No amount of bubbles in their hair could persuade the soldiers to respond.
“Let’s set down somewhere.”
Artito glanced around in panic; everyone heard the same order, too.
“Ma’am, we can’t do that.”
“Why not?” They turned down 161st Street.
“Security considerations.”
“You think I’ll be at risk?”
“Yes.”
Grandma shook her head firmly and rapped on the cockpit door. “Land, please.”
The Lieutenant grimaced. “There’s nowhere to land. Only cars and people. We’ll hurt someone, yes,” he liked that argument, “we might land on a child or something.”
Grandma chuckled and sat back, arms folded. “I have faith in my pilots.”
“I should really ask Major Stilton.”
Grandma gave him a hard stare. “He’s not here. You are, Lieutenant.”
Artito scurried into the cockpit.
“I heard.” Lt. Jin nodded. “I’ll find somewhere.” She gestured Artito back into the cabin.
“Okay. We’re going down.”
Grandma grinned. “Perhaps that’s not the best phrase.”
Jin circled a while over the carpet of humans before finally landing on the roof of a yellow school bus blocking Gerard Street. The winds startled the crowd. When the ‘copter materialized and everyone realized who it was, they let out a great roar.
“It’s not steady,” Artito shouted into the cockpit as the school bus trembled.
Metal claws from the ‘copter dug into the roof.
“Is now,” Jin called back.
Grandma pushed the exit button, hopped out of the aircraft onto the roof and, with a quick jump, onto the street.
“Follow her, damnit,” Artito snapped.
Grandma pressed forward, anxious soldiers fanning out as another ‘copter appeared, just as a reminder; the other two remained stealth and circled 161st Street.
“Where are you from, darling?” Grandma embraced an elderly woman, who explained she was a Cincinnati Reds fan, triggering another explanation about how that was a different red from her neighbor, a St. Louis Cardinals fan.
Soon Grandma was surrounded by fans representing each team, shyly coming forward and showing their clothes and equipment. She received a quick batting lesson, apologizing for cracking a side view mirror on the backswing, tossing balls, effortlessly hoisting children onto her shoulders and slowly making her way toward the stadium.
People parted to let her past, then followed, as if on the train of a long gown, amazed they were here, amazed Grandma was here, amazed she tried fielding a grounder and then chased the ball when it rolled through her legs under the El, where she encountered sheepish workers erecting the stage for the concert behind a long yellow ribbon squaring off the large area.
Grandma decided everyone was going to help and yanked down the ropes. Fans poured through, eagerly hammering and moving stanchions and wires. Someone sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame. Soon hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands were singing as they worked, food passing freely. Grandma wielded a hammer, teeth clamped on spare nails; Artito frantically kept her in sight.
Grandma insisted she be taught the words. She picked it up instantly, jumped onto the stage and, waving her hammer as a baton, led the crowd in song.
After a while, Grandma nodded wearily. Artito ordered one of the ‘copters to land onto the stage. He held his breath, but it didn’t collapse. Half the platoon guarded the perimeter while he led the rest back onto the ‘copter. She waved and waved and waved and sang until the ‘copter lifted. He only enjoyed a moment of relaxation.
“Go over the stadium,” Grandma ordered.
They stealthed and circled the empty park. Grandma’s smile faded into a puzzled frown.
How could so much passion and love turn so ugly, she wondered. What did I do so wrong?
The ‘copter drifted over center field. She leaned out; the detachment gasped. Lenora grumbled them away, impatient, angry.
October 12, 2065. She heard the sound of gunfire again, felt the bullet crease her head, heard the children screaming, the bombs falling. Americans killing Americans because they cared too much, Lenora realized. Can love be a crime?
Forgiving them isn’t enough. I have to forgive myself, too, Grandma thought.
37
Kenuda yanked the phone out of the wall and threw it over Annette’s head. She didn’t duck since it was the third phone he’d broken. The first two were dramatic, all those weird parts rolling around. Now it was just irritating noise. Snorting at her poise, Elias petulantly kicked a football against the window, grunting triumphantly at the cracked glass.
The ‘bot secretary silently replaced the phone and closed the curtains, shooting Kenuda a withering look.
“Get me the damn ‘copter company in Allentown,” he shouted. “That’s in Pennsylvania.”
The A10 turned in disgust. “I know that, sir. Would you like me to recite the names of all the communities in America beginning with the letter A?”
“For now, more coffee. You want more?” he scowled at Annette as if she’d just arrived instead of sitting there for three agonizing hours listening to him fight with every police and military and shipping and aerial and electrical and building and whoever knows who person in the country.
“That would be nice, honey.”
Kenuda wrenched the ringing receiver to his ear. Annette gave that phone an hour to live, tops.
“Yes. This is Third Cousin Kenuda. Yes, the same as Commissioner Kenuda. Who’s been waiting for the permit to erect the vidscreen on Route 34…Do you understand we don’t have twenty-four hours because the game begins in…” He looked helplessly toward Annette, who held up her watch. “In three hours. I didn’t have clearance earlier. Now now, wait, wait, Sheriff Baja. Look out your window. What do you see? Past the blasted car wash. All those people. Do you know what will happen if they can’t see the game? I’ll tell you, damnit. They’re going to be angry. I’m going to be angry. Grandma’s going to be angry. Not your Grandma, imbecile. The Grandma. That’s right. The Grandma. Her orders. Good. Get it done now.”
He went to yank this phone out of the wall, but the secretary returned, putting down the tray of coffee. “It’s the last phone on the floor, sir.”
“Kenuda, sweetheart.” Annette closed the door behind the grumbling ‘bot. “Let me help.”
“You?”
She winced. “Yes. Me.”
“What
