by Echo Freer
Monkey climbed out of the window and began to edge his way along the sill towards the corner of the building and the fire escape. The Centre was about a hundred years old and the sills ran round the building as decorative stripes, becoming deeper with each window recess but narrowing to a little over foot-width in between.
Angel stepped out after him, very gingerly. ‘I’m not sure about this. I’ve never been good with heights.’
‘I thought you did gymnastics?’ Monkey pressed his back against the wall and looked back to where Angel was standing on the ledge clutching the window frame, her eyes, wide as footballs; the sinews on her hands, taut with fear. ‘Can’t you just imagine you’re on a balance beam?’
Angel shot him an irritated look. ‘Have you ever been on a balance beam?’ she snapped. ‘For one thing; it’s only one point two five metres off the ground, whereas this is...’ She looked down, gasped, then looked up again quickly, ‘...a good thirty metres. And, secondly - have you seen how many times people fall off?’
Monkey began to edge his way back along the sill towards her. She was beautiful and clever and fiercely independent - and he loved her for all those qualities - but, right now, he wanted her to focus on the independent part. The last thing he needed was for her to turn all nurtchie on him.
‘Take my hand,’ he said, offering her his outstretched palm. ‘You can do this. Look straight ahead and slide one foot after the other,’ he encouraged. ‘It’s not far.’
‘What if...?’
‘Don’t even go there,’ he cut in. ‘Just stick with me - I’ve got you and I won’t let anything happen.’
Angel straightened up and, with her back hard against the brickwork, did as Monkey said. He kept up his commentary of encouragement as they proceeded past three windows until the fire escape was almost within arm’s length.
‘Just a couple more steps,’ he said, reaching out and grasping the metal balustrade with his free hand. He stepped onto the iron rungs of the fire escape but, at that moment, the blinds on the window that opened onto the emergency exit, rolled upwards and the breeder occupying the room looked straight at them.
Angel started, but Monkey was quick to grab her. ‘Jump!’ Monkey muttered to Angel, through half-closed lips, and he pulled her across on to the rickety ladder. ‘You go down,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
As Angel made her descent, the window opened and the breeder narrowed his eyes at Monkey. ‘Wozzapp’nin’, cuz?’
Monkey recognised the speech of a former hood member and immediately relaxed into the same mode. ‘Me and her’s breedin’.’ He tossed his head casually in the direction of Angel as she ran down the metal staircase, then grinned at the stranger, conspiratorially. ‘But y’know what it’s like, cuz. Two, three times a month max, just ain’t enough.’
‘Tell me about it,’ the breeder said.
‘So this is off the record - ya get me?’ He gave a knowing wink.
The breeder nodded. ‘Fridge! Go for it,’ he said, turning back into the room.
Monkey ran down the fire escape, grabbed Angel’s hand as she was waiting at the bottom. Tempting as it was to run the short distance back to de Beauvoir Tower, they walked it, so as not to arouse suspicion on any camera that happened to pick them up. When they arrived in the foyer, they went straight to the cupboard but there was no sign of Daz.
‘Shiltz!’ Monkey slapped his hand against his forehead. He’s got our clothes and IDs and everything.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Angel asked.
‘Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you trussed me up and went jaunting!’ Daz appeared from round a corner, his face cut and grazed, his eye bruised and swollen.
‘Daz! What on Earth happened?’ Angel was shocked.
Monkey lowered his eyes, guiltily: he knew only too well what must have happened. ‘Look, cuz, I’m sorry. I never meant for this...’
‘Shut it!’ Daz snapped. He tossed the duffle bag, unnecessarily hard, at Monkey’s abdomen. ‘Get changed!’
Monkey and Angel changed into the casual clothes of the street without speaking, then left the cleaners’ uniforms in a tidy pile on the floor of the cupboard. They were supposed to have left the trolley of cleaning materials there too and Monkey bit his lip anxiously. Daz’s injuries, no doubt at the hands - or feet - of the Broadwalk hood, had made him acutely aware that they were not alone in this: their actions had consequences for other people. He hoped Beth, and the unknown people who had helped her to gain them entry to the Breeding Centre, would not suffer as a result of their hasty and unplanned exit.
