“Lived down here long?” No break in stride, he continues pumping without acknowledging me. “Any other kids your age?” I can’t hear the music from his headphones, but they look high quality. Maybe I just happened to catch him between songs and he can’t hear a thing I say. Damn punk kids with their newfangled technoboogie. “Whatcha listening to?”
He finishes filling the first bucket and hands it to me. The weight shocks me at first and I nearly drop it if not for the small grip fastened to the top of the handle. To my surprise, the boy holds his mechanical arm up to me and pulls away the wires so I can see a DigiMusic player buried amidst the components. A glowing blue screen scrolls the word AtomotA across its surface, bouncing one way then the next. I’ve heard of them. Some techno industrial band with a couple of nerdy looking guys with bizarre outfits flipping switches and turning knobs. Musical magicians or some crap like that. I kinda dig ‘em.
“Nice, I haven’t listened to them in a while, but I hear they put on an amazing show.” He regards me with the same blank stare, then turns and places the next bucket under the spout. “Tough crowd,” I mutter, pulling the bucket up to my mouth to take a sip. Before it reaches my lips, there’s a hand on top of it and I narrowly avoid kissing the boy’s fingers. “Something the matter?”
The hand presses down, slowly forcing the bucket away from my face. His eyes are locked onto me, a bit more life than I’ve seen in them thus far. He holds the gaze for a moment, possibly making sure he has my attention, then shakes his head slowly and dramatically for emphasis.
Certain I’ve received the message, he returns to his work and finishes filling the other three buckets, handing one to me, then gripping the other two and walking off through the darkened main room once more. At this point I’m down to only three ideas: the techies have a collection of monks that have taken a vow of silence, he tragically lost his tongue playing a wicked round of tonsil hockey with some chick who’d had a food processor mouth upgrade, or the poor bastard’s got a voice like Buggie Bear’s obnoxious cousin, Shuggie. Given my brief exposure to his personality and complete lack of attractive features, I’m leaning towards the first, but secretly hoping for the third.
I forget myself, attempting to lift the bucket with my other hand, wince in agony as fire shoots more thoroughly through my chest, then try to reposition to carry both buckets with my good hand. I manage to spill only about half of one in the process, but at least the load is lighter as I move sluggishly behind.
The kid leads me to a large collection of service stands, stockpiles of tools and other various goods, machinery with clockwork gears showing, and finally to a large series of metal boxes, glass tubes, and plastic drums, all bubbling and gurgling with clear water. The community seems to pay no mind to aesthetics. I honestly prefer it this way.
There’s a huge metal funnel on one end of the water machine and my companion stops and sets to slowly emptying the buckets into its open maw, careful not to slosh any out. Once empty, he puts them down and reaches for mine, one after the other, and empties them in a similar fashion. It seems a lot of work for one drink of water, but observing the area, I get the idea that I’m contributing to more than just my own thirst. There’s a strong sense of community here that reminds me a bit of my time living under the bridge with my gang of fellow runaways. It brings a nostalgic smile to my face.
I’m pulled from reminiscing by a tap from the boy, offering me a tin can of freshly filtered water. I take a long drink and thank him. He gives a nod, then turns and wanders off again, leaving me alone amongst a stockpile of resources. They’re either a far more trusting group than I would have suspected thus far, or the kid’s bright enough to know that I’ve got nowhere to go in a hurry. A part of me still wonders if he recognizes me from the breakout, but there was never a bit of indication from him.
“Mr. Fallows?” comes a voice from the shadows. A man I haven’t seen yet steps out of the darkness and under the warm glow of one of the wall sconces wearing a faded jumpsuit with holes worn through both elbows and one of the knees. The rest is a mess of sunbleached fabric contrasted by dark oil stains. Dark hair slicked back and receding well up his head, he offers his left hand towards me. I take it tightly in mine, observing that his right hand is a drill with a nut-driver attached to the end. “I’m Scott, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” I say politely.
