Keagan turned to see a young man crouching in the doorway. Like Eone and the clones above, he had amazing blue eyes. He was also bald and angry looking. He appeared a bit comical: his black clothing, roughly stitched from vinyl and fabric, was covered in odd bits and pieces of machinery, blinking lights, wires and circuits. Keagan thought he resembled a mini scrap heap. There was even stuff on his head – a band with a light and mechanics.
‘Key-gan, this is Befour,’ said Eone, making introductions. ‘He’s the unhappy one of the Refuse. He rants and raves a lot, and he tries to get other people to be unhappy. He also tries to think of ways to get revenge on the Perfect. He likes machines and spends more time with them than with people.’
Befour scowled.
‘Befour, this is Key-gan,’ continued Eone. ‘He’s bemused. He’s not from around here and he’s finding it all a bit hard to understand.’
Befour came right up to Keagan. His headband whirred and a little mechanical arm positioned a lens in front of his left eye. He squinted at Keagan through it, examining his hair and face, then snorted.
‘How did you get down here?’ Befour demanded. He seemed so desperate for the answer Keagan worried he might be willing to beat it out of him.
‘There was an elevator thing,’ said Keagan, ‘that brought me to a concrete room. And then a hatch with a ladder leading down.’
‘Where?’ Befour’s eyes were alight, the lens making his left one larger than the other. ‘Where is the hatch?’
‘Um … in a tunnel,’ answered Keagan.
Befour pounced, grabbing Keagan by his shirt and shaking him. ‘Which tunnel? Where is it? Lead me there. NOW!’
‘I dunno,’ blurted Keagan, struggling against the strange guy. ‘All these tunnels look the same to me. I tried to keep track … but … but things got confusing. Eone knocked me over and sewage was everywhere and poo was falling on me and … and I lost track.’
Befour pushed Keagan up against the junk wall, a sharp bit of plastic digging into Keagan’s back. ‘Tell me!’
Eone shoved him aside. ‘Leave him be.’
‘I need to know.’ Befour was gasping with desperation.
‘I know!’ proclaimed Eone. ‘I saw where he climbed down. I know the way.’
‘Take me there now!’ Befour’s lens retracted into his headband. He was ready to go.
‘Later.’ Eone, casually flicked a strand of her circuit-snared hair.
Befour’s eyes were wild, as if he were ready to attack.
‘Touch Key-gan again and I’ll never show you,’ said Eone calmly.
Befour backed down, grunted and scuttled from the room.
Keagan was still up against the wall, his breathing short and sharp. This Befour guy was mad and Keagan found him scary.
‘Tell me your story,’ said Eone.
‘Huh?’ Keagan relaxed a little and stepped away from the wall.
‘I like stories,’ said Eone. ‘I collect them. Everyone tells me their story when they come to the Dumping Ground. So tell me yours. Who are you? How did you get here? What’s it like in the Perfect World above? I was very little when I was dumped and don’t remember much. Just that it was bright and white and clean. The opposite of down here, which is dim and dark and dirty.’
Keagan wasn’t sure he should be settling down to tell stories. He should be searching for the way home. Frowning, he realised that the need to find the doorway to his own world had subsided. There was still a want to go back to his home and family and school, of course, but the tugging he’d felt earlier had gone. He didn’t even know which way the doorway was.
He considered Eone. Keagan kind of liked this strange girl, and he figured she might be able to help him navigate the sewers and find his way home. So, for the moment, he sat down on a battered plastic box and began to talk, telling Eone his story.
He told her about his life: how he lived at home with his mum, how it was just the two of them; about school and how he was a geeky misfit who liked computers and sci-fi films and how he had to deal with bullies and people who didn’t understand him; about meeting Matilda and going through the doorway; about the strange world of clones, with their direct-to-brain teaching, their obsession with control and perfection, and their five-part sameness; and about how he came to the Dumping Ground.
Eone sat in silence and took it all in. Keagan was again amazed that his story was believed without question.
‘It sounds incredible,’ she said, when Keagan had finished. ‘Your world, I mean. Not the Perfect World above. I think I would like to see your world.’
