City Wars by Dennis Palumbo Page B

speak directly to him, yet were always talking, murmuring among themselves in that terrible throaty whisper. Talking about him.
    Gilcrest hadn’t recalled the day being so windy. Yet the old building groaned all about him, and dust fell occasionally, and he felt chilled.
    He didn’t know people lived in this area of the city, not anymore. Government could ill afford to rebuild the whole of Chicago, so prime sectors had been selected for redevelopment. This place, this ghetto, hadn’t known new mortar, new steel, or the freshness of an architect’s perspective in over half a century.
    But this was where the rebels lived. The rebel lunks.
    For the first time, Gilcrest felt shame as well as fear. What would that old book have said? That sins would be visited upon him …
    He shuffled his feet, trying to keep warm. He could hardly believe it was just midafternoon, so dim and cool was the room.
    The lunks made no move toward him, merely continued whispering among themselves. What was it they were saying? No, they weren’t just talking. There was a rhythm, a cadence. And it was getting louder.
    Gilcrest jerked up his head, as though the recognition jolted him.
    They were chanting.
    “Heads must raise,
Our heads must raise—
Eyes have life,
Our eyes have life—”
    Something in their chanting made Gilcrest realize that he might possibly not leave this place alive.
    Abruptly, the chanting ceased.
    Broken whispers, excited, breathless.
    Gilcrest looked up as the circle of lunks parted to admit a strikingly clear-eyed young lunk in a thick coat.
    “Welcome, Minister Gilcrest,” the young one said, trying hard as he smiled not to let his features droop. From his stance, the careful movement of his arms, it was apparent the young lunk was concentrating very intensely to maintain motor control. Gilcrest made a point of not pitying him.
    “I have come,” the old man said. “As requested.”
    “As demanded—! As demanded by the lunks.”
    “Very well,” Gilcrest said. “To whom am I speaking, then?”
    “I am called Giles by my brothers and sisters. You may use that name as well.”
    “All right. Giles.” Gilcrest selected his next words with care. The circle of lunks had closed around him again. “I have come in good faith into your domain. I expect now to be assured of my wife’s safety.”
    Giles took a measured step. “We are not greatly interested in what you expect, Lord Gilcrest.”
    “I am a Government minister.”
    “Minister, lord, master … they are all the same word. They all signify the same perversion of justice and freedom.”
    Gilcrest said, “I am sure that in many ways your actions are justified, but my wife is—”
    “Your wife!” Giles raised an arm, as though toswing. Gilcrest had never seen—had never even imagined—a lunk given to rage.
    Giles steadied his voice. “Your wife, Lord Gilcrest, is safe. Quite safe. And quite hidden.”
    “But your mesage said—”
    “We have,” Giles exclaimed suddenly, and gestured in a way that included the silent creatures surrounding them; “we have a list of demands, Lord Gilcrest. Demands that deal precisely and concretely with correcting an injustice. That address themselves to eliminating a perversion. For it is time, great master of our destinies … Even you, in that hole from which you and your kind rule—even you must see that the time has come. For my brothers and sisters in this room … for all lunks throughout the city.”
    Gilcrest was only vaguely aware that the chanting had begun again. Softly, insistently.
    Giles came about to face him. A darkness seemed to have fallen in the room, and shadows hid much of the lunk’s expression. But Gilcrest could feel the hatred.
    “How long,” Giles said quietly, “did you expect us to wait? How long did Government think lunks would wait for equal status in Chicago, free and equal status with Urbans…?”
    “Lunks are free citizens—”
    “Lunks are free, yes! But we are not citizens. We