Dydeetown World

"It's anytime. Do you know where your urchin is?" (datastream graffito)

— 1-

After a few weeks, my head and neck rig came off. B.B.'s wrist brace came off about the same time.

And all the while I'd been thinking about the guy who had called himself Earl Khambot. What can you say about a client who didn't exist?

Further, what can you say about a client who didn't exist who paid you in hard to find someone else who also didn't exist?

Severe neuronal dysfunction, right?

But that's what appeared to have happened. Earl Khambot had lied to me about his own name yet had paid me in advance in good metal to find the fictional daughter he had supposedly given over to the urchins as a babe.

Why?

Couldn't think of a single reason.

Couldn't complain, either. Had his gold, and that was not exactly what one would call a heavy burden.

But it became clear to me after a while that I was going to have to find the guy who'd called himself Earl Khambot or go crazy. Not that I'd have a great deal of trouble squeezing the search into my busy schedule. After all, I'd been out of the business for a pair of years, and hadn't been all that terribly busy when things were in hyperdrive, relatively speaking.

So I used my copious slack time to apply my sector-renowned tracking skills to hunting down Earl Khambot. Knew it wouldn't be easy, but I was getting first-hand experience with the concept of obsession" and had to keep going. It wouldn't let up on me.

Why?

Everybody tries to gain in some way by whatever they do. Even if they give a trinket to an urchin beggar, they're getting a feelgood in return. Even crazy people have their reasons for doing things. Plenty of times they're rotten reasons, but at least you could see what they were after. With Khambot I couldn't even guess. The trail was cold but it didn't matter. I had to know. And to know, I had to find him.

Wished I could have traced him through his thumb, but that was out because he'd paid me in gold. That had impressed me at first as a gesture of trust and good will, and a sure sign that he didn't want our business relationship recorded in Central Data. Perfectly fine with me. And perfectly consistent with the job he wanted me to do: Locate a supposedly illegal child.

Who apparently didn't exist either.

Started driving me crazy.

What had been Khambot's angle? What did he get out of our little transaction?

Didn't know, but was damn sure going to find out.

Or so I thought.

Came up blank all over the Megalops. No one could recollect ever hearing his name before; and although a fair number said he looked vaguely familiar, no one could say where they'd seen him. B.B. even had a couple of urchingangs looking for traces of Earl Khambot but they came up null score.

Looked hopeless.

So imagine my surprise when I find him in my home.

Right.

I was sitting in my polyform contour chair in my cozy little compartment; the picture of modern domestic tranquility: Me, the urch, and the iguana around the vid.

That was where I found him. On the vid during good ol' Newsface Four's datacast.

It was a VersaPili commercial. The one where the guy up front starts off swaying back and forth in completely hairless holographic splendor, then grows a little moustache, then some chest hair, then a heart-shaped pubic bush, then starts with hairy designs all over his body while the back-up chorus dances and chants: It's automatic,

It's enzymatic,

So pragmatic

You'll be ecstatic!

Stimulate or numb your hairy molecules!

Hirsutize or dormatize those follicules!"

A certifiable classic. Everyone remembered it because it used real people instead of digital constructs. And guess who I spotted prancing around in the chorus?

Right.

Started shouting like a black holer: "It's him! Damn the Core, it's him!"

Scared the hell out of B.B. who was visiting again after one of his periodic sojourns home to the Lost Boys. He spilled half a cup of green FlavoPunch all over himself.

"Wha? Wha?" he said, twisting that boney body this way and that, bright brown eyes popping. "Who's him? Who?"

"That guy there in the back on the right! The one with the cubed hair! It's him! Khambot! Earl dregging Khambot!"

"Sure?" he said. He was trying to wipe the green goop off him but succeeded only in smearing it deeper into the fabric of his jump.

"Pretty sure."

Moved closer for a better look but the commercial faded from the holochamber to be replaced by Newsface Four again. Told it to retrieve the commercial and ordered it to freeze when the guy in question stepped forward for a spin. Checked him from a couple of different angles.

Khambot all right. Or his clone.

Told the vid to relocate the leading edge of the datastream, then sat back in the chair and considered: mystery man Earl Khambot — low odds that was his real name — was really a song-and-dance man. Wasn't too sure how happy I was with that revelation.

"How you gonna find him, Siggy-san?" B.B. said.

Sometime during the past week he had stopped calling me Mr. Dreyer. Wasn't something I liked but wasn't about to make an issue of it, either. He had found a way to clean the green gook off his jump by letting Iggy lap it up with his big coarse tongue. Never dreamed an iguana would take to FlavoPunch. Maybe it was a nice break from the compartment's roaches.

"Could be I'll go into the commercial business."

— 2-

Finding Khambot wasn't as easy as I'd thought. Took me days to snake my way through the various departments of the VersaPili division of the Leason Corporation until I got to someone who had the name of the company that had produced that particular commercial for them. Turned out to be one of these avant guard artsy groups that was dedicated to using live actors. From them I got the names of the five guys in the chorus — nobody there seemed to emember the name of the second guy from the right so I took all five names and began searching them out.

Got lucky with number three.

Earl Khambot turned out to be Deen Karmo. Lived alone in a small compartment in an old complex in Queens. A small building, holographed up to look like the top half of the old Chrysler Building. That alone told me it was old and seedy — the Chrysler had been the most popular of the very early envelopes — and the lobby confirmed the impression.

Waited till he left one morning, then let myself in. Easily. His security rig was rudimentary. And once inside I knew why. The guy didn't have anything worth taking. Made my place look like a palace.

Being a flesh-and-blood song-and-dance man these days obviously didn't pay well.

Made myself at home and waited for him to come back. Was resigned for a long haul but he surprised me by showing up in a couple of tenths.

Didn't even look up as he came in. He was humming a tune and dressed in the latest style just as he'd been when showed up at my office that one time. Still a real pretty-boy. The door had already slid completely shut behind him before he spotted me.

He dropped the package in his hand.

"What are you doing in here? I'm calling security!"

He reached for the panic button. Obviously he didn't recognize me.

"You shock me, Earl," I said quickly. "Throwing out your old friend without even a hello."

His finger stopped about a millimeter short of the button.

"My name's not — "

He gave me a closer look. Came the dawn:

"You — you're that, that, that — "

"Investigator."

"Right!" He smiled. "How have you been, Mr…? Forgive me, I forget your name."

"Really? How could you forget the name of the man you hired to find your daughter?"

The smile faltered and his hand still hovered over the panic button.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"The name's Dreyer. Sig Dreyer. And what shall I call you?

'Mr. Khambot' or 'Mr. Karmo?' "

"Mr. Karmo will do fine."

"Good. Let's talk, shall we, Mr. Karmo? I'm not here to cause you any trouble. You paid me well for my time so I've got no quarrel with you. But I am curious."

Finally, he dragged his hand away from the button and took the only other seat in the tiny compartment.

"I don't think you'll be too happy with what I have to tell you, Mr. Dreyer."

"Why not?"

"Because there isn't much."

"Let me decide that. You can start by telling me if you have a daughter."

He laughed but it didn't seem to relax him. "Oh, no! Of course not! That was just part of the story!"

"But why any story at all?"

"I really don't know. I'm an actor. I was hired to act." He shrugged expressively. "So I acted."

"Who hired you?"

"I don't know. He was wearing a holosuit."

"Isn't that just bloaty!" I said, getting annoyed and showing it.

Karmo cringed. "Sorry."

"What was the image?"

"Joey Jose."

Wanted to throw something. Had high hopes since tracking Karmo down, now they were going up in smoke. He'd been hired by a guy hiding inside the holographic image of the Megalops' most popular entertainer. The number one holosuit on the rental circuit. Every holodashery had twenty Joey Joses in stock. No way of tracing the mystery man through that!

"What about the voice? Any accent?"

Karmo cringed again. "He was using a Joey voicer."

A holosuit and a voicesizer. Whoever he was, he was taking great pains to cover his tracks.

"And he just came up to you and handed you that gold piece and said 'Go get find somebody to search for your imaginary urchin daughter' and you picked me out to — "

"Oh, no. He was very specific. It had to be Sigmundo Dreyer and nobody else."

"But I'd been out of business for years! I'd only opened up a couple of days before you showed up!"

Another shrug. "What can I say? Maybe he'd been waiting for you to reopen. All I know is that he gave me two goldies, told me to use one to hire you and keep the other for myself. If I was successful in getting you to take the job, there were two more coins in it for me." He smiled briefly. "Needless to say, for that kind of fee, I put on my best performance."

He shrank back as I stood up.

"That you did, my friend. That you did."

Would have liked to give the jog a dose of Truth but had a feeling I'd learn nothing new. Somebody pretty glossy was behind this: Left no trail, and dangled a pay schedule that not only kept Karmo from roguing off with the goldies, but insured he'd give the performance his all.

"No harm done, I hope," Karmo said.

Clapped him on the shoulder and he almost came apart.

"Nope. No harm at all. Just want to know what's behind it all. And you're no dregging help."

Left a very relieved and very sweaty actor behind in his compartment.

— 3-

"Eat your soyshi."

B.B. made a face. "Needs more cooking."

"No so. Supposed to be raw."

"Raw fishee?"

His repulsed expression was something to behold. All I could do to keep from laughing. He was pulling me out of the trough I'd slipped into since my talk with Karmo.

"Not real fish. Only looks that way. It's veg. Pseudotuna on vinegared rice. Watch." Finger-dipped one into the nearby soy-wasabi mix and popped it into my mouth. "Mmmm! Filamentous!"

B.B. grabbed his throat in a stranglehold and treated me to the sound of a melodramatic retch as he toppled off his chair.

The other customers in the dinnero were starting to stare.

"Get up before they kick you out of here!"

He returned to his seat. "H'bout soysteak?"

"Pardon?" I said, cupping my ear.

"How about a soysteak?" he said carefully.

"How about broadening your horizons? There's more to eating than soysteaks, cheesoids, and speed spuds."