‘Perhaps you will,’ said Keagan. ‘We just need to get to the doorway.’ Wherever that is, he thought.
‘I almost forgot,’ said Keagan, reaching inside his shirt and pulling out the plastic sheet 55-A-2 had given him. He showed it to Eone. ‘This shows where the doorway is.’
‘It’s a tech-screen.’ Eone leaned over and studied it, excitement lighting up her face. ‘And it’s got an operating connection to the Perfect World. They only ever dump broken ones. Befour is pretty good at getting them sort of working – for doing calculations, designing things, even playing games – but he’s never managed to get one to connect to the tech up there.’
At that moment, Befour burst into the nook again. Thrusting his arm out, a little mechanical claw shot forward and snatched the tech-screen from Keagan’s hand.
‘You were more useful than I expected,’ gloated Befour. ‘This is my way in.’
‘Where did you come from?’ asked a startled Keagan.
‘I’ve been outside listening,’ he said with a sneer. He held up the tech-screen. ‘This can show me the way up and give me access to all the tech in the Perfect World.’ He held up the sheet. ‘I can start a revolution. I can open up the world above to us. I can dump the Perfect.’
‘You can’t,’ protested Eone.
‘Yes I can,’ said Befour triumphantly. ‘And you can’t stop me.’
He was gone before Eone or Keagan could do anything.
‘I’ll never find my way home without that,’ cried Keagan, lunging for the exit. He looked out of Eone’s nook. Befour was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’s he gone?’
‘I’ve got a pretty good idea,’ said Eone.
‘Come on then, let’s go,’ urged Keagan. ‘I’ve got to get that back.’
‘No,’ said Eone.
‘What? Why?’ Keagan was getting hysterical.
‘There’s no point,’ explained Eone. ‘He has all sorts of gadgets and traps at his nook to stop people getting in. And he’ll be gathering his followers. There’s no way we could get it back.’
‘So, what do we do?’ Keagan began pacing the length of the small nook, trying to calm down.
‘We get help.’
‘Help?’ Keagan threw up his hands. ‘From who?’
Eone scrabbled around her nook and produced two torches and a coil of nylon rope, which she attached to her belt.
‘Follow me.’
As Eone took off, Keagan followed, calling, ‘Slow down.’ Eone stopped a little further down the junk tunnel and opened a hatch. She stuck her head in and Keagan heard voices. He shifted from one foot to another. Then Eone slammed the hatch and was off again. After twisting and turning through more tunnels, they arrived at another nook. This one had a piece of dirty grey material draped over the entrance, rather than a door.
‘I need to talk,’ called Eone.
Without waiting for a response, she pulled the curtain aside and entered, beckoning Keagan to join her.
This nook was bigger than Eone’s and the lighting was soft. The walls were decorated with pictures of people – both Refuse and Perfect. He could see sketches on paper, paintings on plastic, etchings on metal. There were also a few tech-screens with photographs and snippets of video. This place is quite beautiful, thought Keagan, in an odd junk-ish sort of way – like a weird art gallery.
At one end of the room, two old women sat side by side in large cushioned chairs.
They were leaning back in their seats, covered in patchwork blankets, eyes closed, holding hands.
The one on the left had long straggly grey hair and a puffy wrinkled face. The one on the right was more like a clone, with a gaunt face and blonde hair. She was also older than her companion.
‘The past is our hope for the future,’ intoned Eone. ‘And Difference is our path.’
The woman on the right opened her blue eyes, focusing first on Eone and then on Keagan. Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply.
‘What are you?’ she croaked.
‘Um …’ Keagan wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Just a boy.’
‘You’re not … Perfect,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ mumbled Keagan, ‘so everyone keeps saying.’
The woman then turned to her companion and whispered in her ear. The second woman’s eyes fluttered open. Keagan saw that they were milky. She must be blind, he thought.
‘He’s not Refuse either,’ piped up Eone.
‘He’s something different,’ said the first woman.
‘Different,’ echoed the blind woman.
‘Tell them your story,’ Eone instructed Keagan, ‘as you told me.’