‘Follow me.’ Daz’s tone was abrupt. ‘And no more funny stuff.’
Monkey noticed that Daz was limping as he led them through Broadwalk. They took care to check every corner and alley for hoods as they made their way down to the river. Monkey and Angel followed, subdued and silent, until they reached the Water Turbine Plant.
‘Pretend to be going down the bank,’ said Daz. ‘There’s a drain cover a few metres to your right. Follow me.’
‘What about cameras?’ Monkey asked.
Daz shot him a look of contempt. ‘You think we haven’t checked that out? There are blind spots all over this town and we use them to our advantage - not everyone’s as dumb as you, Monk.’
Daz rolled the heavy metal cover to one side and squeezed through the opening into an enormous concrete pipe. Monkey and Angel went in after him and he pulled the cover back to conceal the entrance. It was pitch-dark and Monkey felt a hand grab his arm then work its way down until it found his hand and held it tight. Even above the dank stench of the stagnant water around his feet, he could smell Angel’s fresh, clean smell and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.
‘‘S OK,’ he whispered.
A sharp beam of light arced across the top of the pipe revealing it to be about three metres in diameter. Daz shone the torch along the tube until it petered into darkness.
‘Come on,’ he said.
‘What is this?’ Monkey asked.
‘A storm drain,’ Daz said, as they trudged, ankle deep through ice cold water. ‘And keep your voice down - it amplifies everything.’
They walked for several hundred metres until Monkey could see a warm glow at one side of the tunnel. As they approached, they could hear muffled voices. A short metal ladder led them to a cavern cut out of the side of the storm drain. The walls were lined with rough bricks, and wooden props supported the roof. Monkey looked round the underground room, getting his bearings. It was illuminated by oil lamps and candles and, around the outside, were a number of mattresses. The centre of the space was occupied by a small furnace, with some cooking pots on the top and an enormous metal container to one side where water was being distilled. There were about twenty people, mainly of his own age, sitting on boxes or lying on the mattresses, some alone, others in couples. One or two of them were recognisable to Monkey: past Mooners, who, like Daz, had been supposedly sent to The Farm for cultivation therapy.
A pre-nurturer ran up to Daz and hugged him. ‘Darren! What happened?’
Daz winced as she put her arms round him. ‘Easy!’ He pushed her away slightly and scowled at Monkey. ‘Got done over by a posse from Broadwalk, but I’ll be fine.’ He turned to Monkey and Angel. ‘Come and get something to eat, then you can explain what the hell you thought you were doing.’
The food was basic: flatbread and stew, but Monkey and Angel were grateful for it. The female who had embraced Daz was introduced as Mel, originally from Eldridge Way, a professional nurturing zone for teachers and office workers. Monkey was again struck by the unabashed affection she and Daz showed each other. He reached out and took Angel’s hand, as much to bolster his own confidence as to reassure her.
As they ate, Mel left them to go and get more supplies and, when they had finished, by way of explanation for leaving him
to get beaten up, Monkey gave a brief summary of their morning and their reasons for breaking into the Breeding Centre. Daz seemed unimpressed.
‘We are truly sorry,’ Angel said, aware of Daz’s smouldering resentment. ‘This place is pretty impressive.’ She tried to engage him in conversation to ease the tension. ‘What do you all do down here? Do you work, or what?’
‘We plan and execute demonstrations of civil unrest,’ Daz explained, relaxing a little. ‘There are cells all over the country - at least half a dozen in every town. We’re building up towards the election.’
‘Civil unrest?’ Monkey queried. ‘I haven’t seen any civil unrest.’
‘Course not!’ Daz said, sharply. ‘You think The Assembly’s gonna publicise anything that might make them look bad?’
‘So what do you do?’ Angel asked, trying to lighten his mood.