"N'like this dreggy stuff."

"How would you know? You haven't tasted any. What kind of parent would I be if — "

"N'my parent!"

That stung more than I would have imagined. Don't even know why I'd referred to myself as his parent. Didn't want to be. Truly. But felt the jab anyway. The sting must have shown on my face, because he added: "Wendy parent to all Lost Boys."

Could have added that you're allowed more than one parent but that would have slipped me into a position I didn't particularly care for so I kept mum.

"Right. Forgot."

The black mood was settling on me again.

"You fren, Sig. Not parent."

"One way of looking at it, I guess. And friends don't make other friends eat soyshi, right?"

"Right."

Ordered him a soysteak with his habitual trimmings. Every time I took him out to eat he ordered the same dregging meal.

Urchins must have a high threshhold of boredom.

"Who is this Wendy, anyway?" I said as we waited for his meal.

"Mom-to-all."

"B.B…." I said tiredly.

"Know, yes, know, Sig. Not biomom, but real mom. Readee us, teachee us, fixee clothes an food. Do tuck-in a'night f'babes."

His eyes shone as he spoke. There was adoration there. Why did that irk me? What did I care about some crazy femme playing Mamma to some urches?

"What's she look like?""

"Byooful."

"Of course. Aren't all mothers? But give me some details. Her hair, for instance? Blond?"

He shook his head. "Brown straight."

"Fat? Thin?"

"Thin like us, course."

"Why 'course'? When she leaves you at night, she probably goes home to a big meal.

"Wendy live w'urches."

That gave me pause. Who in their right mind would want to live in the tunnels with a horde of kids, eating begged food and cooking rats?

"What's she get out of it?"

He beamed. "Family. Allus family."

"All?"

"Huh. Sh'go most gangs. Mom-to-all, but sh'come back Lost Boys most. We her firs famly."

"She never leaves the tunnels?"

"Sometime, but n'f'long. Always come back with special giftees."

Now I was really suspicious. This Wendy was either a true disequillibrated non-comp, verging on black holedom, or there was a roguey angle to this that I wasn't seeing. Either way, I wasn't comfortable having B.B. involved with her. Not until I knew more.

"Sounds like a wonderful person," I said. "When can I meet this Wendy?"

He started as if he'd just received a shock.

"Meetee? Oh, no. None upside ev meetee Wendy. Sh'say n'ever jaw 'bout her to any not urch."

"You told me."

"You friend f'life, Sig. Trust."

"Yeah. Well, see if you can arrange it. It's very important to me to meet such a unique person."

"I ask, b'tell now, sh'nev say 'kay."

The food arrived then and no further conversation was possible. You can't talk to B.B. when he's got a meal in front of him. You can barely watch him.

— 4-

Two days later, sitting in my office, got treated to the pleasure of another visit from my favorite procurer and clone slaver, Ned Spinner.

"What do you want, Spinner?" I said as he stood in front of my desk, staring at me.

His hair was in his usual curly blond Caesar cut and he was dressed in the same dark green pseudovelvet jump he always wore.

As he spoke in his nasal whine, he began strutting back and forth, doing his oversized rooster routine.

"I heard about your accident. I just wanted to check up on you and make sure you were okay."

"Your concern is touching."

"Truth, Dreyer. I was really worried when I heard. After all, you're probably the only one who knows the whereabouts of my stolen clone. I didn't want the secret to die with you."

"You can go now."

He hesitated. "Look, Dreyer. I'll make a deal. I know you've put her in business somewhere, but the take you're getting off her can't be anything near what she could earn back in Dydeetown. She was dregging good, one of the top earners in the whole — "

"The door is behind you, Spinner."

"I'm offering you a cut, you jog!" he screamed. "Tell me where she is and I'll go get her. I'll set her up in her old spot in Dydeetown and give you a percentage! What could be fairer? After all, she's my dregging clone!"

Stared at him.

"Well," he said. "What do you say? Attractive offer, no?"

"No. Because then I'd be like you, Spinner. And I don't find that the least bit attractive."

The sneer that he tried to pass off as a smile crawled across his face. "All right, Dreyer. Play your roguey game. But keep in mind that I'm always around. I'm always watching you."

"Each night I rest easy knowing that."

"Don't rest easy, Dreyer. I'm the guy that's going to cut you down. Remember: every day, I'm watching. And one of these days, you're going to lead me back to my property."

"Your clone is on one of the outworlds, Spinner. And since I don't plan on heading off-planet soon or ever, you've got a long wait ahead of you."

"Keep lying, Dreyer. You'll lose more than your head when I catch you with her.""

"Look," I said, trying to talk some sense into him so he'd leave me alone. Doubted that was possible — after all, he'd made a good living off his Jean Harlow clone and now he was on the dole without her — but figured I'd try. "Even if you got her back, she'd be no good to you. She'll refuse to whore a Dydeetown slot for you. So why don't you face facts? You lost. She won. She got away and she's staying away. Give it up."

His eyes blazed as he slammed a fist on my desk.

"Never! She's Earthside! Probably right here in the Megalops! And I'm gonna find her! And if she won't cooperate, I'll memwipe her and we'll start all over again from scratch! But I'm never giving up, Dreyer!"

Good thing he left on his own then. The thought of him wiping Jean's memory and sticking her back in Dydeetown had me itching to go for his throat.

Was just about calmed down when B.B. popped in. He looked dazed as he plopped down on a chair.

"Something wrong, kid?"

He shook his head slowly as he spoke, as if not fully understanding what he was saying.

"Har b'lieve, Sig, b'Wendy say sh'jaw you, see you."

B.B. was definitely spending too much time with his old urchingang. Had to work on getting him to do some time in front of the datastream before his speech got stuck in pure urch pidgin again.

"Well, I assume you gave me a bloaty recommendation."

"Bloaty, yeh, b'she nev see toppers."

"She's gotta see somebody when she disappears topside."

He thought about that one. "Mayb. B'when sh'go way, nev f'long. Allus back morn."

Understandable. No matter how overdone she was on urchins, even this Wendy had to crave some adult chatter once in a while. Maybe that was why she'd agreed to meet me. She'd know from B.B. that I wasn't some dregger out to stake some sort of claim on them, especially after taking that pair of vultures from NeuroNex off their backs.

"When do we meet this lady?"

"Now, today, ri'way."

"Whoa, little man. I've got business to tend to."

Not true, but I wanted to have some say in how and when this meeting took place.

"Sh'say now or nev. Or leas nah f'verlon time."

Wasn't happy with the ultimatum, but the meet had been my idea, in the first place. She was agreeing to it, but on her own terms.

"Where?"

"In downbelow."

"In the tunnels?"

"Wendy n'like upside."

"Bloaty." Last place I wanted to spend a day was in the old trans tunnels. "I'll get a handlight and then you can lead the way, B.B."

We tubed across to the Battery area, back to the foundation of the Okumo-Slater building where I'd met my first urchins, then shot north two stops. From there it was all on foot. We walked further north until we came to a middle-sized office complex.

B.B. led me through the sub-basement to an old sealed up subway entrance. The kids had unsealed it long ago. He ducked within, I squeezed through behind. Out came our lights and we began our crawl into the Megalops' nether regions.

Down concrete steps with our handlights refecting off old tiled walls, along rubble-strewn corridors, hopping down concrete embankments to follow steel rails through passages crudely hacked through the living granite. Moisture had collected in puddles, some small, some wide enough to block our path so that we had to creep along a raised ledge to get by. Something splashed in one of the bigger puddles as we passed and I felt my hackles rise.

"Chilly down here," I said.

Ahead of me, I could see B.B. shrug. "Allus same. No matter what upside, allus same in downbelow."

After a long, seemingly endless tunnel, I noticed a faint glow from up ahead. It grew as we moved toward it, becoming almost blinding as we rounded a bend.

A station, an old subway stop. What wall tiles that remained sparkled in the light. In one spot, some blue and orange tiles formed a sign: W. 4th. In a far corner, green things were growing. The platform was lined with a motley assortment of little shacks made of epoxied scrap vinyl and polymer. They looked like they'd been slapped together, but the overall picture was one of neatness and order. Saw a few urchin toddlers sitting and playing in a group while some nine-or ten-year olds swept the platform floor between the shacks. Cleaning up. Almost like they were expecting company.

"The Lost Boys," I said.

"Ri'!"

As we got closer, I squinted up at the bright ceiling over the platform and saw that it was lined with Ito daybars. Nudged B.B. and pointed to them.

"Where'd you get those?"

"Stealee long time go. Two-three urch life."

"Yeah, but you need power — "

"Stealee tha, too." He pocketed his handlight. "Come. You meetee my frens."

B.B. led the way up a short run of steps to the platform. A couple of the kids waved as they caught sight of him, then froze when they saw me. One of them let out a yell and suddenly a torrent of urchins of all shapes and sizes came spilling out of their shanties. Only in a few cases could I tell the boys from the girls. They were all thin, all dressed in castoff clothing, all had hair of about the same length.

And all the older ones were armed and looked ready to fight.

B.B. hurried forward, waving his hands. "No, no!" He pointed back at me. "Siggy! Siggy!"

Saw their eyes widen as they all stared at me. Suddenly the platform was silent. They began to move toward me, slowly, as if unsure of themselves.

Wasn't too sure of myself either at the moment. An awful lot of them — fifty at least — and I was pretty much at their mercy. Couldn't even run if it came to that. Didn't know how to backtrack from here. So I held my ground and let them come.

Their faces…their expressions were all the same. Could that be awe? Of me?

They crowded around, cut me off from B.B., encircled me, but kept a distance of about a meter. Until one of the toddlers broke through the others and came up to me. He or she looked up at me for a moment, then grabbed my leg in a bear hug, saying…

"Thiggy."

That broke the ice. The rest of them crowded closer, some patting me on the back, some gently punching me on my shoulders, others hugging me, and all of them speaking softly, almost reverently…

"Siggy, Siggy, Siggy."

What was going on?

Looked around for B.B. but couldn't find him in the press.

