by H M Sealey
An ambulance arrives with Arabic letters on the front and side, and the paramedics, who look odd to me in long robes almost to their ankles, behave with professional efficiency. We watch from a safe distance and although the men throw us brief glances, their priority is obviously the patient.
Finally the ambulance moves away, blue lights flashing, the sudden roar of the engine is like the cry of some hungry animal in the dark and I jump. In my head the sound of a truck growling is synonymous with a wolf attack, it isn’t a safe sound.
I crawl into the back of Baraq’s old car, onto worn seats that smell of damp and body odour, and I burst into tears. Missy wraps her arms around me and I lay my head on her shoulder.
“What did you tell them?” Alaia asks?
“That he was attacked in the street and I didn’t see the aggressor.” Baraq tells her.
“Did they believe you?”
“It’s not their job to believe or disbelieve. I suspect there will be an investigation.” Baraq climbs into the front seat and slams the door. I shudder at the sound of the engine again, every nerve feels ragged tonight. “Stay covered for now.” He commands. “It isn’t unknown for spot checks on cars. There aren’t all that many of them nowadays.”
“There are more here than in Old Britain.” Missy says.
“We have oil shipped in from the Gulf states.” Baraq confirms. “The border gets it too, although it costs them more.”
Missy frowns beneath her veil. I can’t see that she’s frowning, I just know the certain little humming noise she makes with her teeth.
“I wonder what happened to all the North Sea oil we had.”
“Most of it went to the BSI.” Baraq told them. “But they were targets for the Islamic State, back before Europe fell. There was a treaty originally, with Old Britain and the BSI agreeing to share the oil fields, but the ESI declared they’d continue attacking them as long as infidels and kafir were allowed to work there. As I remember, Old Britain claimed it was all about the environment, and they’d turn to solar power and wind farms. Which, I believe, don’t run cars very well.”
The car rattles over the roads as we head towards wherever it is Baraq calls home. I begin to relax, just a little.
“Is that man really my father?” I ask.
Baraq doesn’t respond for a few moments, and when he does, his voice is noticeably quieter.
“I think he might be. Yes.”
I lean forwards in the car to talk to him. “That’s amazing! I never knew my father. Gran said he used to beat mum up and then she married some Muslim guy, but I always thought that meant my real dad was dead.”
“Maybe….maybe she was unhappy. Maybe…..some Muslim guy made her happier?”
“Yeah, maybe, but he’s long gone. Gran had him arrested. But my real dad? I mean, that’s just – wow!” Fresh tears fill my eyes, but these aren’t tears of despair or fear, I’m not sure what they are.
“And look how he defended me! He stood up to all those other guys and saved me.”
“He did.” Baraq agrees, his dark head nodding.
I lie back against the seat. “I thought I’d lost everything all over again, like the first time.”
“The first time?”
“When they took me away from mum. I know she was suffering from warped thinking or whatever they call it, but I was only little. I was scared. Alone. I sat in a room and cried and nobody came.” I rub my face quite fiercely. “But this time, when I was alone and crying, he came.”
I manage to smile. I catch a glimpse of Baraq’s lean face in the mirror, and for a moment, in the dull flash of a passing streetlight, it looks as if he’s crying too.
~
Josh
There are at least thirty people downstairs, thirty beautiful people wearing tailored suits and dresses, elegant and influential, their clothing blending in with the luxury of Diana’s house until everything is just a kaleidoscope of refined colour and sound.
Sophie meets us at the foot of the stairs and offers us drinks from a tray. I take one, hoping a little alcohol will make me feel less self conscious. River gives me a long, scornful look.
“Oh yes Josh, you have a drink with them.” She mimes holding a glass in the air. “Cheers m’dears, here’s to not giving a shit about anyone else just as long as I’m okay.”
I put the drink down and smile at Sophie who bears the tray away.
“River.”
“What?”
“If you hate your mother this much, why stay? She got us both out of the Rainbow Centre. I’m grateful for that.”
“We got ourselves out of the Rainbow Centre Josh. All she did was bribe them to keep it that way. It doesn’t help anyone else does it?”
“She said she’d commission an inquiry.”
“And she will, out of public money. And the inquiry will be held by her friends who’ll say Rainbow Centres are a wonderful tool in the rehabilitation of those with warped thinking. I can almost quote it now.”
River turns and merges into the crowd. I adjust my tie a little and follow her. She heads for the kitchen, rather than the living room. It’s quiet in here, Sophie’s domain. The counters are all faux granite and the floor sparkles beneath the spotlights.
By the back door, there’s a box. River peers at the buttons.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Burglar alarm?”
She shakes her head. “Not quite. All the houses here have them. It’s a security system. It locks the house down completely. Nobody can get in or out until its over-ridden.” She brushes the switches with her fingers. “Why do you think the people here need this level of security Josh? They’re not banks.”
“I have no idea.”
