Queen City Christmas

[Aedh]

This story presumes that you have read at least Part One of “Queen City.” For those who haven’t, a brief explanation: some of the characters in this story are also in the novel. Brionne and Marcus are two young people from Queen City. Jason is the son of Rhys Macklin of Alder Island, the main protagonist, and Michelle is one of his steady girlfriends. Ralna is Rhys’s humod (illegally genetically-modified) personal assistant and occasional enforcer.


Queen City Christmas (Part 1)


The Tacoma Mudflats were humming this night. Vehicles filled the parking lots and hundreds of people were arriving every hour, by shuttle from the train, by bus--any way they could. Inside the stadium, the crowd was growing. This was not just any rock concert--this was the homecoming of the Bangers Of Death Tour, featuring Satan’s Bellboys, Urination, and of course, Circle Of Ashes. And it was--by design--happening on December twenty-fourth. Holiday Eve. But that didn’t matter so much to Marcus as that he find some tickets. He’d promised Brionne, a gift for her as she was very pregnant, and her due date was four weeks away. But the ‘Net site had sold out of tickets within an hour—an hour while he’d been out trying to find some work. Some day that had been. He’d not gotten work and he’d lost out on the tickets, too. So his only hope was to get some from someone else, a scalper. He’d driven them down here in his rickety old gas-powered van, thirty-five hair-raising miles from Queen City down the remains of Highway 99. Interstate Five was closed to anyone who couldn’t pay the tolls to use the lanes still kept in repair, and they were exorbitant. For businesspeople only.

“Tix? tix?” he’d gone around asking anyone standing around, to a solid round of shrugs and shaken heads. Finally, a man had taken him aside quietly.

“Look here,” he’d told Marcus. “Lay off, dude. Don’t get caught with a ticket you didn’t buy legit. They holo your tickets to your credcard. No match, no entry. You won’t find a seller.”

“What makes you so goddamn smart about this?” demanded Marcus despairingly.

For an answer, the man flashed a badge from under the lapel of his fleece vest. “You’re okay,” he said. “Not someone we’re looking for. Let’s keep it that way.”

There was no other way of admission. Tickets were run through automated gateways overseen by security people who knew nothing except to run off anyone whose data didn’t unlock the gate. So he went off to break the bad news to Brionne—they’d have to catch the show via the ‘netcast version.

But Brionne wasn’t worried about the show at all. He found her lying on the mattress, gasping, in the back of the van. “It’s started,” she said. “I thought I’d had contractions—well, I did. Not Braxton-Hicks like you thought. The real deal. They’re coming closer together, and stronger.”

“You can’t have! You’re not due for weeks yet.”

“So, what?” she demanded. “What do goddamn doctors know? Not much! How many of them ever had a baby?”

He half-lay next to her, lights playing on them dimly through the van’s windows, making her round, smooth face look blue and gray by turns. Her hair was straight and moist. She’d been perspiring despite being in a cold van for an hour. “Well, what do we do now?” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“We gotta get to—damn it!” she said. “I dunno where there’s a birth center around here.” She didn’t mention a hospital. Hospitals meant doctors, which meant testing of the baby and sampling its DNA as well as that of its parents. Marcus punched buttons on his PDA; this was his fault really. With his previous history of drug use, he might be judged UTP, ‘unfit to parent,’ with the result of—at best—confiscation of the baby, and—at worst, if she also got a poor or indifferent assessment--a forced postpartum abortion. So there would be no doctors.

“I found something.” Marcus held up his device. “There’s a birth center in Puyallup.”

“Let’s go, then,” urged Brionne. “I … I—aaaaaahrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrAHH--! oh, gawdammit Marcus, just go, call the damn place for zitssakes and get us out of here!” He punched the numbers through, spoke briefly, then handed the PDA to her and got up into the driver’s seat. He could hear her making arrangements, talking urgently, as he turned the key and worked the fuel lever … to hear a grating sound, and a dull clunk. He tried again, and again as she talked, but to no avail. The motive burner wasn’t getting fuel despite his having half a tank. Something had jammed up or come unglued. They were stuck. “Now what?” she yelled.

“Will they come here?” he called back.

“What the hell--?” she yelled. “Marcus! Goddammit! Don’t lay this shit on meeeeeeEEEeeeEEEEEEEEEEEeeeee …!” He took the device. “Hello? I’m the dad. We’re at C Lot, Space N-79 at the Mudflats.”

“Hello--I’m sorry,” said the voice at the other end. “You would need to call a commercial ambulance service to bring her. We can’t come to you—you understand. Nature of the business.”