Then the crowd parted to let someone through. An adult. A woman. Slim, with straight, light brown hair flowing over her shoulders. Nice figure.

When she smiled, I knew her. The platinum hair was gone, and so was all the make-up. But by the Core I knew her.

"Jean!"

"Hello, Mr. Dreyer," she said, calm and as matter-of-fact as if we had just had lunch together yesterday.

She put a hand on my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek.

All around us, the urches giggled and whispered.

"They like you," she said.

With the toddler urches clinging to my arms and legs, I could only gape at her.

"B.B. has spoken so much of you, about how you almost died catching the ones who were snatching our toddlers. You're a hero here, Mr. Dreyer. All the urchingangs have heard of you."

Finally found my voice.

"It's been two years, Jean. Thought you were Out Where All The Good Folks Go."

"I was. I went to Neeka and settled there for a while. I thought it would be all right. I thought I could fit in. But it didn't work out."

"You didn't tell them you were a clone, did you?"

"No. That wasn't the problem. I had plenty of men interested in me."

"I'll bet."

No shortage of food on the Outworlds, but they were always short on women.

"But I quickly found out that I would never be considered a suitable mate for anyone there."

"Why not?"

She shrugged forlornly. "I'm sterile."

"Oh. Right."

Had forgot about that. All clones, male and female, are routinely sterilized at birth — at deincubation, rather. Injected with something that keeps the gonads from producing gametes without interferring with their hormone output.

As far as Outworlders are concerned, a woman who can't breed is not a real woman.

"So, I came back home," she said with forced brightness. "

She put one hand on the shoulder of a nearby urch and tousled the hair of another. "And found some people who really need me."

"Yeah, but you were free to come and go as you pleased out there. Earthside you're — "

"A mother — something I can't be anywhere else."

The realization hit me then. I'm a little slow, but eventually I get there.

"You're Wendy!"

She curtsied. "At your service."

"Hear you're a real mother to them."

"I try."

"Wendy bes mom ev!" It was B.B. He had squeezed in beside her and was grinning up at both of us. "An Sig bes fren. Protectee."

Circuits were beginning to come to life, correlations were forming in my pitiful brain.

"You hired that actor to hire me to…to…"

She nodded, smiling. "Of course! Me and my Joey Jose holosuit."

It all fit. Someone had been snatching her children and returning them damaged. She had wanted it stopped and so she came to me — or rather, sent someone to me.

"Why me?"

"Because you don't quit."

Shrugged that off. Probably just trying to get on my good side.

"Why didn't you come yourself?"

"I wasn't sure you'd take the job from me. I know how you feel about clones. Besides, Spinner was always hovering about. I couldn't risk him spotting me."

"Doubt he'd recognize you."

"This is the real me," she said, twirling a strand of brown hair around her finger.

"You look nice," I said before realizing it.

"Why, thank you, Sig." She was staring at me, her eyes soft and wondering. "You've changed, haven't you?"

Shook my head. "Not a bit. Why should I?"

"I don't know. And I can't say exactly what it is, but you're different."

"My hair — combing it different."

Which was true. Now that I just had a little scar where my button used to be, I could keep my hair shorter and not have to worry about that little metal nubin showing.

"No, I mean different inside. And by the way, I've been wanting to ask you for two standard years now — "

That was a giveaway that she'd spent some time on the Outworlds — only Outworlders talked about "standard" years.

"— about that greencard you returned to me at the shuttleport."

Felt myself tighten up inside. Didn't want her figuring out that I'd done something stupid like changing the worthless phony card Barkham had given her to a genuine counterfeit Realpeople card. She'd probably get all sorts of wrong ideas then.

"What about it?"

"It felt…different.""

"It worked, didn't it? So don't complain." Then I thought of something: "Wait a bit. How'd you get back Earthside without Spinner finding out?"

"Simple," she said with a mischievous smile. "I declared citizenship on Neeka, changed my legal name, and came back on a visitor's pass."

"But that only gives you a limited stay."

"As far as Central Data is concerned, Jean Double came to Earth as a visitor and disappeared."

"'Jean Double,' huh? You've gotten pretty glossy since you left."

"I'm not as naive as I was two standards ago, if that's what you mean."

Laughed. "Nobody is!"

She laughed, too, and I liked the sound.

"But is this it?" I said, looking around at the Lost Boys' tunnel village. "This is it for the rest of your life?"

"It's not so bad." She hooked her arm around mine and I felt a strange tingle run up to my shoulder. "Come on. I'll give you the tour."

The kids fell back, then followed us in a herd as she led me toward the greenery. Watched her out of the corner of my eye. She thought I'd changed? She'd changed! This was not the dumb woman-child clone of two years ago walking at my side. She was a grown-up — content, assured, self-confident. More than her hair had changed. Seemed to me she'd made major changes under that hair.

"The daybars were here before I came, but the children never took advantage of the artificial sunlight. I had them collect some soil from the upper tunnels, steal seedlings from a few choice window boxes, and here we are: fresh vegetables."

"Filamentous," I said, and meant it.

She led me through the old station, showed me the various models of hut. Did my best to appear interested, but couldn't get a certain question out of my mind. Finally, when she stopped and showed me her own hut, I asked it: "How come you're wasting your life down here?"

She turned on me like a tiger. "Waste? I don't call this wasting my life!"

"Bloaty. What do you call it then?"

"Doing some good! Making a difference! And I don't need your dregging Realpeople seal of approval to make it matter to me, either!"

"Making a difference?" She was getting me riled. "What difference? They're still going to grow up and move upside with no legal existence and try to scratch out a living in the shadow strata."

She turned away. "I know. But maybe they'll be just a little bit better people because of what I've done for them down here. And maybe…just maybe…"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe they won't all have to move into the shadow strata. Maybe some of them can go somewhere else."

"Like where?"

"The Outworlds.""

Too stunned to speak as she turned around and faced me with all this hope beaming from her eyes. Jean Harlow the clone had a Big Idea. A Dream.

That can be dangerous.

"Did they make you travel back and forth from the Outworlds in an unshielded cabin or something?" I said when I'd regained my voice. "Being out there must have affected your mind."

"I'm not crazy!" she said with this beatific smile. "Farm planets like Neeka are crying for settlers — the younger the better! They need hands!"

"But these are little kids here! They can't — "

"Little hands quickly grow into bigger hands!"

"And how are you going to get them off planet?"

She frowned. "That's the problem."

"That's not the only problem," I said. "Who knows how they'll be treated out there? Some dregger could turn them into slave labor, or worse."

"I know, I know," she said in a miserable voice. "But look at this." She gestured at the platform around us. "Something has got to be done. These are babies. This has got to stop!"

Stood and stared at her, not really understanding her. As usual.

Guess there are two ways at looking at things like the urchingangs. Me, I've always accepted them. The urchin problem was swept under the carpet long before I was born and I've always taken it for granted that they'd still be there long after I died. Urchins: Everyone knows they're there, but as long as they stay out of sight in their assigned niche, no one has to bother about them.

Then there's the other way: Someone sees the lumps in the carpet, lifts it up and says, Hey, what's this dregging mess doing here? This has got to stop.

Well, sure. Now that I really thought about it, yes, it should be stopped. But who was going to do the stopping? Not an everyday jog like me. And certainly not a renegade clone of Jean Harlow.

This has got to stop had never occurred to me because I knew it would never stop.

And what you can't change, you accept.

At least that was what had always worked for me.

"Don't go stirring things up," I told her. "You might get hurt."

She shrugged. "I'll risk it."

Pointed to the kids standing and staring at us from a distance. "They might get hurt."

"I know." She turned those big eyes on me. "Will you help me?"

Shook my head. "No."

"Please, Sig?"

That startled me. She never called me by my first name.

"With all your contacts, you could help me find a way to get some of these kids out of here."

Shook my head again, very slowly so she couldn't confuse it with anything else. Knew if I got myself involved in this one it would make me crazy.

"Double no. And let's change the subject."

She gave me a long, reproachful look. "I suppose you want the rest of the payment for ridding us of those NeuroNex snatchers."

"We're even," I said. "Consider it a favor for a friend."

She smiled. "So I'm a friend? How nice of you to say so."

That took me back. The friend I'd meant was B.B., but I didn't correct her.

"Better be getting back," I said. "Is there a shortcut out of here?"

"Only if you're B.B.'s size."

"But they must have had lots more entries and exits in the old days."

"Of course, but they've long since been sealed up and built over. The nearest adult-sized entry is the one you used to get here."

"You going to lead me out?"

"B.B. will do that. Goodbye, Mr. Dreyer."

She turned and walked away.

— 5-

Strangely enough, about a week later I was sitting in my office with my feet up on the desk, thinking of Jean — nothing personal, just wondering what she was going to do with all those kids — when B.B. raced in. His eyes were bugging out of his ashen face.

"Got uh! Got uh! Got Wendy!"

My insides did a flop to the right, then to the left as I got my feet down and shot upright.

"When? Who's got her?"

Already knew the answer to the last part. What a dregging jog I'd been not to remember what Spinner had said about watching my every move.

"Yellows!"

That stopped me.

"You mean M.A. types?"

He nodded vigorously. "Four!"

What 'round Sol were Megalops Authority police doing arresting Jean?

"Where'd they take her?"

"Dunno! Dunno!" B.B.'s face skrinched up and he started to blubber.

"Hey, little man. Calm down."

Seeing him break up was upsetting. Motioned him over by my chair and put an arm over his shoulder. He slumped against me and sobbed.

I said, "I'll find out what's going on. If the yellowjacketstook her, she'll be down at the Pyramid. Probably all a big mistake."

He seemed to take heart from that. "Think?"

"Sure."

Biggest lie of my life.

"Y'get Wendy out, ri', Sig? Get back Mom-to-all?"

"Do my best."

"Cn'do, Sig. Know it be filamentous soon. Cn'do any!""

"Yeah."

— 6-

The People's Pyramid — Open To All The People All The Time.

