Busby, F M - Long View 3 - Zelde M'Tana

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\iBerkley books by P.M. Busby\i ZELDE M'TANA

THE RISSA KERGUELEN SAGA

\cYOUNG RISSA

RISSA AND TREGARE

THE LONG VIEW

\bF.M. BUSBY\b

BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK

\c\iTo Bubbles, who

spots the glitches

before they hit print.\i

ZELDEM'TANA

\cA Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

\cPRINTING HISTORY

\cDell edition / March 1980 Berkley edition / September 1986

\cAll rights reserved.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016.

\cISBN: 0-425-09296-8

A BERKLEY BOOK \a174 TM 757,375 Berkley Books are published by The Berkley

Publishing Group,

\c200 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016.

The name "BERKLEY" and the stylized "B" with design

are trademarks belonging to Berkley Publishing Corporation.

\cPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Wrists handcuffed behind her, she lay in the dusty van and felt it jounce along the rough street. This was

bad. Oh, the Kids would manage-the others had got away, and Horky could take over for now. But . . .

herself? They had her; that was all. Fear wouldn't help; she knew that much. Gradually, breathing as

little as she could because of the dust, she relaxed and let time pass.

It could have been worse-she'd \iexpected\i worse. But except for the man she'd bitten-still trying to

fight, she was, even with the cuffs on-no one had hit her. Panting, one of them laughing but sounding

scared, they'd boosted her into the van. "Never mind the rest now-this one can tell us. Let's get out of

here!"

The jouncing eased-must be in \itheir\i territory, she guessed. She smelled fumes and heard other

motors, and was sure. A time came and went; then the van stopped, and two of them took her out and

walked her into a building. She knew the look of it-she'd seen plenty of them, at a distance. But never to

go into one-that had been her hope.

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Blue-gray halls and then a room-a desk, no one behind it. Three people, standing. When two came to

hold her, the men who had brought her turned away and left. She heard and felt her fighting nails

clipped; then the cuffs came off. She turned-the woman with the nailclippers looked, frowning, and

shook her head. The two men watching-no choice. "All right. I'm not for fighting." She saw the woman

relax.

So they stripped her and in the next room scrubbed her-and seemed surprised that except for what the

scuffle had done, she wasn't really dirty. Then the woman gave

her a short robe to put on and motioned for her to sit down, and where.

The questions began. And because no one had hit her besides the man she bit, and because she had

clothes on and was clean and nobody'd tried to rape her, she changed her whole way of thinking and

decided to answer. She didn't decide that right away, but the woman was still sounding patient when the

first answers came.

She couldn't give her age because she didn't know it. Maybe six or eight years ago, her first recalls

began- before that, there was something she couldn't remember and mostly didn't want to. They looked

at her a lot. She was taller than the woman and the short man-nearly head-level, both standing, with the

taller one. But she knew she was skinny, breasts newish and small yet, and the bleeding curse only three

years with her.

The woman asked of that, and she told. The woman said, "About fifteen, I'd call it-and a bit of a late

bloomer."

The short man chuckled. "Blacks don't usually bloom late." The woman frowned at him, and went on

to other questions.

Her name? She wasn't superstitious-or not very-so she gave it. "Zelde M'tana." And she was close to

sure it was her \ireal\i name, though she couldn't remember for certain. But it didn't sound like the Kids'-

given names- Horky and Squatcheye, all those. Horky had a Kid name and no other; Arlycharly was

really Arlen Charles and everybody knew it; her name and Fred Schroeder's were real because they

\isounded\i real. All right?

She didn't worry about saying names because by now the Kids wouldn't be anyplace near where she'd

been caught, anyway. And if ever she got her hands on Fred Schroeder, she wouldn't need her fighting

nails. That copping son of a Utie . . .

Now the woman asked questions she couldn't answer, or wouldn't. About the Kids-"Wild Children," the

woman called them-names were no snitch, but numbers and places and ways of doing things-those

weren't for Uties to know. Even if they weren't beating or raping her, she was still in the hands of UET,

with its Presiding Committee and its Total Welfare Centers. The Kids knew about that stuff.

\r 7

\rThey didn't know what all happened in there-but Zelde purely didn't want to find out, either.

