by Patty Jansen
The man with the ponytail turned and his dark blue eyes found Cory, too. He let go of Rocky's overalls. 'Ah, see what we have here.'
Cory scrambled up. His legs were trembling so much he had to lean on the boxes. He stammered, 'I'm sorry. I . . . I was just leaving. I was lost and—'
'This is a restricted area. How did you get in?'
Cory shrugged, clutching his father's pass in his pocket.
The man jerked his head, and the two others grabbed Cory's arms and pulled him, stumbling and tripping, into the harsh light of the room.
The grey-haired man rummaged in his pockets, and drew out the access card. 'Ah—this explains things.' He held it up for the man with the ponytail to see.
A smile crossed the man's face.
'It was an accident. I didn't take it on purpose!' Cory almost screamed.
'That's what you say, but how do we know? We need to inform Sullivan about this.'
No, no.
'I'm telling the truth. Please, believe me.'
The man kneeled so his face came to the same height as Cory's. He had a strong chin and angular cheekbones and his skin was tanned save for a scar on his cheek. He smiled, not a comforting sort of smile. 'Maybe we can make a bargain.'
'A bargain?' Cory's voice barely rose to more than a whisper.
Rocky boomed, 'Ferrets! He will do no such thing! He's a child. Leave him alone!'
The pony-tailed man chuckled. 'Yes, a bargain. You just heard a conversation between us and Sylvester. Sylvester owes us money, because he gambles too much. Most technicians do. The station board don't like it, but tell me Cory, when you've seen all the latest movies ten times, what would you do?' His blue eyes met Cory's, more friendly now. 'Nothing your father needs to know about, right?'
Cory nodded, but all he could think of was to get out of here, and fast.
'So in return for your not telling what you've seen here, we will forget about this little excursion of yours. I'll delete all the records of this pass from the computer. I think that's a fair deal. Right?'
Cory nodded again.
'Just a warning, Cory: if you tell someone anyway, we will find out. You see . . .' He turned his head to a device mounted on the ceiling. 'There are cameras everywhere. We have friends in security . . . very high in security.'
Sullivan.
'Any questions?'
Cory shook his head.
'Good. Then I'll take you to the lift.'
* * *
When the man let him go at the lift doors in the central hall, Cory started running and didn't stop until he had reached his unit. His room was all he could think about, with the ceiling screen, his bunk, and, through his reader, a link with his friend Garreth. Being alone, time to think about what had just happened.
But when he opened the door, the sound of voices drifted into the hall. A chair grated back on the floor.
'Cory, is that you?' His father came to the door of the living room, a wine glass in his hand. 'Where were you?'
'I . . . Some kids asked me to . . . uhm . . . play some computer games. I forgot the time.' Cory wished he wasn't such a bad liar. He'd totally forgotten about the rabittooh, too.
A smile spread over his father's face. 'It's nice that you've made some friends already. How was school?'
'Uhm—good.' Cory avoided his father's eyes, and instead felt compelled to put down his bag, except he wasn't carrying one; his father held it instead. 'Someone brought this for you.' His father's voice sounded ominous, and Cory had the feeling that the 'someone' had been Sullivan.
But those mean men promised . . .
He stammered, 'Oh . . . I . . . forgot it. Thank you.' He snatched the bag from his father's hand, and slipped away to his room.
'Cory.'
He turned at the door. 'Yes.'
'Are you sure you are all right?'
'Yes.'
'Then I guess I shall not ask how something you . . . forgot . . . at school came to be in a restricted area?'
'Uhm—I don't know Dad.' Heat rose up his cheeks.
His father sighed. 'Then I shall wait for you to tell me when you find out.'
Cory cringed. In the silence, a woman in the living room said, 'We definitely need to check that.'
His father slid the door to the living room half-closed, his eyes never leaving Cory's. His voice was stern. 'Cory, I don't like it when you lie to me. Can I have my pass back?'
His heart thudding, Cory put his hand in his pocket, grabbed the pass and put it in his father's outstretched hand. 'It was an accident. I didn't know it was yours.' Cory managed little more than a whisper.
'All right—an accident is more acceptable than "I don't know." However, if such an accident were to happen again, I would appreciate if you gave it back to me straight away.'
Cory cringed. 'Yes, Dad. I'm sorry.'
'Now go and wash your hands. Dinner is ready.'
Cory grabbed the chance to change the subject. 'Who are those people in the living room?'
'The Midway Board. We're going over arrangements for the Nations of Earth - Union conference. If you're interested, go and get your plate from the kitchen and join us.'
