And further down, way down here in the shadows, the urchins grew.
Thought about what it must be like to have to give up your kid. Didn't think I could ever do that. I'd lost Lynnie, but that was different. She was taken from me by her mother — one day I looked around and she was gone. But at least I knew she was alive and well. Better than having her in an urchingang. And a hell of a lot better than having Population Control terminate her for being excess.
No reprieve for a kid who went beyond replacement value. The state extended the old Abortion Rights laws to itself and dictated mandatory termination in utero. If the kid was somehow carried all the way to term, the child was terminated post-term. You couldn't even trade your own life for the kid's. No exceptions. The C.A. was ultrastrict on that. Only way they could make the Replacement Quota stick was to enforce it across the board. If news of one exception — just one — got out, there'd be chaos. The population would be up in arms and the whole Alliance would come crashing down.
Maybe it had all been necessary a couple of generations ago, what with the planet on the brink of starvation and all. But times were better now. Population had dropped to a more manageable level, and with photosynthetic cattle in Antarctica and the deserts, and grain shipments coming in from the outworlds, food was getting steadily more plentiful. Wondered if we had to keep up the quota system. Maybe the C.A. was afraid that loosening up even a little bit would lead to a people explosion, the biggest baby boom in human history.
Even though it had started long before I was born, the whole thing had always seemed pretty drastic to me. Most people figured the end justified the means — if the C.A. hadn't taken Draconian measures, we all would have starved. Mandatory sterilization after you'd replaced yourself wasn't so bad, but termination of babes born in excess of replacement never sat well. One good thing seemed to come out of the Replacement Act: parents really appreciated their kids.
Had appreciated mine like crazy while she was here. And it had hurt like hell when her mother took her away.
"Gim sum, san?"
Looked down and around and there was this three-year old beaming up at me and holding out her hand. She was dressed in a little pink jump, face scrubbed, cheeks glowing, smile beatific, her hair a blonde cloud around her head. That little face made you want to empty your pockets and take off your rings and shoes and give it all to her.
Looked around for her guardians and found two groups of them — a couple of twelve year olds at the corner, and a slightly younger pair fifty meters away in a doorway. If I tried anything cute with her, they'd be on me like a pack of wild dogs.
Pulled off a cheap ring I'd bought just for the occasion.
"Take this," I said, handing it to her. "And tell your friends they can have all the food in this bag if I can have a talk with them."
Her smile widened as she grabbed the ring and ran down the block. Watched her talk to the two on the corner, saw them signal to the two in the doorway. Suddenly another pair appeared from the other direction. Six guards for one little beggar — either she was as valuable as all hell or they were very nervous about losing her. In no time I was surrounded by the whole crew.
Something was up.
"Wan jaw, san?" the leader said in urchin pidgin.
He looked barely thirteen, but he and his friends were all lean and angular, armed and wary, ready to fight.
"Want to ask you some questions."
"Bow wha?"
"About a babe someone left right here three years ago."
"Lookee bag firs, san. Den jaw."
"Sure."
Opened the bag and let them all take a long look at the goodies. A couple of them licked their lips. Hungry kids. Gave me a pang in my gut. Pulled out a bag of cheesoids and unsealed it.
"Here. Pass this around."
"Filamentous!" they chorused.
Their dirty hands dug in, then stuffed the soft creamy balls into their mouths. Noticed that the bigger ones made sure the little blonde got her turn. I liked that.
The leader swallowed his mouthful and said, "Who dis babe? Lookee how? Got pickee-pickee?"
"No. No picture. Guess she'd be her size" — Pointed to the little beggar blonde — "but with black hair."
He shook his head. "No Lost Boy dat."
"'Lost Boys,' eh? Well, do you remember any babe like that three years ago?"
"Nine den. D'know. Probee trade, stan, san?"
Nodded. Traded. Damn! Hadn't thought of that. Obvious though. The older kids took care of the babes until they were old enough to beg. If one urchingang was low on babes or beggars, it would trade for them with another. As the beggars grew older, they became nurturers, then graduated to guards, then to gangleaders, then out into the underworld. An endless cycle.
"Take me to your leader," I said.
It was lost on him.
"Takee halfway. Wendy meetee."
Wendy? Had someone been reading stories to the Lost Boys?
"Fair enough, I guess."
They led me north for a bunch of blocks, then down a stairway into the ancient subway system. Unimaginable that people used to prefer traveling underground to traveling in the air, but these tunnels were real, so I guessed those old stories were, too. The kids all pulled out pocket lights as we made our way along a white-tiled corridor. The leader stopped and faced me after we had descended a second stairway.
"Waitee here, san. Wendy be back. Waitee here."
"Bloaty. How long?"
"N'long, san. Waitee. We takee bag. Giftee. Kay, san?"
Handed over the bag of food.
"Okay. But don't make me wait too long."
"N'long, san. N'long."
They left me one of their lights. As they hurried off into the darkness with my bag of goodies cradled in their midst like the Ark of the Covenant, I listened to the sound of their giggling and it occured to me that maybe I was being played for a Class A jog.
After an hour of sitting alone in that damp, tiled hole with no sign of Wendy, I was sure.
Well, not the first time. Surely not the last. In truth, I'd half expected to be rougued but figured it was worth the risk. After all, the food hadn't cost me much. Felt bad, though. Sort of hoped for better from them.
Headed upstairs and back to my compartment, realizing for the first time what an impossible job this was: Trying to find a kid with no identity, a kid who didn't know who she was, with no picture, not even an identifying characteristic to go by, along a trail that was three years cold.
And to think I'd left being idly rich for this. Sometimes think I'm crazy.
— 4-
As I turned on the compartment lights, Iggy scrabbled across the floor and chomped on a fleeing cockroach, then retreated to a corner to chew. He wasn't much company. Iquanas aren't known for their warmth.
One minute home and I knew I'd made a mistake. Was feeling down and that was when my resistance was at its lowest. No sooner had I loosened my jump than the buttons began calling me from the back of the drawer where I kept them.
Twenty days now. Twenty full days since I'd snapped on a button. A record. Proud of myself. But felt myself weakening steadily. Hard to resist after that length of deprivation, no matter how much you wanted off.