Finally she shook her head. "No more. I tell about me, 'cause you got me anyway. Help you get

somebody else, I \idon't\i tell. That's how we are, the Kids." Didn't they even know \ithat\i much?

The tall man nodded. "You see? That's why they're dangerous. Autonomous groups-their own strange

code of ethics, opposed to ours, left alone to grow . . ."

The woman frowned. "I know that, Gerich-that's why I'm here. What's your own suggestion?"

With a shrug, Gerich said, "Just what we're doing, I suppose-catch them and Welfare them, the best we

can."

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\iTotal Welfare.\i Without thinking, Zelde said, "You mean . . . ?"

Grinning, the short man waved a hand. "What did you expect, Skinny? A goldplated appointment to the

Presiding Committee?"

Before he finished, she was across the room and onto him-hitting, biting, one slash before she

remembered her fighting nails were gone. But when Gerich and the woman dragged her off him, the

short man still lived.

Gasping, he blinked blood away and squinted at his fingers, which stuck out at odd angles from the

hand. He coughed blood; his voice barely husked through his battered throat.

"Kill this one-or slice her brain, fry it with shock-I-" Coughing stopped him, and then something

jabbed into Zelde's neck. She lost strength, first, and then all knowing.

The cell-eat, piss, shit, sleep-lasted a long time. In between, sometimes she thought. She had plenty of

time for it, and it helped ease the panic of being cooped up so tight.

\iI wish we could of talked more.\i Before she'd yanched out-but \iWelfare!-\iany Kid would of;

Welfare was being dead without lying down for it. But still, the woman was \itelling\i stuff and she

could use it, to know.

Well, she didn't have it, was all, and now she wouldn't get it. There'd been something-thinking back,

she rubbed palms over the new stubble growing on her scalp-pretty soon nobody'd know her for a

fighter, would they? Something, though-she hadn't listened close, but the woman said like, "When the

terrorists nuked the old U.N. build-

ing-remember? A festival upstate, for a lot of the Embassy children-with all the confusion, nobody ever

found out what happened to them. She could be-" But the short man had snorted, interrupting, changing

the subject and leaving Zelde hanging on questions with no answers.

Here, naked in the cell, fighting her fear of the damned box, it didn't matter. Except that-who \iwas\i

she? What was it she could never quite remember? Well, what she didn't know, she couldn't tell. And

what she did know-from now on, she \iwouldn't.\i

"Zelde." Warm voices had called her that. "Zelde M'tana," and hearing inside now, she felt less warmth

but still some of it. The-no, nobody was really there. But the something-explosion sounded in her head

and she flinched, cringed, curled up tight-no, she couldn't ever quite get that, so \iquit it.\i

Vaguely, the time with the first Kids-cold and wet and bad smelly, all of them. Dragged staggering

along with a dirty rope around her neck. Sleeping with the big ones each side of her, all warm stinking

together.

Then into something, lying the same only it all swayed and rattled a long time. She was really sick.

Getting off, she couldn't walk, and they kicked her until she got up. After that she had the flat blanks

until the fever left her, and there was somebody new taking care of her. Terelda, the name was, and the

first Kids were gone and she was with- well, it was Stud's Cruds, then.

Stud was big Porlanter who never hit anyone who listened the first time. That was one nice thing; the

next was that these Kids weren't dirty. Where her infested skin had been raw so long, Zelde healed up.

Stud-Porlanter-died of something that swole up inside him, for months, and wouldn't stop. Well, it

looked silly for Terelda to call herself Stud, so she told lanky ol' Sentenerl he should do that stuff. But

she still ran the Kids, because she knew how.

For Zelde, it went along not so bad, then. How many years? They'd asked her, those Welfare catchers,

but she couldn't say for sure. Three-four years, there, she was little. 'Way too young for fighting or

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screwing, either one- but she trained for the first and grew her nails for it, and

\r 9

\rsaw enough of the other to know what it was about. And when she got tall, it was all in one summer.

The Cruds lived, mostly, in the parts of towns where the Welfare roundups had cleaned everybody out.

Well, not quite everybody-always, some way or other, a few hung on. Some of them liked the Kids,

traded favors and stuff- and trading was one way the Kids stayed alive. Others acted scared, wouldn't

talk, mostly stayed locked up inside. That's the kind to watch, Terelda said-the kind that's on the snitch

for Utie.