Megalops Central really is a pyramid — no holo envelope. The real thing, squatting in the middle of a huge plaza. Hollow inside with all the governmental offices in the outer walls.

Supposedly a showpiece but actually a colossal waste of space. A golden Cheops model, sloping up stepwise to a transparent apex. The steps provide landing areas, making up for the lack of a flat roof, I guess. Always bustling. Never closed.

Took me a while — had to answer lots of questions and go through a genotype check — but managed to get a short visit pass. Sat there in a booth facing a blank wall. Noticed recorder plates overhead. Every word, every move was going into Central Data.

The wall cleared and there was Jean. She looked surprised. Shocked, in fact.

"You? You're the last one I expected to see."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"No-no! It's so good to see a familiar face."

"B.B. asked me to see what I could do."

She looked scared. "I don't think anyone can help me now."

"Tell me about it. Couldn't get much from B.B. He was almost incoherent."

"Not much to tell. I came upside last night and the yellowjackets were waiting for me."

"What's the charge?"

"Illegal alien. I guess I didn't do such a good disappearing act."

"Maybe, maybe not. Was it the same entry I used?"

She nodded. "It's one of the few big enough for an adult."

Suddenly I knew: "Spinner did it!"

Jean blanched. "Oh, no! How can you be sure?"

"He's been following me! What a jog! Led him right to you!"

"But you didn't know you were going to meet me!"

True. But somehow I still felt responsible.

"Well, Ned Spinner can go sit on a black hole. He's out of luck. I'm a citizen of Neeka now. He's got no lien on me any more!"

Wasn't so sure of that. Wouldn't be hard for Spinner to establish by genotype that she was a clone of Jean Harlow. When he did that, all her rights — to emigrate from Earth, to take citizenship on Neeka — would go null. The M.A. would treat her like Realpeople until the genotyping was confirmed and Spinner's ownership of her genotype was established. But once that was settled, she'd be property again. Ned Spinner's property.

"Just for the sake of argument," I said, "let's suppose you wind up in Spinner's clutches again. What'll you do?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. And I mean nothing."

"And if he forces you?"

Her expression was grim. "He'll own one dead clone."

Was afraid she'd say that. And knew she might not get a chance to make that final gesture if Spinner had her personality wiped. The clone I knew as Jean, the person B.B. knew as Wendy — "Mom-to-all" — would be gone, but her body would go on working for Ned Spinner.

Wondered briefly which was worse, then realized it really didn't matter.

"Just a thought," I said. "Don't worry about it."

She looked scared enough already. Didn't need me injecting a worse reality into the nightmares she was probably having as it was.

The transpanel began to opaque between us. Time was up.

"Be back when I find out what's going on. Don't go anywhere."

She smiled — could tell it was forced — and faded from sight.

— 7-

"Don't look so grim, Dreyer," said a nasal voice to my left as I stepped from the downchute onto M.A. Central's ground level.

"You should be feeling lucky."

Ned Spinner, grinning like a shark.

"Feeling pretty murderous at the moment, Spinner. Don't press your luck."

"I'm not scared of you. Especially here."

Looked at him hard, letting my face show him what I wanted to do to him.

He took a step back. "You'd better be careful, Dreyer. You got lucky last night. If they'd caught you with her, you'd be in your own cell on grand theft charges."

So that was why he had her grabbed by official types — he wanted me, too.

"Tough luck, dregface."

"You're not off yet. You may still wind up spending lots more time here than you want when they start investigating how her genotype status got switched from clone to Realpeople in Central Data. The M.A.'s gonna to be real interested in that."

Felt a spike of uneasiness when he said that, but showed him nothing.

"Do your worst," I said, knowing he would, and headed for the exit.

Became aware of an awful lot of kids around as I crossed the Pyramid's cavernous inner space. Dirty, skinny kids of all sizes in ragtag clothes.

Urchins.

Hadn't noticed them when I came in, but then, I'd been in a hurry at the time. Maybe this was a good begging place.

Wouldn't think so, but how would I know? Was a habit of mine to avoid M.A. Central at all costs.

Right now I had to get to Elmero's. Potential trouble brewing and he had to know about it.

— 8-

"I think we're safe," Elmero said after a moment's consideration.

His skeletal body was embedded deep into his polyform chair. He smiled with what he no doubt thought was friendly reassurance.

"Not so sure," I told him.

"Where's the link? My contact in Central Data is an old hand at this sort of thing — as you should know. He can add genotypes or subtract them, or change a genotype status from Realpeople to clone and back again without anyone connecting him to the foul deed. And even if they did, all my dealings with him are blind, paid for with hard. Even under Truth he couldn't finger me."

"What about Jean — I mean, the clone?"

"If they Truth her, she'll just tell them what she believes: Her old boyfriend Barkham fixed the databank for her. We're safe." His brow suddenly furrowed. "She does still think Barkham did it, doesn't she?"

"Well…yeah."

His face grew stern and distant, which was better than seeing him smile again.

"You didn't play hero and tell her you paid for the switch, did you?"

Felt myself redden. "Course not! But she mentioned that she thought the card I returned to her was different than the old one, but she wasn't sure how."

"Even so, this could be bad," Elmero said after a moment's thought. "When her clone status is confirmed, they'll be in a dregging frenzy to find out how her genotype got switched over. When they bang her with Truth, you'll fall under suspicion because she'll tell them you had the card for a while. And when you get Truthed…"

His voice trailed off.

"Yeah," I said.

"Isn't this just bloaty," he said after a while. "Why'd you have to get involved with a lousy clone anyway?"

"Leave it alone, Elm," I said in a low voice and he knew I meant it. "She was leaving for the Outworlds — wasn't supposed to come back."

We sat in uneasy silence for a while, then Elmero said, "There's only one thing to do."

Knew what he was thinking, so I said it for him: "Put in a block."

He nodded, then spoke to his intercom: "Find Doc."

— 9-

"Now," said Doc, the overheads reflecting gleaming highlights on his black skin, "I want you to think about the greencard the clone received from Barkham. Picture it in your mind. Think about getting it from her, then think about giving it back. Getting from…giving back. Got it?"

Saw the card coming into my own hand, then being handed into Jean's. Some foggy memories tried to slip into the picture but I pushed them away.

"Got it."

My scalp tingled and then light exploded in front of my eyes. Felt my arms and legs jump and spasm, then it was over.

"That the last?"

Doc nodded. "I believe so."

Doc had popped a dose of Dyamine through my scalp a little while ago, then had begun working from the middle outward toward both ends of the memory chain he wanted to block. The procedure was tricky but Doc was an expert at it. Illegal as all hell, too. Which was partly why Doc's license to practice was presently on a three-year suspension.

"Try me."

"Do know Jean Harlow-c?"

"Sure."

"Did she ever show you her greencard?"

"Yes."

"Did she tell you where she got it?"

"From Kel Barkham, who she called Kyle Bodine."

"Did she ever give it to you?"

"Yes. To help find Barkham."

"Did you alter the card in any way while you had it?"

Something zipped through my brain. Tried to catch it but it was moving too fast. Gone in a blur before I could latch onto it.

"Course not."

"And you returned it to her unchanged?"

"Right."

"Think, now. Are you absolutely sure?"

Nothing churned in the background this time. The card had been in my possession for a while but that was it.

"Absolutely."

Doc smiled. "Excellent! The other memories are completely blocked."

"What other memories?"

He laughed and so did Elmero, who'd been watching the whole thing from behind his desk.

"The effect should last about a month," Doc said as he removed the stim unit from my head. "After that, the Dyamine will begin to break down and free up those memories."

Really weird. Had no idea what memories he was talking about.

"And the real beauty part of this," he went on, "is that since Dyamine is a partial analog of acetylcholine, you can't form any new memories during the procedure or for an hour or so after. So you won't even know you had this done."

"Just make sure you've got a mouth along when they Truth you," Elmero said.

"No fear."

Crazy to go through a Truth session without some legal type there to limit the scope of the questions and keep the interrogators from going off on a deep-space mining expedition through your private life.

"Turn on the datastream, will you, Elm?" Doc said as he packed up his equipment. "I want to see if there's an update on the doings down at the Pyramid."

Thought of Jean. "What's going on?"

"Something about a bunch of kids clogging all the lower levels in the place. Just caught the end of the blurb as I came through the bar before."

"Kids?" Remembered all the urchins I'd seen as I was leaving the building earlier. "Urchins?"

"I didn't hear."

The datastream filled the big holochamber in the corner of Elmero's office. Newsface Two, a baldy, recited the usual boring dregs about politics, traffic, entertainment, sports, reminders that this was a skip day for the four a.m. rain, news from the other megalops around the world, all interspersed with lots and lots of visuals.

"Must've cleared up," I said. "She never mentioned M.A. Central."

"It was graffiti," Doc said.

Just then the holo warped and suddenly we were looking at a very bizarre-looking Newsface — this guy had leaping flames where his hair should have been, and spiraling pinwheels for eyes. Central Data's policy was to keep its computer generated Newsfaces attractive but ordinary looking, and to rotate them frequently — in case the public got too attached to one of the nonexistent things. But we all developed favorites. Newsface Four was mine. This roguey guy was a sure sign that we were watching a graffiti capsule someone had slipped into the datastream.

Flamehead didn't waste any time getting to the meat:

"They're calling for help down at M.A. Central. Seems the lower levels there have been invaded by a small horde of kids. Or maybe I should say, a horde of small kids."

A quick cut to a wide angle shot of the groundlevel lobby of the Pyramid. It was filled — "jammed" — with urchins, milling about, moving up and down the arched stairs on the perimeter, playing in the up-and downchutes. The announcer continued in voiceover: "For those of you who manage to keep yourselves securely insulated from ground level, these are what are known as urchins. Maybe you've heard them mentioned at a party. You certainly didn't hear of them on the official datastream."

Noticed the angle of the sum coming in through the Pyramid's apex. This was recent vintage vid.

