Titan Song by Dan Stout (best english books to read txt) 📗

“Nah,” I said. “It’s just, you know, a little rough that far leeward. I’ll talk to some guys on the patrol, ask them to swing by and keep an eye on the place.”

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Number one, having redbacks around would scare off my clients. And I don’t need you or anyone else calling in favors for me.”

“Why would they be scared if they’re not doing anything wrong?” It was a stupid thing to say. There’s an old saying that there’s always a foul being committed on the carabella pitch, but no referee worth a damn would call them all. It’s the same with policing. There’s always a reason to pull someone over, to question their right to be in that neighborhood or in the city as a whole. And it’s the easiest thing in the world to abuse that power. I raised my hands. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“Oh, I know what you meant.” Her cheeks were flushed. “But maybe if people in the ‘nice’ neighborhoods didn’t call the cops anytime they spotted someone in a lower tax bracket, it wouldn’t be such a heavy burden on the folks in scarlet.”

“Believe it or not, patrol cops don’t particularly enjoy playing nanny to the wealthy.” Social paranoia calls usually required a patrol car to crawl through the neighborhood, trying hard to be seen by whoever put in the call, verifying that a given pedestrian wasn’t intoxicated or violent, and then driving away. “It’s a waste of resources, but it’s still better to get three false calls than know that someone didn’t pick up the phone when it could have made a difference.”

“The problem is when your crews in scarlet get sick of the calls and decide to eliminate the source.”

I swallowed my last mouthful of pita, feeling the flush of anger along my own cheeks. “No one’s eliminating anything. And I don’t like the implication.”

She snorted. “Tell that to the people who get picked up and driven to a neighborhood where they ‘belong.’” The girl I’d helped raise looked around the waiting area, unhappy with the nervous and scared faces of people waiting on friends or family being held, or desperate to find an advocate to set things right. “In this town a patrol car drops someone in the wrong neighborhood and it’s a good chance they’ll get a beating. That’s assuming they didn’t get one in the squad car.” She jerked her chin at the TV news playing over our heads. “And with CaCuri getting elected to alderman, it’s only getting worse.”

On the news, the city’s newest member of City Council walked past a scrum of reporters, sunglasses on and head held high, center of attention, just as she’d always wanted. Katie CaCuri should have been convicted of trafficking, extortion, and racketeering years ago. Instead, she’d simply made the transition to big-time corruption: she’d got herself elected alderman. Her rise to power had tipped the delicate balance of power toward the Titanshade isolationists, who wanted less interaction with the other city-states of the AFS.

“So does that mean you’re all aboard the federal train these days?” It wasn’t pleasant to see CaCuri doing well, and I was glad when the news feed switched out. The newscaster was back, closing the broadcast with a sappy feel-good story about rescued animals.

She coughed out her amusement. “Hardly. Paulus and the AFS have had their hands on the city’s throat for decades. It’s time to shake things up in this town. The people are calling for it. They want to see change. Real change.”

“Real change? What does that even mean?” I’d had a long day, I was irritated, and I couldn’t keep the irritation from showing in my voice. “You sound like Vandie Cedrow, preaching about the geo-vents and redirecting warmth.”

Talena clucked her tongue. “Vandie Cedrow’s a rich kid who spent most of her life out of the city. She talks a good game, but she wants a big fix. That’s easy to wish for, but it skips over the actual work that needs to be done on a one-to-one level. Cedrow’s a wanna-be revolutionary with something to prove.”

“Not to mention having to live down her uncle,” I said.

“I can relate.” She meant it as a joke, but it still rankled me.

“Don’t get me wrong. The warmth distribution is a real issue. People are freezing out on the Borderlands, crammed into buildings that haven’t seen a code enforcement officer since they were built. The working poor, full-time employed, but can’t afford to pay deposit or rent and are squatting or living on top floors in the Borderlands, sleeping in mummy bags and praying for a piece of the manna boom. If it ever comes.” She shook her head, frustration mounting. “Cedrow’s right about one thing. We need hope. If you tell everyone that life sucks and they need to buck up and bear it, they’ll give up.”

“Hope? You mean crap like that?” I pointed at the television, where the anchor still prattled on about a Titanshader who’d rescued a litter of puppies from a burning building. “Because that right there is sleight-of-hand. A feel-good distraction from real problems.”

The studio anchor pursed his lips, looking smug and sympathetic and oh-so punchable. Anger crept into my voice, the words rising in volume before I could stop it. “They want us to see the one person in a million who shows an ounce of decency, as if a single stake in the ground is going to stop a landslide of deceit, cruelty, and selfishness.”

“Every time I think you’ve hit the limit of stupidity you manage to raise the bar yet again.” She clasped one hand to her forehead, handwoven friendship bracelets and a steel ba symbol covering her wrist, silent testimony to her faith and the many people she’d helped. “What the Hells do you think I do all day? Do you seriously think I just hand out pamphlets and yell at pimps? I’m out