He felt his stomach tighten painfully. “What do we do, then?”

“I don’t know,” said the person at the other end. “But if you can’t get her here, whatever you do do, it will have to be without us.”

“Thanks,” he groaned, and ended the call. Then he slammed the PDA against the passenger seat.

“Call security, for zitssakes!” commanded Brionne. “We need help--we need hot water anyway!”

“Event security?” wailed Marcus.

“Any other ideas?”

He shook his head in the darkness, set his jaw, and switched on the van’s dome light, to find the security number on the parking ticket. If anything else could go wrong …


>< >< ><


A few minutes later--not far away—someone clicked a minibutton, standing still in the shadow of a concrete pillar. Two security people had been discussing something quite unforeseen, and interesting.

The listener was monitoring event security for one reason, but this was an opportunity, potentially a valuable one. Other business notwithstanding, the fact that a baby was about to be born in C Lot, presumably in a trailer or van, and certainly with no medical attendance, warranted consideration. Free, unregistered human genetic material didn’t just drop into one’s lap every day.

Waiting for a few moments, listening for signs of the other business that was supposed to be going down soon, the agent decided it was worth looking into. “Hello … security? Yes, about the medical situation with the pregnant young woman. I’m a doctor—yes, I was called by someone who had a call from them. I’m on my way to them now … yes, of course, I will update you with any significant developments. Thank you.”

The ‘doctor’ clicked off and shifted a slim bag on a shoulder strap, feeling under the flap. The laser-fitted Glock automatic pistol was there, with its accessories, and so was the scalpel case … and of course the latex gloves and plastic bags. It paid to be prepared at all times.


>< >< ><


Marcus put down the PDA and wrapped his arms around the girl. “It’s good to know someone’s coming, anyway.” Brionne nodded and said: “It’s a bit of luck a doctor happened to be around here.

“Maybe in attendance at the show.” Marcus stroked her tummy. “I’m sure it’ll be alright. Maybe he’ll bring us luck after all.”

“Maybe,” she smiled. “I did have those dreams about him, remember.” Marcus nodded. “And my mother said he would be a magic child. A wonder boy—ooh! I’m feeling it in front now. They’re stronger, too—aaaaahh!”

They were silent for a moment. Brionne’s birth mother had died suddenly in the hospital after having gone in for a flu shot—it had been a complication, they had said. Her aunt didn’t believe it and had muttered, Don’t even go near a doctor if you’ve got no money, but what could be done? Nothing; all the paperwork told their version of the story.

“What would you think of naming him Holley, with an ‘E?’” He looked nonplussed. She drove on: “Holley, like Holly, as in Holiday, because this is. The Holiday.”

“Or ‘Chris,’” he said. “I think the holiday was called Chris—something, once. ”

“Weird. Who was Chris?”

“I dunno. I think he was a guy who got really drunk Holiday partying though. Chris Must Heave, I think they used to say.”

“Eww!” She made a face. “I don’t like that Chris. I like Holley better.”

“Holley Day Stewart. I like it,” he smiled. He stroked her arm and thought: If it lives to see daylight.


>< >< ><





>< >< ><

[Aedh]

>< >< ><

[Aedh]

Queen City Christmas (Part 2)



The mega-watt, earthshaking sound of the legendary rock concerts of yore were no more, thanks to twenty-second-century electricity supply constraints. Instead, engineers had developed psycho-acoustics, which used solid bodies as sound conductors, and any hollow space within a solid body as a resonation chamber. Jason Macklin had studied this stuff, and Michelle listened, smiling up at him, or pretending to. He had a flash thought that her skull must make a pretty good resonation chamber; there didn’t seem to be much in it. At least she couldn’t have her PDA glued to her ear during the show. He would have brought Jenna, but after—well, after what came of her--he wanted a date of a different stripe, and Em and Jay couldn’t have been more different.

They had made the trip down here by water, hiring a harbor taxi. The state of the roads made surface travel difficult over the distance from Alder Island, Jason had told her. That was true. He also wanted to keep a low profile as a Bearer, a person unwelcome in much of society and subject of deadly hatred from some. He had thought that with Michelle he could get lost in the crowd here, but he had an uncomfortable feeling of being observed. He could have bought his way into a private box for seating, but that would have identified him and cost the anonymity he’d wanted. He’d made a PDA call to his father, billionaire mogul Rhys Macklin, but his dad’s people had denied that any security had been put on him. They would.

So he sat back in his top-row section seat in the first balcony, covering himself up with his capacious leather trench coat, and let Michelle snuggle him. The feeling he had had, of being watched, was gone now. It was probably nothing after all.