Moving right into the crowd of kids now. The graffitist must have had his hidden recorder strapped to his lower chest because we were winding through them at eye level — urchin eye level.

"Officially, the kids you're watching are not a problem. Their genotypes aren't registered in Central Data, therefore they don't exist. So why should you be concerned with kids who don't exist?

"Proud of yourselves?"

All those big deep eyes looking right at you and then shifting away. Sadness in them, a sense of loss, as if they were searching for something or someone who had been taken away from them. The effect was devastating.

"Nobody knows why they've come or what they want. They're just there, clogging the aisles and stairs. Mostly they're quiet, but every so often they begin to shout — "

The image warped and suddenly we were back in the official datastream.

"They sure yanked that one fast, Doc said.

Right. Usually a graffiti capsule got to run through the stream a couple of times before it was culled. Data Central tended to view the radical journalists as more of an annoyance than a threat — hecklers on the fringe of the Big Show.

Elmero said, "They're embarrassed by all those kids there," as he stared reflectively into the holochamber.

"Going down there," I told them.

"Yeah?" Elmero said. "Be sure to tell me all about it."

Could figure what was running though his mind: How can I make out on this?

Elmero's instincts were pretty astute when there was credit to be made. He sensed something big brewing. So did I. And Jean and B.B. were right in the middle of it.

— 10-

Either M.A. Central had become more crowded with urchins since the datadcast, or the graffito I'd seen hadn't done the crowd a bit of justice. Mobbed. They were everywhere. Could barely move through the crowd. All the kids were babbling to each other, to anyone who would listen. The sounds mixed and mingled into a constant susserant hum, an irritating white noise.

They'd brought the M.A. Central Pyramid — at least its lower levels — to a standstill.

Made finding B.B. just about impossible.

Felt a tug on the sleeve of my jump. Looked down to see a little redheaded urch. A boy, I thought.

"Sig?" he said, pointing up at my face.

Picked him up and looked him over. Didn't recognize him.

"You from the Lost Boys?"

He nodded proudly. "Lost Boy me."

"Know where my friend B.B. is?"

He looked around, then began screeching at the top of his lungs as he pointed at me.

"B.B.! Siggy! B.B.! Siggy!"

Was about to tell him that there were scads of urchins named B.B., and that even with his considerable volume, only a small fraction of the crowd was going to hear him, when I noticed that those around us were falling silent and staring at me. The silence grew, spreading out like a ripple in a puddle. It moved up the big arched stairways and across the balconies and arcades on the inner walls.

Soon the whole floor was quiet except for this one persistent squealy voice.

And then from fifty meters or so away came an answering cry.

"Sig! Here me! Ov'here!"

Looked and saw B.B. jumping up and down, waving his arms to get my attention. As he began moving my way, the noise picked up again, but it wasn't the formless hum from before. Now it was a word: my name.

"SIGGY! SIGGY! SIGGY! SIGGY!"

They were all looking at me, raising their hands each time they said my name. Seemed to go on forever. B.B. finally broke through and hugged me around the waist.

"Filamentous, Sig, yeah? Filamentous!"

Barely heard him over the chant. Pushed him to arm's length and got a good look at his shining eyes.

"Yeah. Filamentous, all right. But what's going on? What do you kids think you're doing here?"

"Ge'Wendy back."

Simple as that. If only they knew.

"But where'd all these kids come from?""

"Wendy Mom-to-all."

"So you've told me. But she couldn't have tucked every one of you into bed."

"Evbod hear Wendy. Come togeth."

"Everybody? They're all here?"

He shook his head. "More come. From all ov."

More coming? The place couldn't hold them. All the urchingangs in the Megalops were united, probably for the first time in history.

"Evbod hear Sig, too."

His smile showed how proud he was to know me. Damn rattlely thing to have a kid look at you like that. Could make you want to run and hide. Or move mountains.

While I was wondering where I could hide, a hand tapped me on the shoulder. Turned and found myself looking into a datastream reporter's recording plate — mounted on his forehead, leaving both his hands free.

"Excuse me," he shouted over the noise. "But am I correct in assuming you're this 'Siggy' fellow."

Didn't know what to say. B.B., however, was at no loss for words. He patted me on the arm as he piped up:

"Oya, san! Siggy him! Filamentous fren!"

"I'm Arrel Lum," said the reporter. He had black hair, dark eyes, and a round face. "I'm with Central Data."

Knew that. Looked for ways to keep his questions away from me until I could duck out. Tried sidetracking him.

"The datastream's ignoring this. Kind of a waste of time for you to be here, isn't it?"

"Not at all. Central Data records everything for the record. What's fed into the datastream for public consumption is another matter."

His frankness was engaging, but something about his diction, the rhythm of his voice. Familiar.

"You remind me of Newsface Four."

He smiled. "You've got a good ear. I've been writing his casts and doing his voice for the past five years."

"He's — you're my favorite Newsface."

"Why, thank you. But tell me: Who are you, and what's your connection with these kids?"

So much for sidetracking.

"Know one of them."

"What do they want?"

"You mean you don't know?"

He shook his head. "Nobody can figure it out."

Interesting.

"Embarrassing, isn't it?"

"Not for me," he said with a grin. "I think it's a bloaty show. Just wish I knew what it was all about."

Turned to B.B. "Tell him what it's all about, Beeb."

The urch started shoving his fist into the air and crying, "Wendy! Wendy! Wendy!"

The other urchins around us picked it up immediately. The Siggy chant had been dying out anyway — thank the Core — so now they substituted two new syllables in the same rhythm.

"WENDY! WENDY! WENDY!""

Lum's gaze roved the mob.

"They've been doing that off and on all day," he shouted above the din.

"Well," I said, "then you know why they're here."

"No, I don't. I — " He looked past my shoulder. "Don't look now, but I think you've just become important."

Turned and saw a squad of yellowjackets — six of them — coming my way. My bladder got a sudden urge to empty itself but I stood my ground and held my water. No place to run.

Lum stood back and trained his recording plate on the scene as the yellowjackets bullied their way through the kids. The leader led them around me, brushing B.B. aside like a bug. Found myself enclosed in a yellow ellipse.

"Come with us," he said.

"What if I don't want to go?"

He had beady little eyes, close set and mean.

"The boss says he wants to speak with you. You'll come."

"Bloaty," I said.

Lum peered between two of the security men and called to me over the chant.

"But what do these kids want?"

"They want their mother," I told him.

Encased in yellow, I was marched off toward the upchutes, leaving him standing there looking like someone had punched him in the throat.

— 11-

"Are you behind this, Mr. Dreyer?"

Regional Administrator Brode was giving me a hard look as he stood over my chair. Natural silver hair, crinkle cut, square jaw, piercing silver eyes, perfectly matched to his hair. Looked almost as good in person as he did in the holochamber. His stare was supposed to carry all the weighty authority of his office, I guessed.

He needn't have bothered. After all, the C.A. had put him in charge of this Megalops, so he didn't have to do anything special to get me nervous. Passed nervous on the way up here when I learned the R.A. wanted to see me himself. In person. Never knew anyone who'd met him in person.

Yeah, way past nervous. Slipping over into twitchy now.

"Behind what, sir?"

"These urchins all over the place."

Couldn't resist: "Been told there are no such things as urchins, sir."

"Don't you dare get — "

"Don't know a thing about them, Mr. Administrator."

"But they know you. Why? How?"

"A long story."

He let my words hang as he walked in a slow circle around his desk. His office decor was surprisingly lean and spare. Everything cool and functional. The only sign of extravagance was his big ungainly pet dodo bobbing and pecking around the furniture and weaving between his hovering aides.

"Who's this Wendy they keep chanting for? Central Data says there's no one with that name anywhere in the Pyramid."

"That's because Wendy's not her real name. She's a prisoner here."

"Oh, really? And just what is her real name?"

The sudden light in his eyes told me something: The urchin mob had our dear Regional Administrator worried. Why?

"What's in it for me?"

His eyes went hard and cold. Knew right then I'd made a large mistake as he barked to one of his attendants.

"Get some Truth!"

"Not asking much!" I blurted.

He glared at me, as if daring me. "Go on."

"Just want to be left out of this, that's all. Don't have anything to do with this, don't want" anything to do with it. Just know a couple of urchins and ran into this Wendy a few years ago. That's it."

Brode smirked. "Central Data says you know a lot of wrong people, some of them suspected black marketeers."

"Wouldn't know anything about that, Mr. Administrator," I said. "Private investigations are what I do."

"So I understand. Very well. I won't hound you or Truth you. I sincerely doubt you would be worth the trouble."

"Thank you. Her name's Jean Harlow-c. She's a former Dydeetown girl, here as part of a property dispute."

He was suddenly furious.

"Well, isn't that just bloaty! M.A. Central is clogged with urchins in search of a renegade clone! This gets more ludicrous every second!" He turned to one of his aides. "Get him out of here! Then fill me in on this clone!"

No one had to hurry me out the door. Headed straight for the first downchute and jumped. Was coasting fast and alone in the center lane when someone pulled up alongside.

"I need to talk to you."

Lum, the Central Data man. Didn't recognize him immediately without his recording rig and wasn't in the mood for talking to anybody.

"What about?"

"What you said before…about the kids looking for their mother. What did you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Off the record?"

"Nothing's 'off the record' in this place."

He smiled thinly. "Don't believe everything you hear. Follow me."

Thought about this. Why should I trust a Central Data man, even if he was Newsface Four? Why tell him anything at all?

"Please," he said. "It's important to me."

"I'm thinking."

Had a suspicion about reporter Lum. Wanted to know if I was right.

"Lead the way," I told him.

***

Lum was furious.

"You told Brode about her? You dregger!"

We were on level 48 in what Lum called a "blind alley" — a lounge used by the Central Data reporters and technicians between shifts. They had it fixed so the recording plates in the walls could be jammed when they so desired. Told him an edited but fairly complete history of Jean and her involvement with the urchins and how she wound up a prisoner here, candidate for a memwipe. Then related my friendly little meeting with the Regional Administrator.

