The Empire Of Time Part 9

for them. Anita paused.

"Something's wrong."

"Don't worry. In you go." He followed her into the dim interior of the bus.

-And was knocked sprawling to the cold metal floor. Stunned, he heard the door slam, felt the bus lurch into motion. He was already beginning to recover, to tense for a lashing kick out at his a.s.sailant, when hands fumbled at his left wrist.

Very far away, he heard Anita screaming. He was not sure how long she had been screaming; he only knew that he himself had been in agony forever. Somewhere back at the beginning of his life, someone had hit him, and then, a moment later, his hand had been-shot off? burned? crushed? Pierce wasn't sure, and it never occurred to him to open his eyes and look.

The pain stopped. At least, the agony in his wrist stopped; it took some time for the convulsed muscles in his arm and shoulder to recover. He lay quietly on the floor, doing his breathing exercises automatically. His new clothes were drenched with sweat Someone frisked him, took his pistol.

"Least you ain't no crybaby." It was the young man, Dallow. "And you pack some solemn armament. Here, pa.s.s this piece up to Miz Curtice... Okay, c'mon, sit up." He was pulled onto one of two broad benches running the length of the bus.

Pierce saw a white plastic band around his wrist. An inductance bracelet, of course. And handled by a real pro. There was no point in trying to break it-the plastic was too tough. He looked around.

The bus was crowded with adults and children, a typical a.s.sortment of indentured workers: Sicilians, Mexicans, Egyptians, Portuguese, some American Blacks. They all wore the bracelets. A few grinned at him, grateful for the

entertainment he and Anita had provided. The bus stank of old sweat and fresh urine.

Pierce found himself sitting next to a lean, undersized young Black with a gap-

toothed smile and intelligent, crazy eyes. He held a half-meter truncheon with the authority of a field marshal.

"How you head, man?"

"Hurts."

"You got some thick head, man. You the first I ever see start to get up after I hit 'em."

Pierce stood, a little unsteadily, and lifted Anita from the floor. When he held her in his lap, she slumped against him like a sleeping baby.

"Watchoo name, man?"

"Jerry."

"Watchoo woman name?"

"Anita. What's yours?"

The young man shifted the truncheon to his left hand and extended his right. Around the wrist was a fluorescent orange ID strap, wider than the inductance bracelet on the other wrist. Pierce read the strap: DALLOW, WM. C.

Indent. # 0-671-5512 Expiry Date: 1 Jan 20 Property of: Curtice Labor Brokers 702 E. Eisenhower Avenue Nuevo Sacramento, Ore Phone: (603) 771"Call me Dallow. And don't give me no s.h.i.t. I'm Miz Curtice's chief honcho an' a.s.s kicker. You get along with me, you gonna get along with her and that little wand she got."

Pierce nodded. Anita stirred; Dallow touched her head to see how hard she had been hit, and dislodged her wig. Even in the dim light, her orange skin and peppercorn hair looked strange. Dallow was alarmed; so were the other workers close enough to see.

"What's all this, man? She sick or somethin'? She got funny hair."

"Nothing's wrong with her. She's using chromofilm. Her skin's the same color as her scalp."

"No s.h.i.t. She got some disease?" Colonials lived in dread of local germs.

"None."

"Watchee want to look Black, then?"

"We didn't want to make it easy for the cops."

"Hunh. What they want with you?"

"I shot a couple of 'em."

"Hunh. Man, you shot 'em good. Har'ly any ammo left in that piece I took off of you." He thought for a moment. "We ain't no special friends of the police. You do what I tell you, you smooth with us."

"Good." Pierce was annoyed at this development. But the bus was moving west toward Farallon City, and that was the important thing. "We'll cooperate."

Dallow whooped. "Man, we all cooperate with Miz Curtice! n.o.body like a taste of bracelet, they can avoid it. 'Sides, she a smooth lady. She got some style."

"How'd you meet her?" Pierce asked.

"Hunh. Like most of these dopies-got my a.s.s kicked downtime to this s.h.i.thole. They lay on all that good s.h.i.t, everybody get a job down here, hunh? Sure. Lotta guys like me, they go endo, live in some cave somewheres. Hunh! Some never-never. So I get indented, okay? Least you gets paid steady, work or no work. An' Miz Curtice, she make sure you work. Food in the camps ain't so smooth, but-" He shrugged good-naturedly.

"Indents don't wear bracelets."