>< >< ><


The tap at the side window came as Marcus finally got the tiny gas burner lit. It wasn’t supposed to be used for heat, but the weather was bitter cold and anything was better than nothing. Brionne was laying on the mattress with all their clothes arranged across her, moaning softly. Marcus cracked open the passenger door, spoke briefly, and then opened it to admit a woman in a dark, close-fitting coat, with a shoulder bag. “Brionne and Marcus? Very good,” said the visitor, producing a halogen flash. “Hold this, please, sir. Now, how are you?” she asked Brionne. “How far apart are the contractions?”

Brionne gasped. “Less than five minutes,” said Marcus. “I’m trying to keep it warm in here, as much as I can. Can you get us moved—moved—some-damn-where? We need warmth and hot water as much as anything.”

“You’ve made things very difficult for yourself,” the woman chided him, speaking back and forth. “There, Brionne, darling, just lean back—perfect. Shine the light here, please. You know,” she continued, “you’re asking someone to commit a crime by assisting you. Legally, I shouldn’t be here. I could lose my license.”

“But I thought the job of doctors was to help and heal people!” protested Brionne. “That’s—mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmggggk—what it’s all about, issssssssssn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t,” said the woman, stroking and probing with firm, gentle fingers. “Wider, please—the job of medical personnel is to maintain standards of care. Sometimes it means giving a prescription or procedure if you have a priority need. Sometimes it means withholding and instead allocating those to others who have priority needs.”

“’Priority needs?’” wondered Marcus aloud, as the woman put a stethoscope to Brionne’s tummy.

“Yes. Why do you think society uses scarce resources to keep people alive and fit? So they can pursue whatever selfish, unhealthy pastimes they please? Hardly! There, good, dear, now the other side. But you know, Marcus, you don’t even know what’s good for you, let alone what’s good for society. Get with the program if you want coverage. As it is, you are so not with the program. As I said, I shouldn’t be seen with you.”

“Can you—nnngh--give me something to help me dilate?” asked Brionne through clenched teeth.

“No. You will have to deal with it. I could give you a local, but you need to be able to feel your perineum, and—ah, yes.” The doctor put her hand down and brought it up wet. “Your water’s broken. I can tell you you’re on track for a normal, healthy delivery, as much as possible in these conditions. You—Marcus—you will need to sterilize some scissors or a sharp knife. You will need towels. As for the cold, soon you won’t be minding it. Let me step out,” she directed.

Outside, the woman flipped open her PDA and held it to her ear; her eyelids gave a flutter for a moment as she stood as still as a statue. Then she seemed to come to life again, and she punched in a number. “Hello, this is—yes—ah.” She frowned a little. “I find myself in need of your assistance. It’s a birth going on—yes, you heard me correctly, a birth. A human birth. In the parking lot here, in a broken-down van.” She gave the coordinates. “A very rare opportunity … this will well satisfy what you need. Watching the show, are you? You will be able to get better sound and vision on the holo-Greenray version when it comes out anyway … yes. Meet me at the end of the third row in …” She turned and took a few steps, her feet scuffing on the pavement, and Marcus couldn’t overhear any more.

He turned back to Brionne with a tightening sensation in his stomach. This doctor wasn’t acting—or talking--like any doctor he’d ever met. Of course, any doctor he’d ever met wouldn’t be at the Bangers Of Death concert—and looking like a fan instead of a staff member. Something just didn’t smell right.


>< >< ><


The bogus ‘doctor’ was aware that Marcus had been observing her, and aware that Brionne hadn’t fully trusted her, either. That would create some difficulty with bringing the baby into the world alive, whole, and entirely undamaged, which was essential to preserving its value. So she had summoned some backup. Her contact wasn’t terribly happy about being diverted, but it took only an allusion to remind him that he was beholden. She looked at her PDA—she switched them often while on jobs. She had taken this one from the body of a hit, a particularly tough Asian agent. She’d use it until midnight, then trash it and use another. Supposedly they had security codes, but with her half-cybernetic intelligence, those presented no obstacle.

Her other business was not materializing, and it almost certainly had something to do with earlier police activity in Lakewood, so she found herself with time to tend to this. And she was interested. Human births, when they occurred, almost always took place in highly controlled conditions. She possessed all the data, but she was coming to realize that knowing the facts about something at second-hand was a different matter from knowledge acquired first-hand, by being there on the scene as something unfolded—because that brought in the human dimension, the experiential; and she had learned that to successfully pass as human, as her Sir desired, then cultivating an experiential dimension was necessary.