“Because they’re always wondering when the revolution is coming. The proletariat. Oh, they’re safe here with their private police forces, but they know that there are too many discontented people out there. Their stupid government focuses on micro-regressions and internalised misogyny and institutionalised racism to keep the people divided and angry with each other. But one day, they know they’ll push this broken land too hard and they’ll risk their heads on pikes.”
She nods at the security system. “They want to protect their acquisitions. They got them out of Old Britain so they couldn’t be eaten up in taxes and so their wealth wasn’t quite as obvious, but it’s only a border. If a howling mob comes with pitchforks the police are likely to run, not open fire.”
River moves away from the door and examines the drinks on the table.
“Of course, they know the BSI might attack one day too, complete the invasion of the west. But they’re more scared of their own people because, deep down, they know they can’t go on destroying the land and the culture forever without reprisals. It’s almost a religious thing really, fear of judgement.” She laughs to herself. “But they’re all religious really. They all believe they way is the way, the truth and the life. All people believe that about their worldview. Even atheists think they’ve found the truth. We even have original sin don’t we? White guilt for the deeds of our colonial ancestors.”
“Oh. Sir. Miss. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Sophie stands in the doorway, a tray in her hand.
“That’s all right.” River’s smile becomes genuine again. “I was just showing Josh the house.”
“Yes miss.”
We leave the kitchen and join the party in the big living room. Here people sprawl on chairs, sipping drinks and laughing. Director Summerday is near the window, commanding the attention of a large group of engaged females and bored looking men.
“He should never have had the job!” She tells everyone, gulping her cocktail, her face flushed. “I always said he couldn’t be trusted. Men can’t, as a rule. That’s why they should stick to menial work. Keep them digging the roads. Honestly, roll on the day our scientists work out how to make artificial sperm and then we won’t need them at all.”
River turns away fro
m this rant in disgust as the women comfort Director Summerday and tell her how wonderful she is and how awful all men are.
“Hello there Ash.” Kai Clark joins us, a drink in his hand. “Glad to see you came.”
River doesn’t answer, just makes a little noise that could mean anything.
“What about you Josh?” He smiles at me, a sort of aggressive smile that makes me feel I have to smile back. “How are you liking life here in the Border? Quite an eye-opener for you I should think.”
“Yes.” I agree. “It is.”
“Enjoying Diana’s hospitality? She’s a very charitable lady.”
“Yes.” I say again. What else can I say?
“Have you thought about the future? Will you go back to Old Britain now? Look for a job there. Or are you going to stay on here? If you can find work and put your all into it, the Border can be very good. Doesn’t reward weakness or sloth though. You need to go back to Old Britain if you want to be lazy.”
“I don’t know.” I say truthfully. “I haven’t thought.”
“Well, if you need a job I own two factories here. I could probably find you something.”
“Thank you sir.”
I can feel River’s eyes piercing my neck as I answer. But why shouldn’t I consider my future? I want a cause, yes, but can’t I have both? Can’t I have a job as well as help people? Can’t I work hard and seek to change this rotten system from a better position? This isn’t a story. We’re not Robin Hood and Diana is not the Sheriff of Nottingham.
Kai notes River’s poisonous gaze and chuckles to himself.
“One day Ash, you’re going to have to come down to Earth. The world isn’t fair and you can’t change it single-handed.”
“I can try.” She says in a sad, fierce voice.
“What did you really accomplish, getting yourself locked in a Rainbow Centre?”
“I met Josh. I saw the truth of life there.”
“You could live in a refugee camp and see the truth of life there too.”
“I have.”
“Ash, you’re a privileged young lady. A lot of people in your position do feel guilty that they’re raised in luxury while others have much less.”
“You think this is about privilege?”
“I think this is the equivalent to the story of the princess who dresses as a peasant to experience life from another perspective.” He reaches out and touches her shoulder. “I used to read that story to you when you were little.”
River knocks him away.
“The princess in the story is torn between loving her family and wanting to tear down her family’s evil regime.” She says.
“And in the end, she chooses the love of her family. Diana loves you. Don’t devalue that.”
“I don’t. I know she loves me. I love her. I just…..I just can’t condone what her government does.”
“It’s not her government. She lost the leadership elections. For all NuTru’s diversity, they still haven’t had a female leader since they came into power.”
I hear Diana’s high, merry laugh and I gaze across the room. Even in a gathering of peacocks Diana Lamont stands out, stunning in a purple, sequinned dress slit all the way to her thigh. Her hair is piled on top of her head and she floats around the room, charming every guest, all long legs and red-fingernails and the sort of intense expression on her face that makes it look as if she cares for every problem brought to her attention.
River watches her too, her eyes bright but unreadable as they often are. She could be planning a murder or wondering what to eat for lunch, I have no idea what goes on behind those dark eyes.
The alarm blares so suddenly one of the ladies drops her glass with a squeal and the liquid spatters all over Diana’s thick, cream carpet. The alarm is so loud I want to cover my ears, then there’s a funny, grinding sound, like metal, and several thuds that rattle through the house like thunder. The room darkens, just a little, although I don’t understand why.