Daz turned his attention away from Monkey and addressed Angel. ‘You know when you go into town and The Plaza’s sealed off “as a result of hood warfare”?’ Angel nodded. ‘Well, sometimes it might be because a few hoods have got above themselves,’ he glanced at Monkey, ‘but more than likely it’s a demo. I mean, think about it - do you really think they’d send out all that Security for a few pres?’
‘But, what’s the point of demonstrating if no one knows?’ Monkey asked.
Daz shot him another irritated look. ‘We’re working on it. There’s a whole series of cam casts waiting to be streamed onto ring-cams and info-cams countrywide.’
‘So, what’s stopping you?’ Monkey pressed him.
Daz was clearly struggling with his patience. ‘Our hacktivist cells can’t get into The Assembly system yet. But, when they do...’
‘It’ll be too late!’ Monkey interrupted.
Daz rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, I forgot - you’re such a genius, aren’t you, Monk? I can’t wait until you get to Burlington and start your training. Then you’ll see what we’re really up against.’
‘I’m not going,’ Monkey said, flatly.
Daz spoke very slowly, all the time holding Monkey’s gaze. ‘Listen up, and listen up good. Your transfer is already in place. People have put their necks on the line for you and antics like you pulled this morning are jeopardising people’s lives. This isn’t some little street-hood game, you know. This is real life and people have died for this cause.’
Monkey nodded. ‘Appreciated, cuz, but I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I’m gonna make contact with my father and we’re gonna go out there fighting this election for The Unity Party. We gonna chat with the hoods and tell ‘em what’s going down with Distaff so they’ll bridge the turfs and unite against separatism and bring down The Assembly.’
‘Yeah, right!’ Daz jeered. ‘For starters, your dad don’t even know you - and second, you think you can bridge the turfs on your own - in time for the election?’ He slapped his thigh mockingly. ‘You’s something else, Monk!’ He dropped the street talk and turned serious. ‘You either go to Burlington, or you’re on your own.’
Monkey shook his head and sighed. ‘When my father sees how families work, he’ll want that for himself - and for every other father, believe me.’
‘And how’re you gonna show him a working family?’ Daz challenged.
‘Well, if he saw how Tragic’s family get on and the others in the village...’
‘Used to get on,’ Daz corrected. Monkey stared at him, suspecting that he knew what was coming next but, nevertheless, hoping he was wrong. ‘They were arrested on the night of the raid - almost all of them. Trevor’s on remand on a Farm complex in the West Country, Jane’s in The Sanctuary up north and Tom’s been sent to a penal ship in The Channel. They’ll come to trial for treason next month.’
Monkey could feel his chest constrict as he struggled to deal with his worst fear. ‘How d’ya know?’
‘Why didn’t Professor Reed tell us while we were at his house?’ Angel queried.
Daz shrugged. ‘Everything’s on a...’
‘Need to know basis - I know!’ Monkey snapped. ‘Shiltz!’ He stood up and began pacing the underground chamber. Some of the others looked up briefly, then resumed whatever it was they’d been doing. Monkey turned on Daz again. ‘So, what does that mean, exactly?’
Daz took a deep breath. ‘Legally: High treason is the crime of disloyalty to The Assembly, amounting to an attempt to undermine their authority or the intention to attempt to do so,’ he quoted.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, it’s subject to special rules and penalties and, if Tragic and the others are found guilty, they’ll get life imprisonment.’ He looked from Monkey to Angel, then added, in a serious tone, ‘Which also means they’ll be sterilised or worse.’
‘Worse!’ Monkey exclaimed. ‘What could be worse?’
Daz took a deep breath. ‘There’ve been rumours that breeders sent to The Farm are, shall we say, rendered incapable of breeding - ever again!’
Angel gasped. Monkey lowered his eyes.
‘And some have even disappeared off the cam-nav completely,’ Daz went on, soberly. ‘That’s why we can’t afford anyone messing things up. After all...’ He reached across and tipped Monkey’s chin so that he was looking him straight in the eye, ‘...the community in Combe Magna had been operational for years until you decided to poke your nose in.’