>< >< ><



>< >< ><

[Aedh]

>< >< ><

[Aedh]

Queen City Christmas (Part 3)



Michelle knew that being with Jason meant never being able to do one thing for very long, unless it was sex. There had already been a quickie on the boat, one in their rented suite before the show, and another in a stadium restroom stall. Jason and his kind were like that, tortured by berserk glands that drove them nonstop. When he’d asked her to come away, she thought it was for another break, and so it was, fast and hard and urgent in another restroom, him breathing steam in the cold air while she took him, doubled over, and now she was walking funny and had such a soak on the front of her down vest that she’d had to turn it inside out, or risk looking like she’d spilt a whole banana smoothie on herself. But now, instead of returning to their seats, she found herself talking an armload of towels from a stage door attendant as Jason nodded to him—towels now? she thought—a little late, I think! But that wasn’t all; he’d borrowed a wrench as well, and she came along as he wangled a thermal container of hot water from a concession booth. She couldn’t help wondering what was coming next, and what sexual enormity she was probably facing. Like every other girl she’d read Cosimo magazine for love and sex guidance, but nothing there was of any use for being with Jason, or David or John, the other two Bearers in their community. The standard girlie-mag sex advice was like pet cat training tips when you had a bull elephant on your hands.

As they headed out into the parking lot with their burden, she finally asked him: “Can I ask what the deal is with the stuff? I mean, I love a good old Bearer full-body wet dump as much as the next woman, but if we’re leaving now … I mean, doesn’t the hotel have, um, towels—and water—and, ah, things?”

He looked at her. “We’re going to help someone, someone who needs us,” he replied, switching arms.

“Oh!” She thought about something he’d shared with her a while back. “Like with your search for that lady--Lucky. I remember that.”

“Yes, well, sometimes it’s just the right thing to do, to help someone. We’re going to help a girl have a baby.”

“What--? A baby? In a parking lot?” she exclaimed, stopping. “I mean, is there no clinic—who’s—what’s going on? You can’t just have a baby in a car park!”

“I know—not the way it’s done usually. But they’re far from home, in a strange place, couldn’t get into the show they came for, the baby is premature, and there’s no room for them anywhere. Everything’s booked and they can’t move because their van’s broken down.”

“That’s awful!” said Michelle. “So, we’re going to help them. But how did you know? That call? Who decided to call you about it?”

For an answer, as they rounded a corner, Jason said to the ‘doctor:’ “Hello, Ralna.”

“Hello, thank you for coming,” said the woman, black-coated over a dark, sleek, military-style body ensemble. “I came here on other business, but this situation arose. It is a rare opportunity to study the experiential dimension of human childbirth in adverse circumstances, with no outside observation or control factors. Your assistance will be invaluable. And it will satisfy the conditions of the absolution that Father Craig imposed upon you last month, to answer a call to help someone who has no one but you to turn to.” His eyes widened, but she drove on: “I can’t help them with means as I’m on a mission--no ID, no plastic, no cash, no cards. You can help them. You have the wrench?” He nodded. “Good. I can make repair to their van’s engine; it is a simple fuel line problem from the hydro tank. Then they will have some power. You will assist at the parturition.”

“Par-toor-whoosis?” asked Michelle.

“The birth,” supplied Ralna. “Her dilation is at ten centimeters, and her contractions are sixty to seventy seconds apart. She’s vomited once already and she’s now pushing. Analysis indicates that partur—birth is imminent. I have given Marcus basic instruction on what to do.”

By now they were at the van. Michelle stepped up and tapped at the side door. “Hello-oh?” she said brightly. “We’re here to help you!”

Marcus’ face looked out, tired and pinched, and a cry escaped from grotto-like interior. His eyes met Michelle’s, and she looked right back. She didn’t resemble anyone who knew anything about nursing, wearing leather pants, inside-out vest, and goth makeup, complete with skull earrings. But her bearing was firm and easy, and she said, “Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” with a note of genuine reassurance. “They call us ditz-brains, but we know a thing or two. It’s not for nothing you’ve got an Island girl here.”

“Hot water and towels,” chimed Jason over her shoulder. “And a wrench to help get your fuel line unstuck. Let’s get you rockin’ and rollin’!” The young man broke into a smile and pushed open the door.


>< >< ><


In the Mudflats security room, the outside super’s PDA buzzed, and flashed a yellow signal—a priority call. He set down his paper cup of ‘bux and clicked the device. “Horace,” he said.

“About that call you got, the med-event in C-N79. You reported a doctor had called in and was en route?”