True or not, sometimes the Uties did raid. Welfare roundups, usually-and for those, seeing strangers

around and figuring them for advance spooks, the Kids just spread out of town and lay low 'til it was

over. Some got caught- not many, though. But twice it was the Committee Police their own damned

selves. And \ithose\i peacefuckers the Kids didn't mess with-it was pull stakes and go crosscountry the

slow, hard way, out of sight where wheels wouldn't take anybody. Find a new town and start over.

It was after the second move, they had the war. The town they went to, there was already a gang of

Kids. Plenty of pickings, room for everybody, no problem- except that Red Ear's patrol, all with knives,

met the Cruds and said to move on.

That wasn't how it worked. Remembering, Zelde chuckled. Oh, they pulled back, all right, past the

ruins and slag' piles, clear into the woods. Except Zelde and Horky split off out of sight and-cut around

to tail Red Ear's bunch back to their diggings-talked out a mind map and kept it straight between them

while they got back to where the Cruds were camped. Then Terelda drew the map down, got it just right

for all the Kids to study, while they waited.

Three days is when people's guard lets down, was Terel-da's idea-and she hadn't been wrong yet that

Zelde knew of. Terelda-she'd been a fighter herself. On her forehead, below the hairline, part of the

tattoo still showed. But these days, with two little Kids of her own to look after, she only fought when

she had to-like now.

The afternoon before Move It Day, Zelde made up her mind. Still too skinny, maybe, but she was tall;

she knew a lot and her nails were right. So without asking Terelda she borrowed the sharpest knife she

could find, and lathered up her head and started scraping away. Part of it she couldn't

reach very well, and was cutting herself, so Horky helped her finish it. Then she went to Terelda.

The older girl looked up; her grin showed a broken tooth. "Who the hell scalped \iyou?"\i Then: "You

think you're ready, Zelde?"

"I got to be. There's so \imany\i there in town." When Terelda didn't answer, Zelde said, "So, could you

give me my tattoo?"

No grin now. Terelda said, "Not just like that, I can't." Zelde felt her face change, and the other said,

"These things take \ithinking.\i What I give you, it's got to be right for you. But I tell you-sit down here.

What we'll do--\ieverybody\i gets the circle, and the dot in the middle, and the spokes of the wheel, to

build the design on. So I give you that much now and the rest of it later, with time to think on it more.

All rights?"

Zelde nodded.

"How many spokes? And pointed how?"

She thought. "Make it five. One pointed down front, the rest spaced around even."

"Sure." Zelde sat, and soon the pigment burned and the needle stung the scraped skin up above her

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forehead and toward the top of her head. She felt blood ooze-but less, probably, than from her own slips,

shaving. And when it was done, Terelda said, "Tomorrow, going in town with us, wear a cap."

"But why?"

"So they won't see you're new."

The war was bad. That first day the Cruds hit fine, and had surprise-but Red Ear got his Kids together

so they didn't give up or run off, and Terelda had to pull back finally. But this time, not out of town. Red

Ear, for that day, couldn't make his bunch follow and fight any more.

They were ready, though, for Terelda's next try; it didn't work. So things settled down some, both

gangs staying around, pulling raids on each other and deadly little fights when scouts or work parties

met. It surprised Zelde how they all got used to it-even Kids getting killed sometimes. But it was no

good way, really-fighting their own kind instead of both sides staying braced for Uties.

What broke it was when Red Ear's patrols tore up the Crud's plantings not long before time for first

harvest from

\r 11

\rthe patch. Terelda got the maddest Zelde ever saw her. Before, she wanted "live and let live around

here" with Red Ear. Now she said, "Any time you meet some of them, cut one out from the rest and \ikill

\i it." And two days later, still boiling, she decided to stage an all-out raid.

Zelde hadn't ever killed anybody, and she didn't this time, either. Not for want of trying-she just didn't

have the skill of it yet. Later, though, she never liked to think on that raid. It wasn't the blood so much-

she'd seen plenty of that, and a lot of it her own. She lost some that time, too. She guessed it was the guts

that bothered her most, sticking out of a Kid that hadn't died yet. And Terelda having to cut Sentenerl's

throat when he asked her, because blind and one foot gone, he wouldn't be any good now. He made six

for the Cruds, and nine of Red Ear's, all lying still now, for keeps.