"You've got it wrong, Lum — "

"Now she's in more trouble than ever!"

"Don't be a jog! What's more trouble than a memwipe?"

He cooled quickly. "I guess you're right."

"Course I'm right. That's why I told him I knew who Wendy was — figured it might buy her some time."

"It might," he said, brightening. "It might pay Brode to give her back to the urchins!"

"What do you care?" I said. "You've never even met her."

"But I want to. More than anything. She's special. I mean, we regularly get data on people and groups wanting to 'do something' about the urchins. They make some noise, they're ignored, and after a while they go away. But this…this…"

"Clone."

"Right. This clone gave up the freedom she had on the Outworlds to come back here and be with those kids. Actually be with them, go down in the tunnels and live with them. I've never heard of anybody doing that."

"So?"

"So it makes the rest of us Realpeople look like dreggers.""

"Speak for yourself, Lum. Urchins are out of sight, forgotten. How many times in a year do you think the average Realpeople even thinks about urchins? Once? Maybe half a time?"

"I think about them every single day," Lum said in a thick, low voice.

Patted myself on the back.

"You've got a kid with the urchins, don't you."

As he nodded, a tear collected in one of his eyes. He rubbed it away before it could slide down his cheek.

"And the idea of going down in the tunnels to be with them never even crossed my mind. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

Didn't say anything, just let him rattle on.

"That could have been my little guy with you today, my son holding your hand and looking up at you like that, like you were his hero! I'm going to find this Wendy and talk to her. Where's she being kept?"

"Don't know."

"That's all right. I'll find her. Brode's probably with her now. I can view the recording of the interview later, maybe get an idea what he plans to do with her, or with the kids."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something."

"Let me know what you find out. My number's under 'Investigations.' "

Lum nodded absently. Didn't now if he was really listening.

"Got to find her," he said again.

"Don't get carried away. She's only a clone."

"Really?" His eyes scanned my face. "Then why'd you try to help her?"

Didn't like the scrutiny, or the question.

"She was a client a couple of years ago. You know how it is: Once a client, always a client."

Lum nodded but didn't look convinced.

"Just let me know," I told him.

"I'll try."

We left the blind lounge and returned to the downchute. At the lower level we were met by yellowjackets. A bulky officer boomed at us:

"M.A. Central is closing. Unless you work here, you must exit."

Lum said, "The Pyramid never closes!"

"Tonight it does," said the officer. "Move!"

Lum showed him his Central Data i-d, but since I had nothing like that, I had to go. Fine with me. Suddenly came a lot of yelling from the main floor. We ran to see.

The yellowjackets were clearing the urchins from the lower levels, and they weren't being gentle about it.

Lum's face was grim. "I'm going back up to get my recorder. I want some close-ups of this!"

"What for?" None of this would ever get on the official datastream. "You a graffiti journalist on the side?"

"Not yet," he said, and ran off.

— 12-

Spent much of the night in the front room of Elmero's, whiffing with the crowd. Almost all the regulars were there. "

Minn had to hustle to keep up with demand, and she didn't like that. Wasn't used to being busy.

Doc was around but he was acting weird. Kept asking questions about Jean's old greencard, like did I ever have it and what did I do with it. Told him all I knew: Had it for a while, then gave it back to her, and nothing more. The answer seemed to delight him. Must have asked me two or three times.

Everybody was talking about the urchins down at the Pyramid and, Elmero's clientele being the sort it was, laughing about how the kids had glitched a few sectors of officialdom today. Caused a bit of a stir myself when I told how the yellowjackets had booted the kids out as I was leaving. Everyone was shocked that M.A. Central had shut down its public areas, even for a few minutes.

And everyone was keeping half an eye on the datastream playing in the life-sized chamber in the corner. No hologames, no drama or comedy tonight — just the Newsfaces and everyone waiting for a graffiti capsule on the urchins.

"Hey, there's Four!" I said as the familiar newsface rotated into view. Hoped maybe he'd slip in something about the urchins.

"Listen to this guy."

Newsface Four's square-jawed, blond-haired, straight-nosed visage, which couldn't have looked less like Arrel Lum, stared out of the chamber at us in silence for a moment, then began to speak in his resonant baritone.

"The Eastern megalops' human garbage backwashed into the lower levels of Megalops Authority Central this morning. Here's how it looked."

Newsface Four dissolved into a panoramic view of today's mob scene at M.A. Central.

"The children you see here," he said in voiceover, "are what we call urchins. In case you've had any doubts about their existence, let this vid dispel them. This is the real thing. Those are real children, and they were all over M.A. Central today.

"Look closely. Some of them might be your nieces and nephews. One of them could be your grandchild. You can't be sure can you? Of course, there are some of you watching who may be looking at your own child. My heart breaks for you."

"Core!" Minn shouted from behind the bar. "He's showing urchins on the datastream! Really showing them!"

"It's got to be graffiti!" said someone else.

"It's not! It's Newsface Four!" another voice cried.

Recognized Doc's voice from the other side of the room. "If it's not graffiti, that means this is going out system-wide! The whole dregging world is seeing it!"

The whole dregging world…what a thought!

"Somebody's ass is going to be shot to the South Pole for this!" Minn said with her usual delicacy.

Thought of Arrel Lum — he was saying good-bye to his career and putting his whole life on the line with this move.

"But what do these children want?" said Lum in his Newsface Four voice. "Why did they come to M.A. Central?"

The chamber filled with one earnest little face after another, each chanting a single word. The sound filled the barroom:

"…WEN-DEE! WEN-DEE! WEN-DEE…"

"And who is this Wendy?" he said as the faces continued to roll through the chamber. "This reporter has learned that she is a young woman who has been living with the various urchingangs in the central area of the Eastern Megalops, reading to them and teaching them to read, cooking for them and teaching them to cook, tucking them in at night. Mothering them, you might say."

He paused and more faces crowded into the chamber.

"They want their mother!"

Jean's face suddenly filled the chamber. Her eyes had a hollow, hunted look. She looked frightened. Newsface Four's words hit the room like cannon shots.

"And here she is. Real name: Jean Harlow-c. A Dydeetown clone. Yes, a clone!" A sterile underperson. Down in the tunnels. Taking care of our kids! The ones we cast off, whose existence we were forced by inhumane laws to leave to chance.

"And what is her fate?"

The holo cut to a high angle longshot of Jean sitting before Chief Administrator Brode. She looked small and frail while he looked huge and imposing.

"This was recorded earlier today."

Brode: And just what was your plan for these urchins?

Jean: No plan, really. They needed me and I needed them. That was all.

Brode: Organizing them for your own purposes? Disruption of official business — wasn't that part of your plan?

Jean: I told you, I had no -

Brode: I don't believe you! Truth her!

There were some quick cuts showing her being dosed and then we were back to the two-shot.

Brode: Now. What were your plans for the urchingangs?

Jean: Well, I…I know it sounds stupid, but I wanted to find a way to get some of them to the Outworlds.

Brode's derisive laugh sounded uncomfortably like mine when she had told me that.

Brode: The Outworlds! You little idiot! What were you thinking of?

Jean: I was thinking of sunshine and fresh air and futures for them. The Outworlds need able bodies. They'd be treated as Realpeople there. No more living in sewers and tunnels.

The barroom was dead silent as Brode paused and looked around at his aides who were out of the frame. Finally, he spoke.

Brode: You know you're scheduled for memwipe first thing tomorrow, don't you?

Heard a sharp intakes of breath nearby. Doc had moved up beside me. His jaw was set.

In the chamber, Jean only nodded sadly.

Jean: I know. And after that, I won't remember any of the kids. I'll be working Dydeetown again for Ned Spinner. I won't be any good to them anymore. But Mr. Brode, sir — She looked up at him here and her big blue eyes shone in the harsh light of the interrogation room. — Do you think you could do something for them? You're powerful. Can't you help them get a fresh start someplace? I won't be able to.

Heard a loud sniff from behind the bar. There was Minn, wiping her eyes. Never thought there was a single tear in her whole body. She shot me an angry Don't-look-at-me look, so I turned away. Looked around. Saw Doc and a few of the regulars puddling up. Not all, of course, or even most. This was a tough room to play. But you had to believe Jean — she was on Truth.

For a heartbeat or two, even Brode looked moved. Then his features hardened.

Brode: That's impossible. We -

The vid skewed, twisted, turned to confetti, then Newsface Seven appeared. Her oval, eyebrowless face smiled reassuringly.

"We are experiencing technical difficulties — "

Her face dissolved into confetti and the chamber filled with scenes of the urchins' eviction by the M.A.'s none-too-gentle yellowjackets. Four's voiceover sounded strained: "(garbled) — let me finish! This was how they treated the kids today! Tomorrow might be worse! Do something about Wendy! Call your — "

More confetti, then Newsface Seven again, her expression bland.

"There now. All difficulties have been cleared. This is Datastream Host Seven. On with the news…"

We waited to see if Four would get back onstream, but apparently he had been shut down for the night. For good.

Pretty clear that as a Newsface, Four was dead. They'd have to generate a new face to replace him. That was easy. Four was just a program.

But what about Lum? Arrel Lum was real. What were they going to do to him?

"Since when did Four turn into an ooze?" said someone near the center of the room. Looked and saw it was Greg Hallo. Nice guy, but he tended to overdo the vape-ka.

"Yeah," said somebody else. "What's he starting trouble for?"

"Maybe he thinks we'll vote for clones' rights on the next referendum," someone yelled.

There was laughter, but not much.

"I find nothing funny in the prospect of a beautiful woman being memwiped," Doc said.

"Not a woman, Doc," said Hallo. "A clone."

Doc was getting hot. "One who's done more for urchins than any Realpeople I know!"

"Urches are urches, clones are clones," Hallo said. "That's the way it was, that's the way it is, that's the way it's gonna be. We don't need the boat rocked."

Hallo spoke for a lot of people, in and out of Elmero's.

"We know you're an old oozer, Doc," somebody yelled, "but we love you anyway!"

