Cities in Flight

we tackle that, there will be shooting, that’s for sure—and the cops will probably show up anyhow before it’s over.

“Obviously, as you say, the thing to do is get out of the vicinity, fast. Cities ought not to fight with each other, let alone get involved in anything like a Violation. But Argus Three’s offering us sixty-three million dollars in metal to slough them of the tramp before the cops arrive, and the Mayor thinks we can do it. Also, he hates tramps—I think he might even have taken on the job for nothing. The fact, anyhow, is that he has taken it.”

The perimeter sergeant paused and eyed Chris, seemingly waiting for comments. At last Chris said: “What did the City Fathers say?”

“They said NO in a loud voice until the money was mentioned. After that they ran an accounting of the treasury, and gave Amalfi his head. They had a few additional facts to work from that I haven’t told you yet, most of which seem to indicate that we can dispossess this tramp without too much damage to our own city, and very possibly before the cops even hear that anything’s happening. All the same, bear in mind that they think of nothing but the city as a whole. If some of us get killed in the process they won’t care, as long as the city itself gets off cleanly. They’re not sentimental.”

“I already know that,” Chris said, with feeling. “But—how do I come into all this? Why does the Mayor want to talk to me? I don’t know anything but what you’ve told me—and besides, he’s already made up his mind.”

“He’s made up his mind,” Anderson agreed, “but you know a lot that he doesn’t know. As we get closer to Argus Three, he wants you to listen to the broadcasts from the Argidae, and anything we may pick up from the tramp, and fill him in on any clues you hear.”

“But why?”

“Because you’re the only person on board who knows the tramp at first hand,” the perimeter sergeant said, with slow, deliberate emphasis. “It’s your old friend Scranton.”

“But—that can’t be so! There were hundreds of us put on board from Scranton—all adults but me—”

“Press-gang sweepings,” Anderson said with cold disgust. “Oh, there were one or two specialists we found a use for, but none of them ever paid any attention to city politics. The rest were bulgy-muscled misfits, a large proportion of them psychotics. We cured them, but we couldn’t raise their IQ’s; without something to sell, or the Interplanetary Grand Prix, or heavy labor to keep their minds off their minds, they’re just so many vegetables. We— Irish and I—couldn’t find even one worth taking into our squads. We’ve made citizens of the three good specialists, but the rest will be passengers till they die.

“But you’re the happy accident of that crew right now, Chris. The City Fathers say that your history aboard Scranton shows that you know something about the town. Amalfi wants to mine that knowledge. Want to tackle it?”

“I—I’ll try.”

“Good.” The perimeter sergeant turned to the miniature tape recorder at his elbow. “Here’s a complete transcript of everything we’ve heard from Argus Three so far. After you’ve heard it and made any comments that occur to you, Amalfi will begin to feed us the live messages, from the bridge. Ready?”

“No,” Chris said, more desperately than he could ever have imagined possible for him. “Not yet. My head is about to bust already. Do I get off from school while this is going on? I couldn’t take it, otherwise.”

“No,” Anderson said, “you don’t. If a live message comes through while you’re in class, we’ll pull you out. But you’ll go right back in again. Otherwise your schooling will go right on just as before, and if you can’t take the new burden, well, that’ll be too bad. You’d better get that straight right away, Chris. This isn’t a vacation, and it isn’t a prize. It’s a job, for the survival of the city. Either you take it or you don’t; either way, you get no special treatment. Well?”

For what seemed to him to be a long time, Chris sat and listened to his echoing Okie headache. At last, however, he said resignedly:

“I’ll take it.”

Anderson snapped the switch, and the tape began to run on the spools.

The earliest messages, as Anderson had noted, were vague and brief. The later ones were longer, but even more cryptic. Chris was able to worry very little more information out of them than Amalfi and the City Fathers already had. As promised, he spoke to Amalfi—but from the Andersons’ apartment, through a hookup which fed what he had to say to the mayor and to the machines simultaneously.

The machines asked questions about population, energy resources, degree of automation and other vital matters, not a one of which Chris could answer. The Mayor mostly just listened; on the few occasions when his heavy voice cut in, Chris was unable to figure out what he was getting at.

“Chris, this railroad you mentioned; how long before you were born had it been pulled up?”

“About a century, sir, I think. You know Earth went back to the railroads in the middle two thousands, when all the fossil fuels ran out and they had to give up the highways to farmland.”

“No, I didn’t know that. All right, go ahead.”

Now the City Fathers were asking him about armament. He had no answer for that one, either.

There came a day, however, when this pattern changed suddenly and completely. He was, indeed, pulled out of class for the purpose, and hurried into a small anteroom containing little but a chair and two television screens. One of the screens showed Sgt. Anderson; the other, nothing but a testing pattern.

“Hello, Chris. Sit down and pay attention; this is important. We’re getting a transmission from the tramp city. We don’t know whether it’s just a beacon or whether they want to talk to us. Amalfi thinks it’s unlikely that they’d be putting out a beacon in their situation, regardless of the law—they’ve broken too many others already. He’s going to try to raise them, now that you’re here; he wants you to listen.”

“Right, sir.”

Chris could not hear his own city calling, but after only a few minutes—for they were quite close to Argus Three now—the test pattern on the other screen vanished, and Chris saw an odiously familiar face.

“Hullo. This here’s Argus Three.”

“ ‘This here’ is not Argus Three,” Amalfi’s deep voice said promptly. “ ‘This here’ is the city of Scranton, Pennsylvania, and there’s no point in your hiding it. Get me your boss.”

“Now wait a minute. Just who do you think—”

“This here is New York, New York, calling, and I said, ‘Get me your boss.’ Go do it.”

The face by now was both sullen and confused. After a moment’s hesitation, it vanished. The screen flickered, the test pattern came back briefly, and then a second familiar face was looking directly at Chris. It was impossible to believe that the man couldn’t see him, and the idea was outright frightening.

“Hello, New York,” he said, affably enough. “So you’ve got us figured out. Well, we’ve got you figured out, too. This planet is under contract to us; be notified.”

“Recorded,” Amalfi said. “We also have it a matter of record that you are in Violation. Argus Three has made a new contract with us. It’d be the wisest course to clear ground and spin.”

The man’s eyes did not waver. Chris realized suddenly that it was an image of Amalfi he was staring at, not at Chris himself. “Spin yourself,” he said evenly. “Our argument is with the colonists, not with you. We don’t spin without a Vacate order from the cops. Once you mix into this, you may find it hard to mix out again. Be notified.”

“Your self-confidence,” Amalfi said, “is misplaced. Recorded.”

The image from Scranton contracted to a bright point and vanished. The Mayor said at once:

“Chris, do you know either of those guys?”

“Both of them, sir. The first one’s a small-time thug named Barney. I think he was the one who killed my brother’s dog when I was impressed, but I didn’t see who did it.”

“I know the type. Go ahead.”

“The other one is Frank Lutz. He was the city manager when I was aboard. It looks as if he still is.”

“What’s a city manager? Never mind, I’ll ask the machines. All right. He looks dangerous; is he?”

“Yes, sir, he is. He’s smart and he’s tricky—and he has no more feeling than a snake.”

“Sociopath,” Amalfi said. “Thought so. One more question: Does he know you?”

Chris thought hard before answering. Lutz had seen him only once, and had never had to think about him as an individual again—thanks to the lifesaving intervention of Frad Haskins. “Sir, he just might, but I’d say not.”