Part 17 (1/2)

Bryce hustled Tussig into the vehicle. He followed and closed the hatch, then sat down at the pilot's station. Tussig listened to his breathing, labored and loud, and slowly realized that Bryce was terrified.

”The others,” Bryce said finally. ”They left?”

”Yes.”

”Left you?”

”They-yes.”

”Not much different than anybody else, then. Too much trouble, cut a co off, leave him behind. No different at all.”

”You don't know what we're like,” Tussig said. ”You don't know anything about us. All you're worried about is your precious dispenser.”

Bryce swung out of the seat and faced Tussig. ”Yeah? So what? Before today, would you have believed your buddle would abandon you?”

Tussig glared at Bryce, but he could not sustain the rage. Not at Bryce. He looked away.

”Thought not. So don't give me any s.h.i.+t about not knowing you. No one knows anyone till they're desperate. Then you find out. Eh?”

Bryce returned to the pilot's seat and started up the transport. As the vehicle began to roll, Tussig moved into the seat next to Bryce.

”Where are we going?”

Bryce steered the transport through a half circle and headed for the towers of Charic, visible distantly at the end of the road.

”Were you really trying to make it here for the migration?” Bryce asked.

”That's what Raja-can told us.”

”One of you might make it, then.”

”Where are you taking me?”

”Home. My dom. I have to sort things out.”

Tussig's heart raced as he watched the main city draw near. It seemed his vision was clearer and his hearing more acute. He licked his lips.

”Are you going to try to balance it all?” he asked.

Bryce frowned deeply but did not look at Tussig. After a time, he nodded.

”Maybe. Whether it wants to be or not.”

Tussig did not speak the rest of the way.

Bryce lived in a small dom, three rooms and a hygiene cube, on the outskirts of the port. The place was clean and the air tasted pure. Bryce sent Tussig to the cube.

”I got some things to check out,” he said. ”You get cleaned up.”

Tussig stood in the hot spray or a long time. When he came out, Bryce had set out new clothes on the couch. Tussig examined them, amazed, and then carefully slipped them on. He felt new, reborn, and wondered if this was the goal of all those ecstatics in their enclaves along the rivers. Probably not, he decided, since if it were so simple as new clothes they would all have abandoned their self-loathing long ago.

Bryce came into the dom in a hurry.

”There's s.h.i.+ps leaving for the frontier every day,” he said. Sweat glistened on his scalp. He held up a disk. ”Pa.s.sage out.” He handed the disk to Tussig. Then he held up his own disk. ”If you don't mind the company?”

Tussig stared at him, gnawing his lower lip. Bryce grinned.

”Been thinking about it for a long time. Charic's getting too fussy with its rules and people like Sidge and Ridel don't make me feel any better about living here. Time maybe to move on.”

Quickly, Bryce began packing a bag for himself. Tussig had nothing but his old clothes, so he sat and watched, dismayed. He slipped his disk into a breast pocket and tried to sort out what was happening.

Leaving...

Bryce finished and sealed his pack. ”Ready?”

Bryce left his transport beneath an enormous shed at the perimeter of the port and led Tussig, a hand firmly on his shoulder, to a walkway that carried them into the port proper.

Tussig had never been in such a huge, clean s.p.a.ce. The white of the walls and supports, the pale, veined stone of the floors, all seemed to glow. People in beautiful clothes stood in lines or strode purposefully through the galleries. The ceiling arched high above. Throughout, Tussig felt the occasional vibration of rising shuttles heaving out of blast pits. The air was cool and curiously rich. He had never been in a place like this, never thought to walk in such a world.

Bryce's grip tightened briefly. Tussig looked around and spotted a group of police officers near one of the queues, asking questions.

”Keep walking,” Bryce said. He pointed. ”That's where we're going.”

Tussig saw a booth serving a line of about a dozen people, all of them carrying bags like Bryce's. Bryce let go of Tussig's shoulder then and handed him his own bag.

”Hang onto this till we get our s.h.i.+p,” Bryce said.

Tussig sensed the tension in his voice. Uncertainly, he shouldered Bryce's pack and drifted a few paces away from him. They walked on, parallel to each other.

Then the police came toward them. Tussig's pulse jumped up, but he held back the urge to run. He looked at the booth, the queue, and kept walking.

”Sir,” one of the officers called. ”Excuse us, co.”

Bryce slowed. Tussig continued on, heart pounding. After several paces, he risked a backward glance.

The police officers were putting restraints on Bryce's wrists. The big tech scowled unhappily. He looked up, catching sight of Tussig, and gave a barely perceptible nod.

Tussig snapped his gaze around and continued on. He reached the queue and stood in line the way everyone else stood in line and waited for the official request to step away and come with them for questions, removal, disposal- ”Can I help you, co?”

Tussig blinked, startled. He was standing before the booth and a woman waited for him to answer, smiling innocuously. Tussig swallowed hard and took out the disk. He handed it to her and waited while she read it.

”Very good, co,” she said, handing it back. ”Gate ninety-seven. You have one hour before your shuttle lifts.”

Tussig did not speak. He slipped the disk back into his pocket and stepped away from the booth. Bryce was gone, taken away, and he saw no other police.

He felt tears well up, but he caught them, pushed them back. Not knowing what else to do, he turned and headed for Gate 97.