The room broke up into arguing factions. Wasn't interested in what they had to say, so I left."

Tubed home. B.B. wasn't there, only Ignatz. Was tired, lonely, and down. Could've used a button real bad now. But even that avenue of release was closed to me. Felt like a dissociator grenade about to explode and I didn't know why.

Flopped on the bed and listened to the fuze ticking in my head.

Sleep was a long time coming.

— 13-

Was already awake when the doorbuzzer sounded. Watching a bit of graffiti on the datastream. A simple piece: Jean's face and a voiceover: "A modern Joan of Arc? Don't let it happen!"

Turned and through the door I saw two impatient looking yellowjackets. My stomach did a freefall drop.

"Administrator Brode wants to see you immediately," the bigger one said as soon as the door slid open.

"And a good morning to you, too," I said. Was still in the jump I'd worn all yesterday. "Mind if I change?"

She grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the hall.

" 'Immediately' means just that."

Didn't fight them. No percentage in that. We chuted straight to the roof and flitted for the Pyramid at top speed in the official lane. Brode really did want me there fast.

The Pyramid gleamed golden in the morning sun. As we banked toward one of the landing decks, I saw the crowd.

The entire plaza and all visible spaces around the structure were filled with people. Filled. There didn't seem to be room to breath down there. The crowd trailed off into the dark tunnel-like feeder streets. Looked like a million sugar ants around a giant honeycomb.

"Core!" said one of the yellowjackets. "There's even more than before!"

Saw the look of concern pass between them. They were worried. They'd been trained in crowd control but I was sure neither of them had ever seen anything like this. Doubt if anyone on Earth had.

"They can't all be urchins," I said.The shorter yellowjacket, the male, turned to me. "It started off all urchins — they're the ones crowded around the entrance. We've kept them out of the complex. But the largest part of the crowd is all adult Realpeople."

Couldn't believe my eyes and ears. "Realpeople? Why?"

"A show of support, I guess. We anticipated a few oozer groups showing up, and maybe some independents. But nobody figured on anything like this!"

"Maybe you should have," I said, but didn't explain.

Had figured in a flash why there were so many Realpeople down there. It was geometric. Every urchin had a couple of parents and a legal sibling or two. And two or four or more aunts and uncles and grandfolks to boot. You get all those guilty-feeling people, and maybe a few of their friends and neighbors along for the fun of it, coming down to the M.A. Central Pyramid to make sure the little kids didn't get bullied like they did on the vid last night, and you've got yourself a crowd of astronomical proportions."

After we landed on the topmost flitter platform, the doors popped open, and that was when the noise hit. Even way up here you could hear it. Eerie. A deep, almost subliminal sound, coming to you not just through your ears, but through your skin and the soles of your feet as well. If an angry, stormy ocean could talk, it would sound like that crowd.

"WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE!"

They hustled me inside, down a chute, through some halls until I was deposited in a bare room where Administrator Brode waited. His mouth was set in a grim line. He looked tired. We were alone except for one beefy aide by the door. In a far corner, the datastream was playing.

"Over here," he said, motioning me to his side.

He deopaqued the wall and there we were, looking down on the roiling mob in the plaza below.

"Surprised you haven't slimed them," I said.

"Don't think it hasn't occurred to me. But there are too many Realpeople, some of them no doubt influential. We can't risk any of them getting smothered."

Could see what he meant. Slime could produce hilarious results. Seen vids of some of the old food riots when it was sprayed on the mobs. The silicone emulsion allows for zero traction. Once it gets on you or on the street, you are down. You can't stand, can't hold onto your neighbor, can't even kneel. Really funny. But in a crowd like the one in Pyramid Plaza, some folks were bound to get smothered.

"I want you to send them home," he said to me.

Couldn't help laughing. "Of course! Just say when!"

"Now. Immediately."

He wasn't joking.

"Not too much disrespect intended, sir, but have you busted up a few synapses since yesterday?"

He was about to answer but stopped and stared past me at the datastream. Looked myself and saw a close-up Jean's face as she spoke to Brode — a graffiti rerun of a piece of Newsface Four's unauthorized transmission. Her voice came on loud: "…Do you think you could do something for them? You're powerful. Can't you help them get a fresh start someplace? I won't be able to."

And then the voiceover: "Madonna of the Tunnels, pray for us!"

It replayed immediately — a graffiti loop.

Brode turned to his aide and screamed, "Get her off there! Now!"

The aide said something into his throat mike. The loop disappeared in the middle of its third play.

Brode again trained his gaze on the crowd below. "As I was saying, I know you can do it. I saw yesterday's vid from the lower level. For a while there they were chanting your name instead of hers. You can get them chanting your name again. And then tell them their dear clone will be released from the complex as soon as they are completely dispersed."

Bit my lip to dispell the sudden light feeling that swept over me. Wasn't buying it yet.

"That true?""

He finally pulled himself away from the window and looked at me. His eyes were flat and cold.

"Of course it is."

"She'll be free to go?"

"In a way."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She'll be free to go with her owner."

Jean back with Spinner — the sudden rage that ripped through me was barely controllable. If he hadn't been Regional Administrator…

"You think that's going to end this? It won't!"

"Oh, but it will. They'll come to her but she won't know them, won't know who or what they're talking about. There will be a few more rumbles, and then it will be over. Things will be back the way they used to be."

"She gets memwiped and you'll never hear the end of it!"

"That was a judicial decision. It's out of my hands."

"What about executive clemency or reprieve or some such dregging garbage!"

He turned back to the window. "It's a little too late for any of that now."

Just stood there staring at him, feeling a wind as cold and dark as deep space howl through the hollows of my heart. The air seemed thick. Couldn't draw it through my constricted throat. Gravity doubled, tripled. Stumbled to the nearest chair and sat there trying to breath.

Because when I caught my breath, I was going to put Brode through that window.

The single aide in the room with us must have been trained in reading postures. Big guy. He walked over and stood half way between Brode and me.

"Want to see her."

"Impossible. You know as well as I do that memwipe subjects are comatose for hours after the procedure, and disoriented for weeks."

There was silence for what seemed like a long time. My own mind felt like it had been wiped.

Finally Brode said,"Well? Will you speak to them?"

"You must be out of your dregging mind! I'll tell them to dismantle this place panel by panel, block by block!"

He turned to me. A smug look on his face.

"Will you? I don't think so. You seem to have a good thing going for you, Mr. Dreyer. Not much of a life to most people, but you seem to be enjoying it. You've got your hidden stash of gold, you've got your roguey friends such as the owner of that seedy tavern, your sometime roommate urchin, and that physician with the suspended license." The smiled thinly. "Just the kind of acquaintances I'd expect of a former buttonhead."

Didn't blink. Didn't even flinch. Too mad now to let any kind of insult get to me. But it was clear he'd had a deep probe done on my life.

"I can change your pitiful life, Mr. Dreyer. I can reopen the investigation into the deaths of those two NeuroNex employees who were sliced into pieces in your compartment. Your urchin friend was involved in that, wasn't he? I can shut down that tavern and send its owner to the South Pole for so many offenses he'll never see the sun at zenith again. I can see to it that your doctor friend's license is permanently revoked. I can make you wish you'd never been born, Mr. Dreyer."

"Don't count on it. Already been there and back."

"I can make your friends wish the same thing."

We stayed silent for a while, glaring at each other. We both knew I was going to lose. He was threatening Elmero and Doc and B.B. Couldn't take them down with me.

But something wasn't right here. Didn't know what it was, but sensed other players in this game. Had an idea.

"Let me talk to Lum."

"Lum?" he said, fury etching lines in his face. "Lum? He's in detention, awaiting sentencing — and it will be an interminable sentence if I have anything to say about it! He can't help you."

"Want to talk to him anyway. Not a major request."

Brode sighed. "Very well."

He nodded to his aide who spoke into his throat mike.

And then I waited, with the aide watching me as I watched Brode watch the mob outside.

— 14-

Noticed a thick, odd-looking silvery cuff on Arrel Lum's right wrist when he was led in. They let us to go off to a corner to talk, but first they activated his cuff.

"What's that?" I said.

Lum grinned sourly. "If you paid closer attention to my datacasts, you'd know. It's a gravcuff. I'm now locked to an axis through the earth's center of gravity. Plenty of vertical movement" — he moved his wrist up and down as far as he could reach-"but nothing laterally."

"Real bloaty," I said, then explained what Brode wanted. Knew every word of what we said was being recorded but didn't care. Lum listened for a while, then turned toward Brode.

"You know, Mr. Administrator, this could be your big chance to show you're more than just a politician. With a little creative thought on your part, you could actually come out on top here. You could prove yourself a real statesman. We haven't seen one of those in ages. We can clone out dinosaurs and dodos and Jean Harlows but-"

"They memwiped Jean," I said.

Lum reeled as if I'd punched him. Only the gravcuff kept him from stumbling back. He covered his eyes with his free hand. Thought for a moment he was going to break down, but he didn't.

"I really wanted to meet her," he said softly, pulling himself together and glaring at Brode.

"She's not dead," I told him.

He stared at me. "Yes, she is."

Knew he was right but tried not to think about it.

"What's Brode trying to get from me?" I asked.

Lum's smile was tight and a predatory. "Political salvation. Thanks to my datacast last night, the Harlow clone and the urchins have received worldwide attention. He's been getting heavy pressure from the Central Authority to defuse this bomb as quietly as possible. That's the main reason he hasn't slimed them. His political future is on the line."

"Good. But how'd you learn all this?"

"I'm allowed visitors. And all my friends are datapeople. So what's happening is he's passing the pressure. You're it. He's counting on getting you to cooperate."

And I had friends counting on me to cover for them.

"He's succeeding."

"Well, Mr. Dreyer," said Brode from across the room. "I'm waiting. Time is critical."

"All right," I called back. "Let's do it."

Lum's eyes were wide. "Do what?"

"Don't know yet."

