

Danya nodded. “He was in there. I want to see if he’s okay, but there’s some people after us and I don’t want to put them onto Kiril.” Modeg could be trusted . . . which wasn’t to say that he was a friend. The Home Guard fought the corporations. They were leftovers from the crash; the only remnant of organised armed resistance the neighbourhoods had left. But the Home Guard knew street kids were excellent reconnaissance, and made it a point to know them all. Modeg’s only interest was in resisting the corporations, not in befriending street kids, but sometimes those two things were the same.

Modeg thought about it. “You’d better come with me,” he said. “We’ve got someone over there. They’ll come with information on what happened and if anyone’s missing.”

Danya and Svetlana followed Modeg down a narrow alley between shop fronts, then up a small rear stairway. A doorway led into a small back room with other rooms adjoining, all cluttered with close living. A woman sat before some small display screens, a short machinegun over her shoulder. There were posters on the walls, all political stuff. Some of them denounced corporations. Others were famous photographs from the crash, masses of people running down streets pursued by AMAPS and aerial vehicles. A bloody resistance soldier, badly wounded, raising his fingers in a defiant victory sign to the camera. And one photo from the Dawn Theatre, its seats smouldering, bodies carpetting the floors. Everyone knew that photo, the random limbs protruding amongst the seats.

“Who were they?” Danya asked. Modeg opened a small fridge and offered them a choice of a fresh pear each, or a chocolate bar. Both kids grabbed the pears, and ate.

“Chancelry,” said Modeg. “We think. First got an idea they were coming when the jamming started—they do it with UAVs, circling high above. All our coms went dead.”

“How long ago was that?” Danya asked, careful not to let any pear juice go to waste.

“Just ten minutes ago. We might have taken a rocket shot at this bastard, but we didn’t have anything close enough to where he came down.”

Svetlana peered at the display screens, which showed the Mosque from several angles. Luozi ran through the dust, panicked and bleating.

“We have to randomise the transmissions,” the woman watching the displays explained to Svetlana. “Otherwise the corporations can track airbourne signals back to their source. They could put a rocket right on our heads.”

Once upon a time, Danya knew, quite a few Droze citizens had had inbuilt uplinks. Some of those still remained, but a lot had been killed. The corporations tracked such people down, gave jobs to some useful ones, and killed the rest. Uplinks were a threat, and now the technology for surveillance and communications was several centuries behind what existed on other worlds. Outside of the corporations, anyhow.

Soon several more people came up the stairs. One was an older black man with a pointy beard. “Danya and Svetlana,” he said, not very surprised to see them here. He pulled up his goggles and brushed dust from his face and clothes. “They took ten children. Education purposes, Abraham was told. Said they’d raise the kids properly. An act of charity. Kiril was one of them.”

Danya stared at him. He didn’t know what to say. If it was true, Kiril was lucky. He should be happy for him. But Kiril was his brother, and if Chancelry Corporation had taken him, most likely he’d never see him again. Or if he did, it would be years from now and they’d be strangers, on opposite sides of the Corporate-NCP divide.

“No!” Svetlana screamed. “No, no, no!” And broke down sobbing. Danya held her.

“Did they say why?” he asked the new arrival—Duage was his name. Danya knew him well enough, he was the regional Home Guard commander. Modeg was his son. “Why here, why these kids?”

Duage shook his head. “I wanted to ask you. They’ve always left Abraham alone, so this is an unusual step. Can you think of any reason you might have drawn the attention of the Chancelry Corporation lately?”

Danya thought. He could. She was lying upstairs in their hidey, awaiting a lifesaving injection. Tell Duage about her? Duage would then have to tell the rest of the Home Guard, possibly all the way to the top. They might want to take Kresnov themselves. If Kiril were captive, Danya wanted to find out if he was truly safe. If not, he was going to need some serious muscle to help get him out. The Home Guard couldn’t do it; they were completely defensive. Danya couldn’t remember the last time they’d ever attacked a corporation directly—they just skulked around the neighbourhoods and took occasional potshots at passing flyers. But a high-designation GI from the Federation . . .

“No,” he said. “No I can’t . . . well, I mean, we upset the Tings just today, but that was less than an hour ago. Chancelry Corporation don’t care about the Tings.”

Duage accepted that, and talked with Modeg and one of the others who’d come in. Danya thought he’d played that well enough—Duage would hear the Tings were looking for him and Svetlana, and wonder perhaps if he’d lied, unless Danya admitted it first. Now it wasn’t suspicious.

Svetlana clung to him and said nothing. She’d trusted him with her life for all her life. Now she continued to, and with Kiril’s also. Even if Chancelry treated him well, Kiril would still be terrified.

“Don’t worry, Svet,” he murmured. “We’ll get him back.”

They entered Treska’s place shortly after, past several patrons who were at the tables, nursing drinks, playing games, watching a vid. No one paid two kids any mind. They took the stairs fast, then unlocked their door at the top of the stairwell.

Kresnov was no longer in the hidey. Svetlana nearly freaked out again, but Danya wasn’t buying it.

“Svet, Svet, calm down. It’s Treska, it had to be.”

Svetlana stared up at him with teary eyes. “You think Treska took her?”

“He had to. You know how I was saying I think he might have some surveillance in the building? I think maybe he has some downstairs. Our locks are still on the doors Svet, all of them. None of them are broken. Some thief getting in here would have had to break some locks, but of course Treska has a key. He’s the only other person who does.”

“But . . .” Svetlana was confused. “Why would Treska want her? I mean, she’s trouble. Treska doesn’t like trouble.”

“Yes, but Treska likes pretty girls. You know who he runs with.”

“Donogle,” said Svetlana, distastefully. “You think he’d really risk that with a GI?”

“Treska’s gotten into trouble over pretty girls before,” Danya reminded her, heading out of the hidey and across the corridor, into what had once been an office. Now it was bare, stripped of everything. Svetlana followed. “He’s collected them for Donogle before.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Svetlana. Danya stuck his head into a part of the wall where a display screen had once been. Now the wall cavity was filled with debris. Danya pulled a bit of boarding aside and pulled out their backpacks.

“Yes it is,” he agreed. “But it makes him a lot of money on the side.” Inside the backpacks were all their useful items—the teacher, bound up carefully in cloths and plastic. Ropes and clips, for climbing. Several good knives. A makeshift first aid kit. A couple of electronic gadgets they hadn’t yet discovered the use of, and a bunch of other odds and ends. Street kids were hoarders; you never knew when something you’d found would be useful, or valuable to someone else. Now he pulled out the rope and examined their clips.

“You’re going to climb down the shaft?” Svetlana asked dubiously.

Danya nodded. “If I take the crowbar, I bet I can get the elevator doors open from the inside.”

“Danya, that’s stupid. I’m a much better climber and I’ve climbed that shaft before.”

Danya stared at her. “You have? Without me?”

“Yes, without you. I’m the sneaky one, remember? I’m good at climbing and stealing and it’s my job, because we’re a team, like you said. This is my special skill. So I climbed the shaft a few times when you were out, just to see where everything is in case we needed it. Treska’s got some sensors in there. They’re not very good though, just laser triggers. I think he made them himself. I can get past them, but you’ll trip them and then we’ll be fucked.”

Danya blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d be mad!” she said impatiently, taking the ropes off him and putting them back in the backpack. “And I don’t need these. They’ll just swing and trigger the lasers. You go down and wait by the door, and I’ll let you in, okay?”