Red Ear and ten more were taken live; the rest got away. The war was over, all right. Terelda, dark

blood running down from the bandage on her side, walked to where Red Ear was staked out. Naked and

spreadeagle, he blinked up at her as she said, "You give yourselves all up to me?"

He shook his head. "Not to no gunch, I don't."

Terelda's laugh turned to coughing. "The hell you don't."

"You heard me."

Saying nothing, Terelda nodded. Wearing only the bandage, she squatted astraddle of Red Ear, facing

his feet. She made a slipknot in a piece of cord and drew it tight to tie off his balls. Then she pulled.

"What you \idoing"!"\i

"Gonna rape you-then I own you."

"Can't-\iaah!-\ican't be done."

"Learn different." She pulled harder; Red Ear shrieked, but his harden came up. Terelda settled down

onto it, moving only a little but jerking on the cord in time to her moves. Red Ear sobbed and moaned;

then of a sudden he screamed again. Terelda stood slowly; she reached to touch herself, and showed

what her finger collected. "He came- see? I own him now."

But she staggered, and shook her head. "Gotta go lie down." She told who was to watch for the night,

and what

12 F, \iM. Busby\i

order, and went into the nearest hut. Whoever had it before, it was hers now.

Zelde and Horky had third watch. After a while they heard Red Ear groaning. He was unstaked now,

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just tied up, with a cover over him. Zelde drew back the cloth and looked. His ball sack was blood-

swollen bigger than his head-maybe twice as big. He made one more noise and then she saw him die.

In the morning they found Terelda dead, too. So she never gave Zelde the rest of the fighter's tattoo.

The Cruds couldn't decide who should run it now. Red Ear's Kids walked away together; nobody tried

to stop them. Zelde saw Horky looking to her, and nodded. They collected their own stuff, and some

things lying around loose, and left.

Nobody said good-bye.

It was a long move, Zelde remembered, but finally they came to this town-the first real big city she

ever saw. Scouting, they saw that several gangs shared the whole place, with hardly any real fighting

between them. Spying to see which group looked like a good bet to join, one day they got caught and

taken underground to face "Honcho." Zelde didn't feel as scared as she figured she probably ought to.

Stripped and guarded, they stood while Honcho sat. He was short and wide, solid without fat; white

teeth grinned in his dark brown face. "What we got here? You two chickies from anybody special?

Anyplace I know?"

Zelde shook her head. "Never been here 'til just a couple days ago. Been walking a month, maybe-in

from the coast. And then, just looking around-you know? Trying to pick a good bunch to tie in with." It

wasn't easy to do, but she grinned back at him. "You think we found one?"

Honcho's brows came down together, but he didn't look mad. "The coast, huh? That's a ways from here,

all right. Maybe I believe it-'cause nobody trying to raunch me much, around here, 'cepting Rover Boy

and the Duke. And neither of they's smart enough to set you up for ringers. So maybe-" He looked from

Zelde to Horky and back again.

\r 13

\r"How come, tall chickie, you got your hair sliced off and she-don't?"

Zelde touched the week's stubble. "This-it's for, I'm a fighter, just got to be one a while back."

He pointed to Horky. "What's you, then?"

Horky blinked. "Nothing special, I guess-just work, and some scouting. And screwing, sure, when I

grow to it."

Honcho beckoned; both girls stepped forward, and he looked. Then he shook his head and grinned.

"You neither of you ready for that. So nobody bother you here." He looked around, and his voice rang

deep. "/ 'said that. See the word's spread."

Honcho didn't run just a gang; he had it split up in sections and divisions-people in charge of doing

different things and they better get done or Honcho he'd want to know \iwhy.\i The other gangs-he didn't

take them serious but he had patrols keeping track, just in case. And for Utie raids, he had plans, too-"all

you troops break up in itty ol' gangs and play like that's \iall\i you ever was-then you do your hideout

stuff on you very own. See?"

Zelde saw. Welfare roundups caught hardly any of Hon-cho's people-lots less than out of the other

groups-and even the Committee Police their own damned selves didn't do much better. Honcho had a

rule about Police: "Nothing in this world I rather see killed-but don't you ever do it in \iour\i piece of

town."