The big aide was motioning me toward the door. As I headed his way I heard Lum say to no one in particular: "What about me?"

"You and I are going to have a talk, Mr. Lum," Brode said.

"I'd rather be in my cell."

"Nevertheless, we are going to discuss your ideas on statesmanship."

Then the door slipped shut behind me and closed them off.

— 15-

They coached me on what to say, made me repeat it over and over until I had it down perfectly. Then they fitted me with a transparent, thumbnail-size chin mike, a finger-control toggle for on/oft, and placed me on a float platform. Another of Brode's seemingly endless supply of aides piloted the thing. From far below, the chant continued: "… WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE!. "

As the platform hove into view and started its descent, the chant broke up and died. When we reached the ten meter level, I could make out a clear division in the crowd — ragtag urchins in the front, better dressed Realpeople toward the rear. The two groups weren't mixing much. Behind me, the entrances to the Pyramid were blocked with armed yellowjackets.

Waved to the kids and toggled my chin mike on.

HELLOOOO, URCHINS! boomed into the air from speakers somewhere in the Pyramid's wall.

Some of them must have been Lost Boys because a murmur ran through their ranks. It grew into a new chant, shorter, choppier than the other: "Sig-gy! Sig-gy! Sig-gy!.."

Nowhere near as loud as the Wendy chant because the Realpeople weren't joining in. Probably asking themselves who or what 'round Sol was this Siggy? After all, he hadn't been on the datastream last night.

But the kids knew the name. All those little faces and big hopeful eyes looking up at me. Gave me a chill.

"HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU ABOUT WENDY."

The volume of the ensuing mad cheer rattled the platform and then the Wendy chant started again.

Hated myself for what I was about to do. To put it off a little longer, I let the chant build. Turned off the mike and said to the aide: "By the way, how can you close M.A. Central? Thought it was supposed to be open to all citizens all hours of the day."

The aide's smile was smug. "True, but we found a forgotten ordinance that prohibits children unless accompanied by an adult."

"Well, well," I said. "Isn't that bloaty."

The urchin part of the crowd began shifting, squirming, and flowing, and suddenly there was B.B. on somebody's shoulders, waving and beaming with pride. Could see it in his eyes: Siggy's here. Siggy won't let us down. Siggy can do anything.

That was the moment I made my decision.

"Take me down to get that kid," I said.

"That's not in the script."

"Let me improvise a little. What I've got to say will be a lot more effective if I've got one of the Lost Boys sitting on my shoulders."

The aide talked to the Pyramid. They must have had a conference in Brode's office because the answer took a while coming. But apparently he got the okay because we began to descend.

Motioned to the kids below to clear a spot around B.B. They backed away from him when we got down to a height of about two meters.

That was when I jumped ship. Over the rail and onto the ground.

"Hey!" the aide yelled. "You can't do that!"

Ignored him. Scooped up B.B. and hustled him toward the nearest entrance to the Pyramid. The cheering urchins made way for us.

The aide followed us above and behind on the platform. He shouted to the yellowjackets at the door I was approaching.

"Stop him!"

This was it. This was where I put the blaster to my head and pulled the trigger. Was endangering Doc and Elmero and even B.B., but that couldn't be helped. Nobody could memwipe a client of mine and rub my nose in it and figure they could bully me into saying, Thank you, sir, and yes, I'll help cool some of the heat you're getting.

Dreg that.

Don't mind getting pushed around some. Expect a certain amount of it. That's life. Not a rad, not an oozer, not a mal. But there were limits. Brode had found mine.

And I was going to bring him down if I could.

The yellowjackets closed ranks ahead of me. Flicked on my chin mike, wheeled it to max, and shouted at the top of my voice: "I AM A CITIZEN OF THE MEGALOPS AND DEMAND ENTRANCE TO THE PYRAMID! THAT IS THE LAW!"

The sound was deafening. Like hearing thunder up close from inside a cloud. Like the voice of God. All the urchins around me cringed and bowed and slapped their hands over their ears. Was almost knocked to my knees by my own voice.

The yellowjackets were clearly shaken. Could barely hear the nearest as he spoke: "No urchins."

"HE IS ACCOMPANIED BY AN ADULT! STAND ASIDE NOW!"

As they winced at the noise, I slid between them before either of them could grab me. When I reached the inner floor, I raised my voice and said, "ALL RIGHT, EVERYBODY! FOLLOW-"

My mike was suddenly cut off. But as I turned, I saw it didn't matter. Realpeople were pushing through the crowd carrying urchins in their arms, on their shoulders. The yellowjackets made halfhearted attempts to stop them, but the Realpeople were adamant. They were incensed. And the law was on their side. Even saw one of the yellowjackets pick up a kid himself and march inside.

Like water through the floodgates of a dam, they poured in on all four sides of the ground level, washing along the floor, choking ground level and rising to fill the perimeter arcades on the second. It wasn't long before the chant began again, echoing through the air, rattling the cavernous interior of the Pyramid: "WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE! WEN-DEEEEEE!.."

Held B.B. on my shoulders and let him chant away, but didn't join in myself. What was the use? The Wendy he knew was dead. Brode wasn't going to bring her down and show her hollow remains to the crowd. But if things went the way I hoped, maybe this crowd would bring him down — not down here, but down. And out of office.

He ruined a client of mine. Now I was going to ruin him. Or go down trying.

The chant went on forever with no signs of diminishing. More people were squeezing in from outside — there were still lots more out there than in here — and pushing up to higher and higher levels on the inner walls. Given enough time, we'd soon occupy every square centimeter of the Pyramid. Erode was going to have to do something, and quick. And he did.

A floater platform like the one I'd been on outside — maybe the same one — glided out from one of the upper levels and began descending along the wall to my right. Looked like it was riding the huge shaft of midday sun pouring through the apex. Squinted into the glare and made out four figures on it.

The chant died as we all watched and waited to see who was coming.

"Hoodat, Sig? Wendy come?"

Poor kid. Didn't want him to get his hopes up.

"Don't think so, Beeb. Let's just hope they're not carrying slime guns."

We watched it sink lower. Suddenly B.B. screamed.

"Her, Sig! Wendy! Her! Her!"

He was right. Couldn't believe my eyes, but there she was, Jean Harlow-c herself, standing at the front rail of the platform, looking dazed as she stared at the crowd. Couldn't believe Brode had the nerve to do this. What was he planning? Did he really think he could get away with it?

The urchins went wild but the Realpeople around me held back. Knew why, too. They had all seen the datastream last night. They knew she had been scheduled to be wiped first thing this morning. They feared they were looking at a shell.

They were right.

Then I looked at her companions on the platform and almost dropped B.B. off my shoulders. It was Brode himself, one of his aides at the controls, and Lum.

What was going on here?

A million thoughts screamed through my mind. Was this a scam? Had they made a Wendy holosuit? Was there an actress in there? But no, it didn't look like a holo — the outline was too crisp. And what was Lum doing up there with Brode? Had they bought him off somehow? Or twisted his arm to the breaking point like they tried with me?

The platform stopped at thirty meters. Jean still looked dazed. They must have taught her a speech. One that would send everybody home. This was going to be bad.

She leaned forward and her soft voice, amplified hundreds of times, filled the Pyramid. "Hel — hello. They say I'm free to go. Are my Lost Boys here?"

And then she smiled, and behind her Lum smiled, and I knew it was her. Couldn't explain how this could be, but it was really her. Suddenly found myself weeping like a dregging baby. Me, Sigmundo Dreyer, who never cries.

And around me: Bedlam, pandemonium, delirium, ecstatic chaos. Never seen anything like it before or since. Normally staid, reserved people were laughing, crying, screaming with delight, leaping and waving their arms like maniacs. They cheered, they jumped up and down, they hugged and kissed each other and danced in circles. Could swear I heard church bells ringing.

For a while, at that time, in that place, we were all Wendy's Lost Boys.

— 16-

Took a long time, but things finally quieted. Guess the human voicebox can take only so much abuse and then it starts to shut down.

During the commotion I'd noticed Brode and Lum with their heads together more than once. Now Brode stepped up beside Jean and raised his hands. His deep rich voice boomed through the hollow insides of the Pyramid.

"My fellow citizens. Due to confusion as to the exact status of her citizenship, and to avoid giving offense to the sovereign world of Neeka, I have used the emergency powers granted to me by the Central Authority in the Megalops Charter to extend Realpeople status to Jean Harlow-c, the woman you know as 'Wendy.' "

Cheers and roars of approval rose on all sides of me as I wondered what Brode was up to.

"That status is only temporary, however. Within a month's time she will have to return to the Outworlds."

As a murmur of disapproval ran through the crowd, Brode hurried to explain.

"But I don't want to see her return there alone. Like you, I want to see Wendy's dream come true."

Never would have believed such a huge crowd could grow so silent. Not even a foot-shuffle could be heard. We were all holding our breath, wondering if he was going to say what we never dreamed we'd hear.

"We can't use public credit, of course, so I am empowering the First Bosyorkington Bank to open a trust fund: the Lost Boys' Trust. The funds will be used to provide transportation to the Outworlds for the unfortunate children we call urchins."

A noise, more like a seismic rumble than a cheer, began to rise from the crowd. Brode raised his voice to be heard.

"To open the trust, I am personally donating the first ten thousand credits. If we work together, we can make Wendy's dream a reality!"

That was it. Forget any more speechmaking. He tried to say something else but the Pyramid's speakers were overwhelmed by the celebratory roar of approval, amorphous at first, but soon taking form.

"BRODE! BRODE! BRODE! BRODE!.."

Watched Lum's grinning face and realized that Brode's bold move was not of his own devising. Lum had found a way to impart vision to an ambitious, high-ranking politico, turning him into a statesman, a man who could grab the reins of history and alter its course.

Didn't join in the chant myself. Let B.B. sit on my shoulders and shout for both of us. Just stood there and watched Jean's stunned, tearstreaked face as she beamed down at all her Lost Boys.

Clone-lady, I thought, do you have any idea what you've done?