Interested? Of course he was interested. Cory went to his room while his father returned to his guests. When he dumped his bag on his bed, he noticed that his rugby posters were no longer on his desk where he had put them yesterday, but hung on the walls. His shirts lay neatly folded in the cupboard and his books and disks had been sorted and put the right way up.
He frowned. Erith?
He still remembered an awkward conversation on the morning after the wedding, where she had asked what he wanted from her, and he had said the normal things mothers did. Guess cleaning up his room was one of those things. Weird.
Erith sat at the kitchen table, picking bits of salad out of a bowl. Strands of her hair formed a fuzz around her head, as if she had just woken up. Her yellow eyes met his in a penetrating look, following his path from the door to the kitchen bench.
The look made Cory uncomfortable. 'Did you clean up my room?'
'Did I do anything wrong?'
'No, but . . .' There was that feeling again he had so often when she talked to him. Not knowing what to say. Not wanting to be nasty, but not wanting to give her the idea she would ever replace his mother either
'Thank you.'
Her lips curved in a wan smile; she continued prodding at the salad.
'Why aren't you in the living room with the others?' He would have thought she had a lot to say about the subject of the conference.
She picked up another lettuce leaf, holding it between thumb and unnaturally long index finger. Those fingers still gave him the creeps. Like giant spiders.
'They think I have a deadly disease, remember?'
'But you're feeling better now?'
She shrugged. 'Sometimes I feel sick. Sometimes I still feel tired, but it's getting better.'
She looked away, and Cory suspected she felt worse than she was letting out. Maybe she was worried about it, too.
'I thought a doctor would come to see you today?'
'So did I.'
Cory couldn't help but feel some sympathy. 'Could you . . . ask someone else to come?'
'Someone else?' Her eyes met his.
He took a deep breath. 'Like someone who . . . maybe knows what's wrong? The Union observer?'
'I've asked to see him.'
'But?'
She let out a deep sigh, pushed her plate away and sighed again. 'I shouldn't complain. They've bent enough rules to allow me to come with you at such short notice.'
She never spoke to him like this. Underneath her words, he heard that she hadn't talked to the Union observer, and that he hadn't been in contact with her either, nor—he remembered—had the Union observer come to the welcoming party for his father last night. His mind whirled with thoughts, all of which were a variety of, People in this place hate ethies, but that surely had to be his imagination.
Erith ro
se from her seat, picking up her plate. 'This salad is really disgusting.'
'No, don't throw it out.' Cory had an idea.
Erith frowned. 'I didn't think you had suddenly developed a liking for healthy food.'
A blush crept up Cory's cheeks. 'I . . . I want to take it to school. They have a pet rabbittooh.'
'Oh.' Her dark eyebrows flicked up. 'I don't think I will ever understand why a school needs to busy itself with such trivialities.'
His ears now glowing, Cory took the plate from her and shoved the salad into a container that still stood on the table. Erith's gaze pricked in his neck. How he hated all these lies. Anyway, hopefully tomorrow he would find the rabbittooh. He had been stupid to think that Flopsy could have made it to the B-level. Of course the rabbittooh was somewhere in the corridor near the classroom. He'd put the salad somewhere and wait for Flopsy to come and get it.
Cory took his plate—rice with some lumpy sauce—and shoved it in the microwave. While it hummed, he leaned against the bench. Erith sat at the table clutching her cup. She looked rather lonely.
His mind churned for something cheerful and funny to tell her, but by the time the microwave stopped humming, nothing had come to him, so he took his plate and went into the living room.
His father sat at the head of the dining table, facing the door. He still wore his work clothes, a light blue shirt and a dark blue tie. Everyone else at the table was in military green.
Sullivan sat on his father's right hand, in his prim jacket with glittering buttons. Opposite him and to his father's left were a man and a woman, chairs jammed into the narrow space between the table and the wall. Another man sat with his back to the door. All three wore overalls.
His father said, 'Everyone who hasn't met him yet, this is my son, Cory. I hope you don't mind if he joins us.'
'Of course not. Hello, Cory,' said the woman. Her dark eyes twinkled in her chocolate-skinned face. He wondered if she was Sunil's mother.
The remaining two men also greeted him. Sullivan said nothing. He looked very much like he did mind Cory joining them. Worse, there was nowhere to sit except next to him.
Without meeting Sullivan's eyes, Cory set his plate down and took his seat. He picked up his fork and poked at the lumps in the white sauce. Some kind of meat. Rabbittooh.