And nobody did, either.

Hassling with other gangs and playing hideout with Welfare roundups, Zelde turned into a real fighter.

In two years she had a squad of her own to lead. The Duke tried to move into South Sector and Zelde

covered one flank while Meatwagon took the other-Honcho had the middle himself. The Duke got away,

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and a few with him-but the rest, dead or alive, were Honcho's.

Honcho called her in to see him alone. "You pretty good, Zelde." She didn't say anything-standing

while he sat, she felt wide open to something and didn't know what. \i"How\i good you think you are?"

"Don't know what you mean, Honcho."

"Good enough to take over, maybe? Don't need Honcho any more?" When she didn't say anything-

couldn't think

\iof\i anything that fit-he said, "You about the age to get that itch. I hate to see you try it, hate to lose

you. You get me?"

She shook her head. But now she knew what he meant- twice while she was here, people in good shape

working up had got in a hurry and tried to kill Honcho. Only it worked the other way around. She said,

"You think \iI\i want to try run all this? You think I'm crazy, Honcho?" She felt tears moving, and tried

to blink them away.

Not much, just a little, his hand moved. "Awright-calm you self now. I figured you good in the head,

Zelde-just had to know it." He reached and beckoned her to sit beside him. "One other thing. You

screwing yet? And anybody special?"

"No." She hadn't, either. She'd had the bleeding a few times so she knew she was ready enough-if what

the Kids said was true and not a big pile of Utie shit. But any time some stud made the signs she thought

about Terelda and Red Ear, and didn't want to.

"I gonna check." His finger moved on her, and probed; he nodded. "You ready, Zelde. You know that?"

She looked at him and didn't say anything. "You want to?" She just blinked. "Come on back where I

stay." He had hold of her hand, and she didn't argue.

In his own room where she'd never been, there wasn't any special fuss to it. Clothes on or off, she was

used to, and he had her lie down and then he played around a lot, the way she'd done with other guys or

with Horky sometimes. So she played around right back, and Honcho grinned. "You all right, Zelde."

The funny thing was that when he got to the new part, what she'd never done before, it was just like

she'd been expecting it.

"Hey, Zelde-you, I \itold\i you you was ready."

"Yeah. But did you tell me I still am?" It was all right; she knew that guys had to wait a while between

times.

Screwing was fun, but after that first two days with Honcho she never did much of it all at once. He

told her straight out, \ihe\i couldn't see her more than a month or so between: "You fine, Zelde. But you

got any idea how many \iother\i fine chickies in line with you?"

Well, all right-maybe there was a lot of fine studs, too.

\r IS

\rExcept they didn't seem like it much, to her-or turn out so good, either, if she did try with them. She

didn't know why.

Meatwagon, say. Hell, they'd \idie\i for each other-and a couple times damned near had. But with her

legs around him she wished they were both somewheres else-different places.

For a while she tried it with any guy who was all right for not pushing, either way-so that there wasn't

too much boss or bossed, by how their jobs were. Honcho was different. . . .

It never worked enough so she wanted more with anybody. She wished it would-especially with two

she liked pretty well-but it didn't. Hell with it. When Honcho said now was when to clean Rover Boy

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out, before he got to be a real nuisance, Zelde waited-so as not to be pushy-long enough to see if

anybody spoke up. Then she said, "Nobody else wants the work, I'll try it." That got her a night with

Honcho, and a little more. Then she moved her team out.

Arlycharly had the backup squad. Zelde didn't know him very well; he'd had outlying duty mostly; they

hadn't mixed much. He was a big guy and looked fat, but moved pretty good. Pale skin and dark curly

hair-Zelde thought maybe he smiled a little too much but didn't worry on it.

Second day out, they stopped in the afternoon. From here the move was all heavy push-so give it the

full day tomorrow. With everything all set up-it took a while, that-she looked at Arlycharly and said,

"Let's talk how it goes tomorrow. My tent."

Inside there, he put hands on her. She said, 'That's not what we got to do."

"Sure not. But lots of time, isn't there?"

Smiling, he was. She looked at him. "You saying I have to? You better not be."