Then the alarm stops and everything feels normal again.
Diana curses softly and runs to the big window. She throws the heavy drapes aside and I realise the streetlights are no longer viable through the glass.
“Damn!” She says. “The security system’s activated.”
I can see there’s a thick, metal grill over the window. I wonder if it’s the same all over the house.
The guests look startled. “Is there a problem?”
Diana shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll just check the doors.”
By now the people are becoming concerned, Diana joins us again, several lines noticeable on her brow that I didn’t see before.
“I think the system might be malfunctioning.” She decides, clearly irritated at these unexpected events. “I’ll have it overhauled as soon as I can.”
“It’s not malfunctioning.” River’s voice is clear, like a teacher at school addressing a class. Demanding the attention in her tone. I will be heard and you will sit up straight in your seats and listen.
“It’s working perfectly.” She says. “The whole house is locked solid. Nobody’s going anywhere.”
~
Asim
“What the Hell’s going on here Zeb?”
Zeb was reasonably pleased with himself. Despite losing Elsie he had made a very comfortable profit. Now it was time for a large whisky once he was safely back in the Border.
“What?”
“Where is she?” Sylvester looked at his son with narrow, fiery eyes. It was the sort of look Zeb had always found intimidating. It reminded him of the things about his business he preferred to forget.
“Who?”
“Misaki! The Japanese girl!”
Zeb frowned and picked up his tablet.
“She must have been sold. What? Are you upset? You weren’t seriously thinking of buying her? Mum would never let you get away with it.”
“She wasn’t sold.” Sylvester pulled his son aside. He didn’t want Kit to hear this particular conversation. “I was waiting for her. She’s on the list, but she was never brought out. So where is she?”
Zeb looked at his list in more detail, scrolling through the details of the purchasers. Then he checked the paper receipts. Many of his clients paid in cash and did not want their names on any database. Zeb prided himself on discretion.
“If she wasn’t sold, she must be here somewhere.” He glanced around. “I’ll check the back room. Maybe the bitch is hiding.”
Sylvester watched Zeb with impatience. He should have taken her away the night before, when he had the chance. Damn. Didn’t she trust him enough to help her? How the hell had she slipped away. The girls were conspicuous enough.
Zeb returned, scratching his head and checking his lists again.
“There’s no sign of her. Seriously Dad, she couldn’t have just walked out. The windows don’t open, I had a man on the door at all times and the girls were all marked. They can’t just disappear.”
Sylvester dropped his voice to a hiss. “This one did.” This one, he remembered, had spent her entire adult life helping people to disappear. Why was he so surprised she’d turned those talents on herself.
He left Zeb to solve the mystery and walked back to Kit who was now in deep conversation with a Japanese man. Kit nodded to him as he joined them.
“This is my colleague, Sylvester Jourdete.” Kit said, not even meeting Sylvester’s eyes.
The Japanese man inclined his head politely. “Pleased to meet you.”
Sylvester ordered another drink. Asim, now exhausted and entirely ignored, did his best to remain upright and polite. He tried not to stare at Dai too hard, he did not want their friendship to be obvious. He didn’t understand why Dai was still here nor why he was friendly with two such unpleasant men.
“So, did you buy any of the girls?” Kit asked. Dai shook his head.
“Not this time, no.”
“I believe Zebedee Jourdete is one of the better traders in the area.”
Sylvester turned his attention to Dai. “And you are?”
“Akihiko.” Dai said smoothly, borrowing his grandfather’s name. “Akihiko Kimura.”
Sylvester took his hand. “And what’s your line of business Mr. Kimura?”
“Oh, this and that.”
“You live in the Border?”
“I’m – staying there for a while.”
Sylvester scrutinised him. “I didn’t see you in here earlier.”
“No? Well, there are a great many people.”
Sylvester glanced at Kit. “Did you see Mr. Kimura before? You have an eye for people. You know how careful they have to be not to have….uninvited guests.”
Kit shook his head. “No.” He said.
“I saw him sayyid.” Asim interrupted. “I noticed him when we first came.”
Sylvester barely glanced at the boy, but he accepted his word. He had more important things to think about anyway.
Kit smiled at Dai. “You’ll have to excuse Mr. Jourdete. He tends to be very suspicious. His son’s the trader. He can’t afford any mistakes.”
That riled Sylvester. “My son is a perfectly legitimate businessman.”
Kit rested his face on his hands. “So legitimate his auctions have to be done in secret.”
“In private, not secret. There’s a difference.”
“Just barely. I know full well why he chooses to conduct his business in the godforsaken land, it’s so poor mugs like us, Mr. Kimura, have to spend a fortune on Border passes to give us access to the BSI.” He slid his hand into his jacket pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper and a plastic card. “Don’t think I don’t know Zeb gets a cut of the money we pay for these things.”
Sylvester looked at him sourly. “Well if you didn’t have a valid border pass, you could look forward to a long stint in a BSI prison.”