“We lugged your truck back here and have been working on it since you been down.”
“What? Figured it just had some dents and busted windows. Damn thing should still be road-worthy.”
“Oh yeah, popped the dents out just fine. Didn’t have any glass to replace the windows. But as you know, fuel is a bit hard to come by out here. Figured there wasn’t much use for it, so we stripped that nonsense out.”
“You what?” My mind drifts to images of the long walk back to the districts. Assuming nothing finds me on the way. “Mother of Christ this can’t be happening.”
“Well don’t go gettin’ your knickers in a twist just yet.” What kind of expression is that? “We went and replaced it with an electrode fusion block.”
“Talk to me like I’m an idiot.”
Scott looks aghast. “Sir, I mean no offense…”
“No seriously. I don’t know mechanics from rocket science. This will be an easier conversation if you just assume I’m an absolute moron.”
“Oh. I gotcha. We went and switched yer truck from gas to electricity. Ya charge it up like you would yer cellular, I mean ‘Moh-Bile’ phone.” Okay, not that dumb.
“So what do I owe ya?”
“Actually, we were wondering if we could buy it off of ya?”
Typical. “Sorry, pal. It’s a crucial part of what I do.” And a crucial part of my plan to get the hell out of here.
“Fair ‘nuff. We ain’t got much use for creds. What do you have by means of trade?”
I chuckle and hold my arms out so he can bear witness to the nothingness I have on me. “What you see is what you get. Don’t suppose I could work it off?”
“Depends on what kinda skills ya got and how many weeks yer willing to stick around.”
“How far will good looks and charm get me?”
He crosses his arms. “Fine. Will ya take it on credit and I’ll make good on it later?”
“I want one of them fancy my-crow-wave oven thingies. The little compact food cookers? But not the crap kind you find anywhere. I want me a jen-you-wine example of luxury and refinement.”
“Sold.” So I’m out fifty creds? I think I love this place. “You want one with a spinning plate?”
“They make those?” He can rig a truck from gas to electric, but doesn’t know about modern microwaves?
“For you, Scott. I’ll make it happen.”
“Don’t suppose you got any collateral? Not that I don’t trust an unfamiliar skinbag I ain’t never seen before.”
There’s no need for name calling. “Not a thing.”
“So here’s what I’m gonna do,” he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a phone. More specifically, he pulls out my phone. “Found this on the floorboards. Reckon it’s yours?” I nod. “I’m gonna program the number to the shop in here.” He turns the phone on and flips through the screen with more knowing than I have. I really ought to figure that damn thing out. He continues talking as he types, “We’re outside of network, but we have a landline run to an old relay tower. So long as you can get to the tower, you should be able to reach us and can dial in for a pick up. I’ll drive you out there and drop ya out the place so you know where to find it. Sound good?”
“Not sure I have a lot of options here. You got me by the cajones.” He betrays a smirk, spits in his hand and holds it out. I do the same and clamp them together. Gross. “Now any idea where I can find Paige?”
“Oh yeah, he’ll be in his office about now. I’ll get ya there.”
Eighteen
Scott leads me across the main area, beyond a la
rge partition that seems set aside as a mechanic’s shop. A brief glimpse shows a drill press, rigged gantry, hydraulic jacks, and a ton of things my mind can’t register as I keep quick pace behind the man. Another section, set behind stone, has the familiar hum of multiple generators. Probably large ones if they’re the sole source of power here.
Paige’s office is at the far end of the main room, much like the operating room I was in earlier, except this one is equipped with a proper door.
Inside is a wall of security monitors, most of which are dark, but a few in working order. I recognize two in particular directed towards the community service station. The room stinks of stale cigar, but there’s no smoke cloud awaiting me when I walk in. Still, Paige is chewing on the tail end of an unlit bit of brown wrappings, burned down to little more than a nub. His attention is focused on a tablet rigged up like a computer monitor displaying half a dozen scrolling line graphs that I have no hope of identifying without any sort of labeling.