He moved back from her. "Nothing like that, Zelde- Arlycharly, he's not crazy. I just thought you might

like-"- but all right. What's about tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Arlycharly." She frowned. "First off-you told everybody, did you, okay to \ipick\i stuff from

Rover Boy's plantings but don't wreck nothing?"

He nodded. "Sure I did. Don't tear up what's going to be ours. Right?"

"You got it. Now, here's how we take it in from here ..."

The way Rover Boy defended was to send half his people the long way 'round to outflank three times

as many. By the time those got to where they could do any good, the main fight was over. Half of them

gave up on the face of things and the rest turned and ran; nobody chased them. Zelde talked with

Arlycharly and set out how Rover Boy was going to give up. She'd said about all this with Hon-cho-

Terelda, she'd been too rough, was all.

Only two Kids held Rover Boy down. Zelde had to grin-somebody'd painted him up pretty cute after he

got stripped. The bull's-eye target-as if she needed it-was sort of funny.

So she straddled him. Before she touched him at all, she said, "Rover Boy, we \igot\i you. So you got to

tell your real name and give all you selves up to me-to Honcho." He shook his head. "You think not? I

prove it now. Rape you, so I own you. Want to bet?"

She looked at him-his eyes bulged, and spit drooled from the mouth corners. "Don't shit yourself, guy-

you gonna do what you got to. But I don't kill you." It didn't seem to help; he was still too scared to

make sense. She added, "I don't nut you, either-don't even hurt you, any more than I got to."

He wouldn't say any word at all, so she reached under one ball and pinched the cord, and felt him rising

under her. "Your \iname,\i man!" And she squeezed harder, and pulled.

"Fred Schroeder!" Like all the air came out of him at once.

"That's starters. Now say when you give up." She got her hand around both balls now, pulling and

gripping in quick jerks. He came erect and she squatted and brought him off without much work, too

quick to ask more questions. She had to push it. "I own you now-you know that?"

Looking up, Schroeder's face was blank. "You do?"

Her hand clenched. "Want to argue?"

\r 17

\rHe yelled once, then shook his head. "No. But what do you \imean?"\i

"I belong to Honcho, you belong to me, \iyou\i belong to Honcho. No more pissing around on your

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own, Schroeder. You part of us now."

After a minute, he said, "What do I get out of it?"

She squeezed. "You get to keep these. That's the first thing."

They put Rover Boy-Fred Schroeder-in a pen with the rest of his captured people. Tomorrow was soon

enough to sort things out. Now Zelde and Arlycharly ate in her tent. Then she said, "Yesterday you had

some ideas. You still do?"

He looked at her. "Like you did with Rover Boy when we had him down?"

"No. Just together. And partly to get the taste of \ithat\i out of my head."

It wasn't bad, but she knew once was enough with Arlycharly.

Honcho's turf got too big for a one-man show. He farmed parts of it out, where he could trust people.

Meat-wagon ran the part the Duke used to have, and Zelde took over Rover Boy's old country. Fred

Schroeder-not called Rover Boy anymore-did small jobs, not far out of Zelde's sight. She didn't want to

bother deciding to trust him or not.

Zelde was operating bigger than Rover Boy ever had, but she didn't feel that way. She was working for

Honcho and liked it. She hardly ever went in to Honcho Central to see him-but when she did, she got the

best kind of welcome. Once he said to her, "Don't it ever bother you, I'm the top dog?"

Grinning, she looked down to his hot, sweating face and said, "It ever worries me, I'll tell you, Honcho."

A year, the best she could figure it, she worked that job. Then it all stopped. The shockwave woke her;

she pushed up over Horky to get to a window and look out, and saw the firecloud still rising above

Honcho Central. She heard herself say, "Good-bye, Honcho," soft-voiced-before her mind screamed

"PissfartshitdamnUTIES!" and shut down

to burning, simmering embers, dealing only with what the hell she had \ileft\i in her life.

All right-play it like Honcho would of. They'd be looking for big action, so break it up into small stuff-

everybody scatter out and don't know nothing about nobody. They'd sure's hell practiced it enough.

Might have got away with it-should have. Maybe it was Zelde's own fault that she didn't, herself. She

knew to leave Welfare roundup flunkies alone on their big sweeps, not to rouse up any local push on

you. But one day she saw a Committee Police mask. . . .

