At any rate, those were the qualities inherent in the city’s fixed, unchanging aspect: the imprint of its origin, stamped in the same way that the underlying rock strata impart fundamental character and form to a landscape. But the promise that had been written into the soaring lines and broad vistas was just an empty voice echoing from long ago. The vision of those who had conceived the city had not been fulfilled.
Everywhere had the same look of weariness and shabbiness, the signs of neglect and disrepair that Hunt and Gina had seen from PAC the day previously. One area they passed had flooded, leaving the shells of several derelict buildings protruding above the water like islands in a swamp. In another, children swarmed in and over lines of immobilized, partly dismantled vehicles that looked as if they had not moved for years. After the crisp, new look of everything inside the Vishnu, the sights were depressing. The Jevlenese in the rear of the minibus seemed indifferent when Hunt tried questioning him, with the Americans acting as not-very-efficient interpreters. He seemed unaware of how things could be otherwise.
The people hung around in listless crowds, wandered aimlessly in the boulevards and squares, or sat on the grass in the open spaces beneath the pale chartreuse sky. Since the shutdown of the major part of JEVEX, many of them had moved out of the city’s central zone and taken up a shantytown existence in the outer sectors. They could be seen sitting in doorways, bartering in noisy street markets that had sprung up off the major throughways, and cooking under makeshift awnings beneath lines of washing strung across passageways and alleys. All of them inert, leaderless, waiting for somebody to point a direction.
“The trouble that a few agitators could stir up out there doesn’t bear thinking about,” Sandy said in a sober voice as she stared out at the passing scene. “No wonder Garuth’s having problems.”
“Is this policy of his going to work?” Duncan asked. He sounded very dubious. “Can it work?”
“Aw, they have to find out what the real world’s all about,” Koberg answered. “It’s just that with some it takes longer than with others. The ones you’re looking at now are the slow learners. There’s others doing okay. The system has to sort itself out.”
“It’s gonna take time,” Lebansky said. “You’ve gotta stick with it. That Garuth has got nerve. I’ll give the guy that.”
“Right,” Koberg agreed.
The roadway became one of a multilevel system curving in toward the looming bulk of the city’s central massif. The view that had appeared on the screen in the cabin of the surface lander as it descended had been misleading, Hunt saw as they approached the metropolis proper. Ahead, between the structures flanking both sides, he could see parts of what was revealed to be a false roof with an artificial inner sky over that section of the city. In some places the cliffs of buildings rose to support it, dividing the space beneath into enclosed basins of varied cityscapes interconnected in the upper parts by vast corridors carrying streams of airborne traffic and transport tubes; in other parts, the blocks of architecture came together to form upthrusts of streets and precincts open to the natural sky, or elsewhere soaring towers projecting through the canopies. The combined result of all of them formed what had seemed from above to be the actual skyline of the city undisguised.
Farther on, they passed growing numbers of people wearing purple, gathered in crowds and walking in processions with banners showing a purple spiral on a black background. “Is this what you were talking about?” Sandy asked the Americans.
“Right, that’s today’s big event,” Koberg replied. “Their great guru is in town. There’s a new sports complex being opened today-you can see it now, on the right there-and they’re having a big-” The bus slowed suddenly. “Say, what’s this? What’s going on there, Pete?”
Ahead, the traffic was coming to a confused halt and tailing back, with vehicles stopping in disorder at all angles across the lanes. There was another traffic level above; those vehicles were passing through a complicated interchange of on-off ramps and flyovers. The vehicles ahead were clustered around a two-lane exit road that left the main throughway in a descending curve, flying high over the immediate surroundings and supported by slender pylons on one side-and then it stopped abruptly at a ragged edge in midair. Figures were climbing out of vehicles and clustering along the barrier, waving their arms and pointing down.
Lebansky moved to the front of the bus, muttering to the driver and motioning with a hand. The driver, who had been doing nothing, since the vehicle had been driving itself from Geerbaine, engaged manual and pulled onto the shoulder, nosing through the other vehicles that had stopped. “Looks like there’s been some kind of accident,” Lebansky threw back as the others crowded to the windows. “Jeez, look at that! A whole piece of it’s collapsed there!”
As the minibus moved closer to the barrier, they could see, below them, the wreckage of an entire span of what had presumably been a bridge, with the remains of at least two vehicles crushed beneath it. But that was not the only damage. In falling, the bridge had swung sideways and demolished two of the supporting pillars of the main throughway, causing a section of the innermost lane to tear away. It hung, buckled and twisted, projecting out into space like the deck of a ship that had broken in two. At the far end of the sagging section, which extended for perhaps two hundred feet, a truck had slewed across and stopped, grounded, on the edge with its front actually hanging over the drop. A smaller vehicle had run into it. Behind that, perched precariously on the edge of the rent where the lane had come away from the main roadway, fifteen feet or more above, was another, familiar-looking vehicle with its absurd, bulbous, pink conning tower amidships, and vivid green stripes.
“It’s the titmobile that was back at the spaceport,” Koberg muttered, staring ahead, his eyes moving rapidly to take in the scene.
“Oh, my God! Those kids!” Sandy gasped.
“What kids?” Koberg shot at her. Lebansky snapped something to the driver. The bus stopped.
“Ours-from Earth,” Sandy stammered. “They were on the Vishnu. A bunch of schoolkids from Florida.”
“They’re staying in the city somewhere,” Hunt said.
Something gave way, and the hanging section of road dropped another two feet. The truck that was balanced on the edge lurched visibly. Screams went up from among the crowd gathered outside. Two figures scrambled out of the truck’s cab and began making their way back up, moving awkwardly and off-balance on the sloping surface. Another tumbled out of the car that had tail-ended the truck. Somebody else inside the car seemed to be hurt. There was a screeching of sirens from behind as a vehicle with flashing lights came nosing along the shoulder. It stopped behind the minibus and disgorged men in yellow tunics and white caps, presumably police.
Koberg climbed out and engaged them. They were excited and waving their arms wildly. Koberg seemed to be trying to calm them down. In the front of the minibus, Lebansky was operating a panel alongside the driver and talking to a face that had appeared on a screen.
The road sagged some more, and the truck tipped and went over. The whole structure beneath the minibus shuddered, and the shouts from outside almost drowned out the sound of the crash. The pink bus was trying to back up; but its balls weren’t getting enough grip on the buckled, tilted surfaces, and it was slithering uncontrollably from side to side as if in a snowdrift.
“That idiot’s panicking!” Hunt yelled. “He’ll bring the whole bloody thing down! Stop him! Get those kids out of there! Get them out!”
Koberg dismissed the police with an impatient wave and ran down to take charge. Up front, the face that Lebansky was talking to was also an American from the sound of it. “How else does it look?” Hunt heard him saying.