The other cop said, “You’re a liar. They should send you to the slime pits for that.”
“Quiet!” snapped the heavy, sweating cop. “That’s… that’s old-style talk.”
The other cop suddenly looked scared.
The heavier cop faced Marten. “Maybe later they’ll put you in maintenance. For now head east two blocks until you reach Work Gang Twenty-seven. Tell the foreman Sergeant Jones sent you. And don’t skip out, boy. Otherwise it’s the firing squad for you.”
Marten walked briskly east. But once out of their sight, he turned north. If he were picked up again, he’d have to use a different forged name.
Yet for all his vigilance, another police sweep picked him up two levels down. He used another fake name—he only had two more—and this time couldn’t get out of clean up. So for the next few hours he loaded broken concrete and plasteel onto a lifter. It was hard, sweaty work, done under the watchful eye of a former block leader. At the end of the shift, they received a ration of water and a crust of algae bread.
Marten sat with a group of other tired men. They either sprawled on the ground or sat on broken concrete blocks, guzzling the water and chewing the week-old bread.
“Back to work!” said the foreman, clapping his hands to show that he wanted them to move quickly.
Marten rose. Nothing had changed. These men were still ready to bleat to whoever was in charge. The only ones who seemed willing to fight… were the slum dwellers, he realized in surprise. Maybe he would be better off rejoining Turbo, Stick and Omi.
No. He wanted to see Ah Chen again and hunt for Molly. So he worked along the fringe of the group, and then a little farther away yet. The former block leader glared at him, his moist eyes shining. Then the foreman stamped elsewhere. Marten edged a little farther from that spot, checked and saw that no one watched. He strode away briskly.
“Halt!” shouted a cop, who stepped from behind a standing half wall.
Marten broke into a sprint.
“Stop!” roared the cop, and others gave chase.
Marten found it difficult to breathe in the stale, hot air. He was glad the police didn’t have any stunners or needlers.
Gasping, he stopped a level later, his throat and chest aching because of the polluted air. How in the world was he going to find Ah Chen or Molly like this?
7.
Marten thought up a strategy thirty minutes later. It happened as he stumbled upon a snoozing cop. Marten had slunk careful through a rubble-strewn street, and ducked behind a building when he heard voices. Then he heard snoring, and to his amazement, he saw an overweight old man sleeping on a cot. It was hot, and the old man had taken off his police shirt, helmet and heavy utility belt. Inspired, Marten took the three items, hurried away and a few blocks later donned the old man’s garments.
He tested his plan several blocks later. A squad of three police doing a routine sweep marched toward him. With his helmet on, dark visor lowered, and with his hand on the shock baton swinging at his belt, Marten swaggered toward them. It brought back haunting memories of how his father had once tricked Sun-Works personnel.
“You!” he bellowed. “Report!”
The three men stiffened to attention.
“I said report!” Marten shouted in his best imitation police voice.
“We’ve rounded up four stragglers, sir,” said the sergeant.
“Just four?” Marten asked angrily. “This area crawls with refugees. Find them. Or soon you’ll be busting rubble.”
They hurried off. With his hands on his hips, Marten watched them go. When they were out of sight, he sighed with pent-up fear and went his own way. Just like in the old days on the Sun-Works Factory circling Mercury, the very audacity of the ploy had protected him. No one would dare impersonate a police inspector; at least no one raised on Social Unity credos.
He reached the Deep-Core Station that he’d entered what seemed a lifetime ago, and he waited until he saw a brown-uniformed deep-core worker strolling home. The man looked young and wore shiny black boots. He smoked the stimstick that seemed habitual with deep-core workers and had an arrogant way of holding his shoulders. Marten trailed him, waiting until no one else was in sight. Then he strode quickly, catching the man unawares.
“You!” Marten said, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.
The man glowered. “Don’t you know who I am? Take your grubby hands off me this instant.”
Marten drew the shock rod and touched the man’s neck.
With a scream, the deep-core worker fell to the ground, twitching.
Marten felt sorry for him but was certain this was the only way he could gain the needed information. He kicked the deep-core worker in the side, but not too hard.
“You’re a straggler!” Marten shouted.
“No!” howled the man.
“Liar,” Marten shouted, kicking him again.
The worker covered up. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
Marten hauled him to his feet, the shock rod poised for a beating.
“I’m a Deep-Core Worker,” the man wailed.
“Prove it.”
The man dug a wallet from his pants pocket.
“Bah,” Marten said, knocking it out of the man’s hands. “Fake IDs don’t interest me.”
The man’s eyes boggled. “No one fakes Deep-Core IDs.”
“Who is Ah Chen?” Marten barked.
“What?” the man asked, bewildered.
“So you don’t know.”
“Wait. Yes, yes, I know Ah Chen. S-She’s Deep-Core.”
Marten barked harsh laughter.
“She’s a Third Grade Engineer. They sent her down this morning.”
“Down?”
“To the deep station.”
Marten’s stomach knotted. “For how long is she down?”
“Why do you want to know that?” asked the man, suddenly suspicious.
Marten slapped him across the face instead of using the shock rod again. “You’re a straggler.”
“She’s down permanently, or until they train her replacement. Please, you’ve got to believe me.”
A cold sinking feeling filled Marten. Ah Chen had told him that Major Orlov had slain almost all the deep-core personnel in Sydney. The Highborn would dearly need the deep-core running if Sydney and the outlying areas were to have power. She’d feared the Highborn would take her and send her down-station for a long time, and she’d been right. There was nothing Marten could do for her now.
Marten shoved the man away. “Run.”
“What?” asked the bewildered man.
“Run!” roared Marten, raising the baton as if to swing.
The man took off running, slipping and stumbling until he ran out of sight.
Disgusted with his methods and depressed that Ah Chen was gone from him for a very long time, Marten stalked off in the opposite direction. How long could he keep on running and pretending? Maybe long enough to find Molly, he decided.