‘But who are they?’ asked Keagan.
‘These are the Elders,’ said Eone, Keagan’s question reminding her that there were introductions to be made. ‘They give advice. Which usually means telling us what we already know. Zeetoo is the eldest of the Refuse. She sees with her heart but not her eyes. And 47-G-1 is the eldest of the Perfect who live with us.’
‘I thought the Perfect all lived up there?’ Keagan pointed to the ceiling.
‘Most of them do,’ said 47-G-1. ‘I did not like how they chose to live. When they decided to remove Zeetoo, I saved her and ran away. Came down here through a disposal chute. Others have followed in the many years since. Mostly saved Refuse. Some Perfect too. Although perfection is a matter of opinion.’
‘Now,’ prompted Zeetoo. ‘Tell us your story.’
Standing before the women, Keagan told them what he had earlier told Eone.
After he had finished his story, Eone held up a scrap of cardboard with a sketch of his face. Keagan blinked at it in surprise. ‘You did that?’
‘While you were talking,’ said Eone, as she attached it to a bit of wire on the wall.
‘Wow,’ said Keagan. ‘You’re good.’
Eone blushed. ‘The Elders collect stories too,’ she said, pointing to the portraits, as if trying to take the focus off herself.
‘They’re all people’s faces,’ said Keagan, as he gazed at the walls.
‘People are stories,’ said Zeetoo. ‘And they are all different.’
Eone filled them in on everything that had happened since Keagan had arrived, finishing with Befour stealing the tech-screen.
‘And,’ she added, ‘on the way here I asked Scruff to go check on Befour and report back. You know what he intends to do,’ finished Eone.
‘And you know what you must do,’ said the two women in unison.
Eone’s expression was resolute, her hand brushing the rope at her belt. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Hang on. Hang on,’ said Keagan. ‘Can someone please tell me what’s going on?’
Zeetoo sighed. It was long and rattly. ‘Now that he has a tech-screen and a way to the Perfect World, Befour will go up there. He will attempt his revolution, with little thought as to whether he can succeed. With little thought of the consequences for the Refuse.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Keagan.
‘There are many Perfect in the city above,’ explained Zeetoo, ‘but we are few. They are strong; they have resources that we do not.’ She paused. ‘Befour is rash. He will blunder into the Perfect World, he will fight them, and he will lose. Worse than that, he will alert them to our presence.’
‘Don’t they know you’re down here?’ asked Keagan, confused by all this new information.
‘Only a few of them,’ said Zeetoo. ‘Those who rescue the people who are to be removed. The majority of the Perfect, certainly those in charge, have no idea that we are down here. The Dumping Ground is our secret world; our safe haven. When Befour goes up, the Perfect will find out about us. And because of Befour’s actions they will consider us a threat.’
‘So what if they know about you?’ said Keagan. ‘It’s not as if they would come down here to fight you or anything.’
‘They don’t need to come down here to get rid of us,’ said 47-G-1. ‘You have seen what happens when liquid waste is dumped?’
‘Yeah.’ Keagan remembered the water level rising up to his calves.
‘Imagine,’ whispered Zeetoo, ‘what would happen if they opened all the waste chutes at once.’
‘The water level would rise above our walls,’ said Eone, ‘and we would be –’
‘Flushed away!’ Keagan finished, eyes wide.
Silence descended as they all thought about the potential consequences of Befour’s actions.
‘You have been in the world above,’ said 47-G-1, breaking into Keagan’s thoughts, ‘so we must now ask for your help.’
‘My help?’ said Keagan, looking around as if hoping she was talking to someone else. ‘What can I do?’
‘You may be able to guide Eone,’ said 47-G-1. ‘And we have a feeling that your presence will be of benefit. You are so very different from the rest of us. That difference may be able to show others the way.’
‘Difference is our path.’ Eone recited the words under her breath.
Keagan stood silent, but his heart was thudding. They wanted his help? They wanted him to go back up? But it wasn’t his problem. He had his own things to deal with. He needed to get home and find out what had happened with the other doorway and the dark cloud. And then there were the pickles and his mum. His anxiety increased as he wondered if he’d even find the way home. The tugging that had been leading him was gone. And he no longer had the map. He tried to calm his thoughts.