“Yeah. Should be all set.”

“I’ll tell you what’s all set. A routine backscan picked up that PDA number and it’s not registered to a doctor. The device was last in the possession of a Korean businessman who disappeared after being named a person of interest in a tech trafficking case. Last seen in Riverton Heights on Tuesday. Wanted rather urgently for questioning.”

Horace sat up. “That was no Korean we talked to.”

“Well, you’d better see about getting down there to see who the hell it is. I’ve got cop breath down my collar.”

“Right. I’ll send DeVorss and Jakes on it now. Good people, both of them.”

“Make sure they’re armed, Horace. And I don’t mean billies. There’s a connection to a crime here. Police officers are on the way.” The officer nodded and said: “I’m on it.”


>< >< ><


The cries of the young mother were, at 23:53 hours, joined by the cry of a new life reverberating out of the dark, pungent, steamy interior of the van, made warm by a running engine, thanks to Ralna getting under the front and pulling and blowing the main fuel supply line. She looked in, Michelle lifting up the blanket-swaddled infant to the side window for her to see. She lifted two oily fingers to the glass, as if making to touch the little red-faced creature; and, seeing its tiny face screw up in a yawn, her own face took on, for half a moment, what looked like a smile. The young people sat on the floor with the baby, getting warm, and she decided to let them be. Jason had given them something to move the van and get some fuel and accommodation for a day or two before making the trek back up to Queen City. Tomorrow would bring new difficulties and hardships in this world, but to-night was winding down to a soft landing—against all the odds, it seemed.

Then her enhanced hearing caught the purposeful, stealthy sound of hard bootsoles—men making a tactical approach, a sound she knew well and heard often. She moved, calculating, going to infrasight, slipping in between a little Sunglory coupe and a Ford nanobus, locating first one and then the other. Her hand caressed the butt of her Glock—momentarily—and left it. This was a night for life, not death.

So at the right moment, she crouched, then sprang, a great standing leap clear over the Sunglory, catching one officer by the collar, pushing off another vehicle with one foot to hit the other with a boot to the head, swift and silent and decisive. Crouching swiftly, she brought both heads close together, locking each neck in a peculiar grip.

“I mean you no harm,” she whispered to the two ears. “Unless you disobey instructions—then I will paralyze you from the neck down. Otherwise you will be leaving here unharmed and with your mission completed in two minutes. Do we have an understanding?” Both men nodded.

Slowly, Ralna talked them to their feet, and guided them a few steps to the side door of Marcus’ van.

“Knock. Gently,” she instructed. The taller officer did so. Marcus’ face appeared, looking surprised, as well it might have, seeing two cop mugs shoved up flat against the glass, with Ralna looking grimly down. Her voice came dimly to Marcus. Show them the baby. And so he did, holding it up as Michelle had held it up to her.

She said to the cops, “You see? Did you come looking for a newborn baby? Well, you found one.”

“There was the matter of—a--a doctor,” said one officer, as Ralna let them stand up, still with a hand on each neck.

She looked from one to the other sharply. “The doctor is gone. There is a baby—born healthy, no thanks to you or your employers, with its parents, and a couple of friends. They will be gone soon, too. No concern of yours. Everybody gone. You came, you looked, you found nothing. Does that not sound acceptable—“ she looked at their nameplates—“Officer DeVorss, and Officer Jakes?”

They looked at each other and the shorter one, Jakes, gave the very slightest of nods. Then the other followed suit. “Excellent,” finished Ralna. “I will conduct you back to the end of the row. If I see you again, you will—however briefly--live to regret it. I can hear you anywhere. So.” More slight nods. “We just don’t want any trouble,” said DeVorss.

“Then we all agree,” said Ralna, coming to the end of the row and releasing them. “And have a good evening, gentlemen, and a satisfaction-optimized Holiday.” They nodded, mumbling, and moved off quickly.

She leaned back, shrugging her coat up on her shoulders, and looking up at the clear, bitter night sky, past the stabbing, off-color parking lot lights, and saw a star.

A star, and a baby … that linked to some mythology and literature references in her database. But no matter. The time was 00:48. Yes, tomorrow would bring—but not tomorrow, today already--with yesterday hardly settled … how could humans stand to think like that? She had no data, and for all that she did wish to learn of human life, that was one thing that she hoped she would never fall into.

But for now … for now, in the still and silence, there was peace. She looked back toward Marcus’ van, with a little light shining out the window. Peace on earth, to people of good will. It would do.


>< >< ><




>< >< ><

[Aedh]

>< >< ><