Monkey sat down again digesting the enormity of everything he’d been told and his part in the downfall of his friend.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll go up north in three days on one condition.’ Daz said nothing. ‘You let me contact my father. He’s a barrister and he might be willing to take on their case at the trial.’ He waited for a response, but Daz was giving nothing away. ‘If he’s not interested, I’ll go to Burlington and get trained up like the Prof said but, if he’ll agree to defend them against The Assembly, I can stay here, work with him - and you - and try to make amends. Deal?’
Daz contemplated Monkey’s offer. ‘This isn’t my call. I’ll have to speak to people.’ He stood up and indicated a mattress by the wall. ‘Get some sleep, both of you. I’ll be back later.’
And, with that, Daz made his way back down the metal ladder into the storm drain, leaving Monkey and Angel in the underground cavern. Angel dropped her head into her hands and began to weep.
‘It was all our fault,’ she said.
Monkey wrapped his arms round her and pulled her to him. ‘Ssshh! We’re gonna sort this. Trust me.’
He lowered his lips and kissed her gently on the top of her head. He wished he was as confident as he sounded.
Arresting Developments
It was dusk when Daz led Monkey and Angel along the old drainage system that ran under the town. Monkey was once more dressed in nurturers’ clothing and Angel and Mel had spent the afternoon waxing the fine growth of beard that had begun to sprout along his top lip and under his chin. The community had an array of wigs and clothing to suit every disguise and Monkey had been kitted out so that, in the half-light of evening, he made a passable female.
To his relief, the ancient tunnels were dry and only the scurrying of rats remained as a reminder that they had once carried human waste to the treatment works. Since the Oil Wars, a more modern system had been constructed, directing the sewage across town to the Methane Processing Plant in the west; part of The Assembly’s sustainable electricity-generation policy. But the crumbling subterranean network still existed and every street had a number of drains leading down into it. Although most had been sealed off, a couple had been reopened by the underground community. Their position in the middle of town deemed them too dangerous to use during daylight but the rebels often used them at night rather than risk walking through hood territories.
Daz came to a halt. ‘This one’ll bring you up in the service duct behind the leisure centre. You’re about two minutes from The Plaza,’ he said.
‘You’ve got one hour. Be careful.’
Monkey nodded. ‘Cheers, Daz. Appreciate this.’
Daz’s face showed no emotion. ‘The only reason you’ve been greened is ‘cause of Eric Randall’s rep. If he’ll come on our side, it’ll be a real coup.’ He straightened Monkey’s wig. ‘Don’t blow it!’
Monkey changed out of his now filthy trainers and into the court shoes that completed his disguise. He kissed Angel before stealthily climbing the metal ladder that led from the sewer, up a brick shaft, to street level. Lifting the heavy metal disk slightly, he peered into the dimly lit service area, checking for cameras, hoods, Security - anything that might jeopardise his mission. When he was sure it was clear, he pushed the lid away and stepped out into the alley.
‘Shiltz!’ he muttered, as he caught his leg on the edge of the drain-hole.
‘What is it?’ Angel hissed.
‘Snagged my hose,’ Monkey said.
‘For...!’ Daz began. ‘Just get outta here.’
Monkey immediately did as he’d been told. Once out in the open, he gulped down a deep breath, relieved to be out of the fetid air below ground. He’d only been down there a few hours. There was no way he could stay down there for weeks - or even months - like some of the community.
He headed straight for The Plaza and Leadlow Chambers. He was using Angel’s cleaner’s ID - Roxanne Spall, and an appointment had been made for him to see Eric Randall at 18:00. He was on his own for the first time since the night of Fuse’s murder and he felt alone and nervous. Without Angel by his side, he found it hard to muster the courageous front he put on for her. He wished she could’ve come with him. Then, another thought crossed his mind - he wished he’d given her some memento - just in case... No! He stopped himself before his mind could complete the sentence. It was going to be all right. Everything was going to go just as planned: he was going to arrive for his appointment, Eric would take him into his office, he would reveal himself as Eric’s son, Eric would be delighted and then Monkey would tell him about the rebels, ask for his help and Eric would agree. Sorted!