If he helped these people, maybe they could help him? But it was more than that. He didn’t want Eone and her people to be flushed away as if they didn’t matter. Because they did matter. They were human beings. And even though he had only just met her, Eone was his friend.
‘I realise this is a difficult thing to ask of you, Keagan. But our continued existence depends on it. The two of you need to go to the Perfect World,’ 47-G-1 went on. ‘Befour is set on his path. It will be too late to stop him and he will bring the wrath of the Perfect down onto the Refuse. Our only hope is for you to find 47-G-2 – the Perfect who may be able to help.’
Continued existence? Wrath of the Perfect? Keagan felt the weight of the request. How could he refuse?
‘47-G-2,’ observed Eone. ‘Same group as you.’
A slight smile played on 47-G-1’s lips.
‘Siblings?’ suggested Keagan, trying to distract himself from the enormity of the situation.
‘What are siblings?’ asked Eone.
‘Brothers and sisters,’ said Keagan. ‘Children with the same parents. Family.’
‘We are all family,’ said Zeetoo.
‘We are all created from the same genetic material,’ continued 47-G-1. ‘0-A-1 and 0-B-1 are the parents of us all.’
‘Their names were Evelyne and Adamah,’ added Zeetoo.
‘How long has this been going on?’ asked Keagan, feeling curious about how this crazy world had begun. ‘The cloning?’
‘We are currently up to Generation 64,’ said Zeetoo.
‘And a new generation is produced every five years,’ added 47-G-1. ‘So that’s three hundred and twenty years.’
‘Why is it always groups of five?’ asked Keagan. ‘Five clones in each batch. New clones every five years.’
‘Five fingers on each hand,’ said 47-G-1.
‘Five toes on each foot,’ said Zeetoo.
‘Five senses,’ added Eone.
‘Five is the number …’ began 47-G-1.
‘… of perfection,’ finished Z
eetoo.
Perfection again, thought Keagan.
‘How did it all start?’ he asked. ‘Why did it happen?’
‘No one really knows,’ said Zeetoo.
‘There are archives,’ said 47-G-1.
Zeetoo raised an eyebrow.
‘They are off limits,’ continued 47-G-1. ‘But I did access some of them before I left. I was very curious. One of my many undocumented imperfections.’ Zeetoo squeezed her hand and 47-G-1 smiled. ‘There was radiation. It led to a sickness called Spectrox Toxaemia. Which led to no more children. As the population was dying out, two scientists set up a cloning program to save their race. A program that focused on creating ideal human beings – perfect people – to give them the best chance of survival. And we are the result of this.’
‘Why do they treat people so badly?’ asked Keagan. ‘I don’t get it. Why do they get rid of people instead of taking care of them?’
‘Fear,’ said 47-G-1 and Zeetoo in unison.
‘Fear is such a powerful force,’ said 47-G-1.
‘And now, fear is driving Befour’s actions as well,’ said Zeetoo.
‘You must go,’ insisted 47-G-1. ‘You must hurry!’
Keagan and Eone emerged from the Elders’ nook to find the junk tunnel crowded with people. They had been listening.
Never had Keagan seen such an extraordinary group of human beings. He could see the underlying physical sameness of the clones, especially the piercing blue eyes … but these people had done everything they could to make themselves as different and unique as possible. The Perfect were all alike – in appearance, dress, style and behaviour – but the Refuse were individuals. He gazed from person to person: from the woman with tattooed zigzags on her face, to the man with colourful, decorated teeth; from the girl with a red Mohawk, to the boy with plaited hair down to the small of his back; from the girl with piercings in her nose and lips, to the boy with shaved eyebrows. And that diversity extended to their clothes and accessories, which featured hand-coloured fabric, shiny bits of metal and painted pieces of plastic.
Just as Keagan was fascinated by this strange group of people, they also seemed enthralled by him. They stared. A few of them reached out to touch his hair, his hands, his sewage-soaked clothes.
Perfect World Page 4