“Find the place alright?” he asks without turning to look at me.
“Yeah, hitched a ride with Scott,” I thumb in the direction behind me, then turn to find the place empty and Scott nowhere in sight. It doesn’t take long to find him passing from screen to screen from the cameras set throughout the facility. From here I get a good view of the other areas, hidden behind partitions. All things save personal living spaces, though the shadows on the canvas left little to imagination.
“I see you had a little tour of the facility. Tell me, Mr. Fallows, what do you think of our little community?”
Given the hospitality, I figure it wouldn’t be in my best interest to avoid insulting the man. “Can’t say I saw too much, but your short game is depressing and any end-game seems nonexistent.” My mouth never really had my best interests in mind anyway.
Rage boils across the man’s face in terms of darkened features and twitching jowls. “What the fuck do you know about running a community, huh? Think you could do better?”
“Never said anything like that,” I respond, keeping my voice temperate. “I’ve learned my lesson and do my damnedest to make sure the only life I screw over on a regular basis is my own.” I attempt to hold my tongue, but it listens as well as it usually does. “That doesn’t mean others don’t get rolled into collateral damage from time to time. Probably more frequently than I’d like to admit. And I admit that the place has an almost nostalgic feeling of home for me. Though I’m gonna chalk that one up to a brief stint I spent living under a bridge with a bunch of other homeless kids struggling to get by. It’s surviving for sure, but so far from living that I can’t imagine anybody settling like this.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t get me wrong here, pal, there’s no denying that all of their basic needs are met. Got concrete over their heads, source of water and a means to clean it. Probably some food here and there. I didn’t do much in the way of exploring, but I don’t see or smell shit everywhere, so I’m guessing there’s a place to dump it. But aside from carrying water around or dabbling in mechanics, what do your people do all day?”
“We survive,” he roars, slamming his fist, rather ineffectively, on the console. No loud gong, no monitors shaking, really not much to it at all.
“Then you’ve just made my point. Surviving is all well and good, but it’s not any way for a human to live. What are you guys hiding from anyway?”
“Do you really know nothing? We were excommunicated! Deported! Booted from your perfect community of “whole beings” for the simple disgrace of attempting to overcome our handicaps.”
“Yeah, I get it. Being unwanted sucks. Being booted from your home is no better. But that’s not what I asked. Aside from the elements and these Ugmen that sniff around, what are you hiding from?”
He stares me down incredulously, his body trembling. The flesh parts anyway. “They took everything from us! Our entire lives! You don’t think they’re going to come after us as soon as they locate us?”
“First of all, deep breaths, buddy. They help.” His body rears back in the most telegraphed tell of the century and he swings a right hook straight for my face. I sweep to the side and tap his arm with just enough force to redirect the punch into the brick door frame. Clenching his bruised hand to his chest, I sigh and give him a few moments to moan, groan and grunt until I feel comfortable continuing the conversation. Minutes drag on. The noise subsides, but his anger is still as hot as ever.
“Ready to listen to reason?” I give a polite second, but the question was rhetorical anyway. “The reason you don’t get too many visits out this way isn’t because you’re damned good hiders, though I’ll admit you’re more myth than reality in the districts. The reason nobody’s found you is because nobody’s looking. If the ass-munchers running society have already “taken everything from you”, then you’ve got nothing left that they want. Barring that, you’re a waste of resources. For whatever reason, they wanted you out of their glorious towers. Guess what? They got that. Until recently anyway… now they’ve got a reason to target you again.
He breathes in deep, but his raging eyes leave me and focus instead on a grease stain on the floor. “Sucks when the greater good bites you in the ass, huh? But get over it. Nobody’s rallying the troops. They aren’t organizing the military to come stomp you out. Not yet anyway. Again, waste of resources.” My eyes flick back up to the screen. People coming this way. Better talk fast. “And you can cry about them taking your lives from you. Everybody here looks pretty damned breathing to me. And that is exactly why your long game isn’t a lost cause.
