"I can detour up Broadway so you can see Times Square," Mur-ray offered. "Won't take much gas."
"I think not, thank you, Murray," Kris responded. She had seen that landmark once when her family had come east for a wedding, and she vaguely remembered the place for the cigarette smoke bill board and the colored lights on in the middle of the day, but she didn't think she could stand seeing it in ruins. Likewise she didn't want Zainal to see it at less than its best either.
Tenth Avenue was really a minefield of potholes, through which Murray drove carefully. It had never been one of New York's finest neighborhoods and looked even grimmer now. Especially when she saw the remains of a huge spit that had been erected over one of the potholes, still black from the fire that had been laid in it. A pile of ut-terly unfamiliar, and large, bones occupied one corner. And the street sign pole sported a huge skull. She couldn't imagine from what ani-mal it had come.
"Had us quite a party that night," Murray said, grinning at her. "Rhinoceros, wasn't it, Jelco?"
Jelco nodded, a slight smile of happy reminiscence on his face. "Rhinoceros?" Kris couldn't help blurting out the word. "A rather large African beast. How on earth:" She looked across Zainal at Jelco for an explanation.
"Well, we couldn't feed the zoo animals," he said with a wry grin, "so they fed us."
"Oh!"
"Miss going to the zoo on a Sunday, though," Murray said. "But we had enough to eat for everyone. Tough to chew, even if you had teeth." He gave her another grin. "But we had soup for a week after wards from the bones. One day, maybe, we can erect a monument on the spot. Sort of thanks for the best meal many of us had had in weeks."
"They were humanely put down, ma'am," Jelco added. "Better than all of us starving to death-and them, too."
"Yes, yes, I quite see the expediency," she murmured.
She was silent as she counted the streets on their way to Colum-bus. There were one or two street signs still in place-no more with skull adornment-and then the buildings turned from residences, if you could call the old shambles "residences," to the beginning of office-type buildings. By then she realized that very few, except upper stories, retained any glass panes in their windows. Many of the walls and entrances showed the pockmarks of bullets, and not a few en-trances had no doors at all.
She hadn't seen many people about, but as they neared the Circle she saw folk hurrying in both directions, some carrying armloads or hauling the little wheeled carts as quickly as possible toward the Circle.
The Circle itself surprised her-no longer the place of artistic dis-play but filled with carts and rudely made stalls, some with awnings to keep the sun and rain from whatever merchandise was on offer. She saw additional carts like the potato one.
"We got a bizarre every day now," Wylee said, and Kris blinked at his mispronunciation because the place was indeed bizarre. Not only were there ardent traders making bargains but also swarms of men armed with weapons slung to be brought to bear quickly. They wore brilliant red armbands and berets with some sort of an insignia on them.
"We're in the Cardinal Coord now," Jelco informed her, touching his own kelly green armband. "They keep the peace."
"Peace?" Kris blurted out, astounded.
"You've no idea how hot under the collar people can get when they lose a deal," Jelco said. "Newark runs its own bazaar Saturday and Sunday at the airport. No one really likes the duty but every now and then we get a chance at something fresh and tasty."
"Like the rolls?" Kris asked.
"Those were elegant, ma'am," he said earnestly. "D'you have more?" he asked hesitantly.
"It'll smooth our way here in the Cardinal Coord?" she asked. "Yes indeedy, ma'am. You've no idea."
Possibly, she thought to herself, she didn't. But then, she'd had the reality of Barevi and Botany to open her eyes. Idly she thought of goru pears and how juicy they had tasted during her days of refuge in the forests of Barevi. And she thought she'd been deprived there! She wondered how much she could get trading fresh goru pears at this bazaar.
The truck was swinging around the Circle in the appropriate traffic pattern before Murray drove it up onto the wide concrete apron fronting Eric's office building, which dominated its arc of the Circle. Immediately Jelco swung out of the truck as guards from the entrance to the building came forward to protest illegal parking.
Jelco beckoned urgently at Kris, and she called for someone to bring out a fresh supply of rolls. It was Eric who hurried forward, the straps of his backpack looped over his forearm and a roll in his hand as evidence of the treat. The pack was quickly emptied and then Eric was fumbling in his pockets, producing his license and a business card, which were passed around to verify his bona fides. Several of the guards kept curious people moving along, and it was evident why Dan Vitali had said they'd need guards.
However, Eric was approved and he waved for Zainal, Kris, and the others to join him. If folks eyed Zainal warily, he was in the midst of armed men they patently trusted so they ignored a single Cattem.
"You're in luck," the head guard was saying as they approached, Dover and Wylee unloading the awkward-looking lift platforms. "We got electricity for another half hour."
"You mean the elevator's working?" Eric exclaimed, staring around at their party, his eyes bright with relief.
"Yup. The weekly dispensation. You guys got good timing," the guard said, taking another bite from his roll and urging them into the foyer.
This was evidently a prime location to judge by the sophisticated stalls set about. "Outta the way. Official business." He had cleared cus-tomers away from the stalls to the voluble complaints of the mer-chants. Then they were at the elevator banks and with a flourish the guard punched the button. The light in the cracked display above the door came on. The elevator had been called.
Kris was not so sure about the noise that was coming from the shaft but she had not thought about having to walk up eighteen flights of stairs, much less coming back down.
"Both ways?" Eric asked.
"Only if you ain't got no more weight than you took up," the guard informed him. "Thing's ancient and stubborn. Has a tendency to get cranky and stop between floors. Passengers get to wait hours."
Eric sighed. "It would have been a squeeze with my units," he said diffidently and was happy enough to step into the car, watching Jelco and Dover as they cautiously entered with the upright lift platforms.
The door creaked shut, and after Eric had punched the floor but-ton with an air of importance, an alarming amount of chain rattling, hissing, and bucking ensued until the elevator began to ascend. Kris's eye caught on the inspection card that most elevators displayed. This was an Otis, which she knew to be a reliable make, and a hastily penned notation informed that it had last been inspected on July 2, 1992.
For the life of her, Kris couldn't remember what date this day should be. The weather had been warm but the forsythia bloom she had seen suggested early spring. Time seemed to have stopped: at least recordable time. It had been so for so long that she endured one day at a time and was thankful to live through each one, week after week as they added up to months and then years, but she couldn't have said what day, week, month, or year-Anno Domini-she was currently living in. Nor did she wish to embarrass herself by asking. Anyway, Botany time was different from Earth time.
The elevator lurched to a stop, terminating Kris's anxiety about getting stuck between floors. The elevator had not only ascended but also had stopped at the desired destination. There, as proof, on the wall opposite were the figures, gold, framed in black, that identified the eighteenth floor. Eric stepped out first, the others following quickly on his heels as he led the way to the right. Office doors on ei-ther side of the dark corridor were ajar, which lit their way, but also showed them that few offices had escaped pilfering. Mostly chairs had been taken though Kris rather thought some of the stalls in the foyer had once been tables in the upper levels. Torn curtains flapped in whatever breeze whined around the eighteenth floor.