\iYou killed Honcho!\i She had the sense to follow the police jackal alone, with only two trailers

working behind her. and to send everybody else the hell away. And she knew to wait until she had the

angle where nobody seeing the kill could look and see \iher.\i Then she let loose the harpoon.

The gun knocked her back, almost down. She struggled up to see the man's neck pinned to the wall,

and the blood-\ithe blood.\i And then she ran.

And if Fred Schroeder had stood his ground and left sign for her, how to get out fast and go find the

others, she'd have got away, too.

But he didn't.

In the cell she woke, hearing them outside, and backed into a corner. Two guards opened the door, but

one stayed by it and held his gun ready. The other carried a gray-blue jumpsuit, a pair of sandals-and

handcuffs. He motioned to her; she shook her head and stayed where she was. He said, "They want to

see you-Mr. Gerich and Ms. Laina Polder. You have to put these on."

"No."

By the door, the other laughed. "So leave 'em here for her. No food or water 'til she does it. Then she

can holler and wait for somebody to decide to notice."

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Clothes and cuffs dropped to the floor; that guard stepped back. Zelde thought, but there wasn't any

other way out. "All right-I guess I have to." In moments she had the clothes on; she picked up the cuffs.

The armed man said, "Put 'em on yourself. You can do it." She snapped one cuff on her left wrist, but

not tight. She began to fit the other; the man said, "No. Behind your

\r 19

\rback." Fumbling, it took her a while; then she had it. The second man moved fast, grabbed her

shoulder to turn her, and squeezed both cuffs down as tight as they'd go. When she faced him again, he

grinned. "Now then-let's see the great fighter do something."

The way he was standing, she could have, easy-but there was the other one, and the gun. She said

nothing and made no sign. He took her shoulder again. "Come on. Let's go."

They walked her a distance, then into a cubby-closet; the door closed and the floor pushed at her, then

stopped. The door opened into a different hallway. She looked around. "Never saw an elevator before,

dummy?"

He seemed to want an answer, so she said, "Never needed one." The other-the armed man-laughed, and

they walked some more. The room they took her to- maybe it was the same one as before, maybe not.

Gerich and the woman-Laina Polder?-sat there. The unarmed guard took Zelde to sit in a chair; the two

men left.

Polder said, "You shouldn't have attacked Friesch. It was stupid of him to taunt you with Welfare-

especially since the decision hadn't been made yet. But I'm afraid you've pretty well ruined your

chances, Zelde."

The woman didn't look angry; Gerich had no expression at all. None of it made any difference. Zelde

said, "His mistake, I pay for it; right? No surprise, Utie."

Polder ran fingers through her short dark hair. "Is that what you call us? Do you know what it means?"

Sure-being chased, hunted, and killed. Zelde said nothing.

"UET is short for United Energy and Transport. Did you know that? It's the corporation-conglomerate,

really-that's made the winning bid to govern North America in the last three elections. The Presiding

Committee is its governing instrument, and its enforcement arm is the Committee Police. I suppose you-"

"You a policebitch, are you?"

Gerich laughed; Polder's face got red. She said, "I wouldn't advise you to use that term again. But no-

I'm not Police. We here-we're in Rehab. Rehabilitation- trying to bring all you Wild Children back to

civilization so you can Jive better. You see-"

"That why you took a bomb and killed Honcho? So he could live better?"

Gerich's brows raised. "So we got him, did we? Well, I'm afraid the problem there was a little difficult.

Honcho-and we didn't know whether the name meant a person or a group-was just too well organized.

While he was operating, we didn't have much luck trying to pick up the rest of you, to help you. So we

had to-" Looking at Zelde, his voice stopped.

"Help, huh? Like you're helping \ime?"\i She pulled at the handcuffs and was going to say some more,

but there was no point to it. She shrugged, and waited.

Polder spoke. "Friesch wants you lobotomized first and then Welfared." The first thing, Zelde didn't

know what it meant, but \iWelfare!\i Her face must shown how she felt, for Polder went on. "Maybe I'm

a misfit in this operation, but I don't agree." She turned to Gerich. "Let's put her on consignment to ship

out on the \iGreat Khan.\i It's not much of a break, but she's got guts and shows signs of having brains,

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