“One of two things happen to stagnate waters, my friend. They either dry up or become over-run with filth, bacteria, fungus… an ideal breeding ground for nothing good. I ain’t been here long, but I can already feel that there’s a strong sense of community amongst your people. Got a perfect socialist society working for ya. But that’s not healthy. You want your people active, distracted. Otherwise they’ll give way to depression and you ain’t got the pharmaceuticals to deal with it, or they’ll start getting into trouble. Especially now that some of them have gotten a taste for danger.”
“I’m hearing a lot of talk, but nothing worth saying outside of stating the obvious and some useless philosophy.”
I lick my lips, eyes flickering to the screen to judge my window before I’m interrupted. Not enough time to get details, but at least I can plant some ideas. “Your people have unique talents outside of the districts. You’re not the only social outcasts you know. If you could develop a system of commerce, this place would thrive.”
“Commerce?” His rage reignites and his eyes find mine again. “You want me to cast my lot in with those washed out field jockeys and the sodomites from the trash heap?”
Leaning in close to him for emphasis, keeping my own gaze focused and unfaltering I offer a subtle, “Yes.”
“You’re insane. My people wouldn’t dare mix with those…” words elude him and he offers a grunt and throws his hands up in dismissal as he turns from me to gaze at the monitors.
“Ever stop to consider that those biased feelings are the same ones that planted you here?”
“Even if we did… and I can’t believe I would even humor the idea, what’s in it for us?”
“Fresh crops from the fields, endless supply of materials from the junkers, open trade with backdoor surgeons for antibiotics, vaccines and boosters. I could probably even get a back and forth business running within the districts selling refurbished goods. That would open a lot of doors.”
His body tenses again when I mention the districts, but he keeps his back to me, so no hope of reading which way it may be swaying him.
“Yo Paige,” a short, stocky man with enough tangles of orange hair on his face and head to double its size leans in through the doorway. “Got time to talk about the garden situation?”
He snorts, “What is it this time?”
The dwarf eyes me warily and licks his lips, contemp
lating the situation.
“Give us a bit, will ya, Mr. Fallows?” I nod my understanding and walk out of the room, letting the door swing shut behind me. Not five steps away and I hear Paige’s loud swearing. Poor guy could probably stand to get more exercise, does wonders for anxiety.
My mind continues to turn the business plan through my head as I wander the facility. Commerce between the junkers, field workers, techies, bathroom pharmacists and district streets is plausible, but that doesn’t account for the massive investment of time, resources, and manpower, not to mention a wicked startup capital. But then again, if handled properly, and quietly, it stands to be lucrative to all involved.
The wires are still connecting when Paige finds me and leads me back to his office.
“I’ve had some time to think about your proposal.” Paige’s composure has returned and he seems much like the sturdy man I had initially met, though the façade is much thinner having experienced what lies beneath. “I’m not sure what all would be expected of us, but I can see some benefits for my people. Giving a sense of purpose would certainly help with morale. I may not agree with the lifestyles of our benefactors, but that’s just business.” He muses for a moment, “At least that’s what I remember from my time in the districts.
“I do have a simple request, should you manage to get negotiations underway.”
Of course you do. “What’s that, Paige?” I make no efforts to mask my irritation. It’s not like I’m about to start laying the foundation for an underground empire and alliance of no fewer than five different factions.
“I want you to take Mathan with you.”
“Mathan?”
He nods, turning back to the monitors. It only takes him a moment to find the person he’s looking for, thick finger indicating the boy who had taken me to fetch water earlier. “I believe the two of you have run into each other. He doesn’t have any family here and spends his time keeping to himself. But he’s smart. Has a real knack for taking things apart and putting them back together.”
Vessel Page 12
