But what?
Goddamn his thick skull, anyway. If he'd been born any dumber, he'd be dangerous just taking a crap. And some of the slags in his old regiment used to rag him about that, too.
Evonne said, "Shank-"
"Can it."
She did.
Right then, something with about a billion-candlepower's worth of headlights, driving lights, fog lights, off-road lights, and side- and roof-mounted spotlights, pulled into the end of the alley and came rolling straight toward him. Shank realized what was behind all the damn lights just about the time the blinding brilliance of it all forced his eyes shut The thing rumbled like a CMC Banshee winding up for an attack run. It was about as close to a real panzer as anyone could get in the Newark plex without the local militia calling out the helicopter gunships. This one had started out as a shorty Landrover, and still resembled a basic stock model, but just about every part had been replaced, upgraded, or refitted. The custom cargo cover on the roof concealed a pair of weapons pods, plus there were gunports all around and other features, custom features.
Rolling to a halt, lights going out, the van became a ghost, dark and grim, blending with the cool gray of the night.
Shank wasn't scared drekless, or even a little, because he'd helped the halfer now hopping out of the van with some of the van's custom installations. "Hoi, fang face."
"Horn head."
Who said orks and dwarfs couldn't be chummers? Thorvin might be squat and ugly and kinda single-minded at times, but he was as tough as brick and loyal as nightfall. In Shank's book, that made for a first-rate chum.
"What's with the garbage?" Thorvin asked, nodding at the gangers, toolbelt clanking as he strode out in front of the van.
"They're slotting me off."
"That's a freaking surprise. You gonna ice 'em?"
"Thinking about it. What're you doing?"
"Whaddya think? I'm picking you up."
"Oh yeah?"
"We got a meet."
That sounded good. It meant their top gun had finally got them some biz, or at least some kinda offer, and about fragging time, too. Money didn't go far in the plex, never far enough. Especially when you had another slag's wife and kids to worry about "Where and when?"
"We gotta pick up the man and the deck. Sector 3. Soon as you put on some clothes."
Clothes. Right. "Been over to Sector 13 lately?"
"That's a freaking stupid question."
"Ghouls still hanging there?"
"That's another freaking stupid question."
"Let's dump the garbage there."
Thorvin frowned, looked at the gangers, then back at Shank.
"Load 'em up," he said.
4
The booth was small, just big enough for one person. Brown synthwood paneled the walls. Piper closed the door, then turned and knelt on the cushioned foot of the narrow kneeling bench.
She spent a few moments composing herself, pressed her hair back behind her ears, then slipped the end of a credstick into the chrome-edged port on the side of the bench.
The vidscreen before her came to life. "A New Day" slowly resolved hi bold letters at the center of the screen, then faded. The "day" began with a boiling orange-red sun rising out of a pristine sea, waters fresh and sparkling, an ocean teeming with fish and thousands of other forms of life. The sun assumed a golden tint as it rose higher into the crystal-clear blue sky, and hundreds of thousands of birds flew up over the horizon to wheel in enormous flocks across die glittering ocean.
Music, till then only a distant murmur, arose full and majestic, vibrant and alive, celebrating the glory of life in all its multitudinous forms.
The voice of John Donne IX, a direct descendant of the Saint, and leader of the Church of the Whole Earth, arose with the music, beginning with a direct quote from Holy Sonnet Number 10: "One short sleep past, we wake eternally… and death shall be no more… Blessed be the Recreator… the living earth… and the eternal cycle of life, recycling without end… "Amen…"
In time, the sermon concluded and the music softened.
The scenes of a lush and beautiful world continued, sweeping from one view to the next Piper lowered her eyes and began to speak.
All the world's problems, as she saw it, stemmed from one thing: greed. People wanted. They were never content with what they had. So titanic corporations sucked resources from the Earth and left only toxic wastes behind. So ordinary people ignored the evidence of their senses, screaming at them from every direction, and worked only to improve their station, their jobs, their material possessions. No one cared about the planet, the poisons in the air, food, and water. Doing anything about that would waste valuable resources, like money, and time, precious time. The power mongers at the top of the food chain had convinced everyone of that. They used the media to exploit people's weaknesses. They saw to it that the common working people would feel too weighed down by the struggle of daily living and the-desire to always have more, more, more! rather than worry about mere ecology.
People were weak. Few had the means to combat the tyrants of economic politics, fewer still had the will, the strength of spirit. Too many had been crushed and ground into dust by the steel and concrete jackboot of the megacorporations.
Something had to be done. The megacorps had to be stripped of their power and pared down to size. People had to be given back control over their own lives and the life of the world in which they lived-the very planet all metahumanity depended on for survival.
Tears streamed down her face as finally Piper shouted, pounding on the arm rests of the kneeling bench with her gloved fists.
It left her feeling cleansed, strengthened, empowered.
She was doing all she could. Almost every night. She only prayed that, in the end, her efforts, combined with that of many hundreds, even thousands, would be enough to save the ravaged Earth.
When she stepped from the booth, the narrow church was nearly deserted. The sunset service had ended some time ago. Only a few stragglers still sat in pews facing the altar and, above it, the enormous vid display of the Whole Earth-white clouds, blue ocean, and brown soil-ringed by the green yin-yang arrows, cycling eternally, representing the cyclical nature of life. Piper brought her fingertips together, forming the Globe with her hands, then bowed and turned to go.
A priest in robes of the four cardinal colors-white, blue, brown and green-awaited her at the rear of the Church. He was known as Father John, as were all priests of the Whole Earth Church. Piper did not know his real name, but that did not matter. He formed the Globe and bowed as she approached. She did likewise.
"There's a special meeting tonight," Father John said, quietly. "Our brothers ask that you attend." This came as no surprise.
Practically anyone with any skills at all would be continually in demand somewhere in the Newark plex. Newark had an excess of per diem meat. "Excess people," they were called. The special meeting to which Father John referred would undoubtedly be a meeting of the group known as Ground Wave, the local cell of the Green 4800, an organization of international scope. Ground Wave had need for deckers, ones with the proper perspective. Ones with Piper's degree of experience and skill were needed desperately.
Piper bowed, and said, "I'm sorry, Father. Please excuse me. I cannot attend this evening."
"I trust you've not had a change of heart."
"Of course not." The idea was almost insulting. "I have other obligations."
"What other obligation is there but to the restoration of the Whole Earth?"
That was something Piper could not argue, for Father John would not understand. Life came with many obligations. One might be paramount, but the others could not simply be ignored. She needed money, for instance, if only to eat, if only so she might continue to further the cause. "This is very difficult," Piper said, again bowing. "You're right, of course. I wish I could explain further. It is my fault. Completely my fault. Please excuse me."