"Yeah, well, hunh. You broker sell you contrac', you go where you told. Miz Curtice, she a blackbirder arright, but she smooth, she better'n most. Can't blame her. Lots indents goes AWOL less they got a bracelet. You go AWOL and get picked up, you in bad shape, yotf wish you have a bracelet Getchoo a.s.s pounded good, and then they don' pick up you option, man. You starvin'. Miz Curtice, she make sure her people don't get themself in that fix."

"What about the Copos? Blackbirding's illegal."

"Aw, they smooth, they unnerstan'. What they s'posed to do, bust all the blackbirders? Then we all on the road AWOL again, makin' trouble for everybody. s.h.i.t, the Copos got enough trouble without messin' with us."

Anita gasped and woke in tears. Pierce cradled her gently and whispered to her in first-century Greek: "All is well, all is well, these people will not harm us." His words sounded more comforting, somehow, in that formal and archaic tongue.

"My arm hurts," she whimpered in English. Then, in Greek: "My arm hurts. Where are we?"

"Whatsat you sayin'?" Dallow growled.

"She's an African," Pierce said. "She likes to talk in Swahili; she taught me how."

"Hunh. Extreme. She teach me? You teach me Swahili, sister?"

"Oh-yes, brother."

"Arright." But Dallow was in no hurry to learn; calmed by knowing that they conversed in an acceptable language, he relaxed and ignored them. The others watched for a while, then withdrew into their own gossip or private fantasies.

"We have been taken captive," Pierce said. "The woman in the cab is a-melanorthis? A slave owner. She's bound for the coast."Anita looked revolted. "What can we do?""For now, nothing. At least we're headed in the right direction.""You tolerate enslavement for the sake of your mission?""This is not really enslavement. Where struggle is futile, acceptance is wisdom.""So self-deception often calls itself."

He said nothing. First-century Greek, he reflected, could sting as well as comfort. The bus crawled slowly west through the afternoon, stopping only infrequently. During those breaks Dallow watched everyone closely, including the women squatting behind trees.

"Ev'body wanna get in some AWOL time," he commented to Pierce. "s.h.i.t, I gone AWOL plenny. But Miz Curtice don't go for that, unh-unh. She like to show up on time, in place, with ev'body 'counted for. Thataway you gets a good rep with the bosses... Okay, people, le's go, shake it more'n twice you playin' with it!"

"D'you know where we're headed?" Pierce asked as everyone drifted back to the bus. "We know when we get there. Miz Curtice don' tell us nothin' till we need to know it."

Pierce and Anita were about to climb back in the bus when Mrs. Curtice called them over.

"What's the matter with your skin, girl? You got a disease?"

"No-it's just chromofilm."

"You call me ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I know it's chromofilm, I got eyes. I mean underneath." The film had already

begun to fleck off Anita's cheeks and throat. "You got jaundice or something?"

"That's my natural skin color-ma'am."

"Is that right. What are you, some kinda j.a.p-n.i.g.g.e.r cross?"

She hesitated. "That's right, ma'am."

"Thought so. I can usually tell." She turned to Pierce. "You come with me, I

wanna talk to you. But keep your distance." The bus was parked in a muddy clearing just off the highway; judging by the litter and stink of excrement, it was a regular stop for bracero buses. Mrs. Curtice and Pierce walked slowly around the edge of the clearing, watching where they put their feet. She moved stiffly, and Pierce realized with surprise that she had arthritis and was in considerable pain.

"You didn't buy those clothes, did you?"

"No, ma'am. Anita found this credit card in the ladies' changing room-in the

department store? So we figured we might as well use it to get some new clothes. But the card musta been reported, 'cause they nearly nailed us."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can cut the horses.h.i.t, bud. You aren't no glorified shoplifter, not packing a

G.o.ddam Smith and Wesson. And that j.a.p-n.i.g.g.e.r girlfriend of yours is so straight I'd like to kick her fat a.s.s." She winced as she stepped over a log.

"Would you like to stop and rest, Mrs. Curtice?"

"No, I would not. Don't change the subject. You're some kind of professional, right?"

"Uh-I won't deny it, ma'am."

"Thought so. You prob'ly work for one of them spic gangsters down in

Mexicopolis. You sure as h.e.l.l ain't a Copo. So what the h.e.l.l you doin', hitchin'

rides on 605 with that funny-lookin' kid?"

"Ma'am, believe me when I tell you with all due respect that it's a lot safer for

you if you don't know anything about us.""Is that right. And maybe it's a lot safer for you." She paused breathing hard.

"Copos like to get their paws on you, I bet. Might even be a reward in it."

Pierce said nothing.

"But I pay off the Copos every month; no need to give 'em something extra 'less

I need to. Want to get that strap off your wrist?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You've killed people."

"I have."