The conversation between the adults continued.
'So, let me get this straight, Sullivan: once the Aurelian is out of the docks, you want me to close that area to all Midway staff and reserve it for the Union ship?' The man who spoke was big and Asian. Cory remembered that he was master of the docks.
Sullivan nodded. 'That's what I'm saying. Security measures. We need to monitor the whole docks area day and night for at least three days before the delegations arrive. The guest quarters and the conference room will need to be searched from top to bottom.'
There were silent nods around the table.
The Asian man—Cory remembered his name was Chiu—set his glass down. 'Do you think that Gonzales realised the risk when he decided to have this conference at Midway? That there is a very high level of hatred against the Union in the military, and huge membership of the League?'
The League! Was that the same league as those men in Rocky's office had talked about?
Sullivan gave Chiu a sharp look. 'The military does as it's told. If not, they shall have to contend with me. I can assure you, that the first person I see disobeying orders will be on his way to a long service in the outer Arcadia settlements before he can say as much as a word.'
Cory thought Chiu flinched. Unpleasant memories?
The other man asked, 'What about the guest workers? The technicians? How do we know they can be trusted?'
The woman said, 'I don't get why you think there is such a risk. If anyone was going to do anything, they would get their materials—weapons, explosives, and probably their orders as well—from off-station. We've monitored all communication—there has been nothing suspicious for months.'
Chiu shook his head. 'Still I ask, why Midway? I know it's not my place to ask, but why spend all that time and money bringing a delegation here? Showing off human prowess?'
'Chiu, six hundred people were killed when the anti-Union protesters attacked the assembly hall.' Cory's father spoke quietly. 'I was there, not in the hall itself, but in the complex. I saw the lines of dead in the foyer. I used my work car to drive people to the hospital. The emergency ward was so full that non-medical personnel were treating people in the street.' His voice rose as he spoke. A haunted look came over his father's face, and in the low light, he looked tired.
Chiu averted his gaze. 'Sorry Sir.'
'Don't apologise. Work instead to make sure that this never happens again. That's why we're holding the conference here, Chiu.'
Chapter 11
That night, Cory dreamt of running through corridors. Hissing wind from the airconditioning vents blew a flock of rabbitttoohs ahead of him. They had developed wings, pink leathery ones, but didn't seem to know how to use them. They fluttered about like butterflies in a storm. His father stood at the end of the corridor, pelted by flying rabbittooh droppings and talking on the phone to Sullivan. Any moment now his father would hear where Cory had been, and then he would send Cory to a boarding school at Arcadia.
Cory woke all sweaty, his pyjama jacket twisted around him. The cool air from the vent blew over the exposed skin of his belly.
Phew.
He swung his feet over the side of the bed. The clock on the room unit next to the door said only 7.30, but he had to find that rabbitooh before it ended up in tonight's dinner.
The salad in the fridge had gone all limp and brown, but it was all he had, so he put it in his bag. The apartment was still dark and quiet. He stopped to listen at his father's and Erith's bedroom door. Nothing.
He'd better go quickly or his father would want to know why he was off to school so early or why he was taking a container with wilted salad, and that would just lead to more questions and more lies. He made sure he took his own access card today, double-checked the name before he left.
To his dismay, the corridors were full of people hurrying to work, and the stream of workers only abated when he came close to the school.
Flopsy was not on the ground floor of the stairwell, nor were there any droppings. All the doors were closed, including those of the classroom and the entertainment room. Someone sat on the ground near the classroom door: the older girl whose name he didn't know.
She raised her head, frowning over her glasses. 'Hi.'
'Oh—uhm—hi.' What was she doing here so early? School wouldn't start until nine.
She put her reader on her lap. 'I was working on my history assignment. The downfall of the United States as a world dominating power.' She spoke in a spacefarer's accent, which somehow sounded more sophisticated than when coming from Leon or Marnix's mouths.
'You're a student?'
'Of course I am.' She gathered her skirt more closely around her knees. 'I'm in grade eight.'
'Well, I'm sorry, but you never introduced yourself.'
'I don't take part in their silly ceremonies.'
Oh. Cory met her eyes, and then they both laughed. 'The teacher is silly with all her rules, isn't she?'
'Yes, but you have to be careful.'
'So how come you get away with bringing a reader to school?'
'I have to, because Miss Rosier can only teach primary students.'
Cory grinned. 'Bet she likes that.'
She chuckled, too. 'Anyway, my name is Alma, Alma Savage.'
Her last name rang a bell with him, but he couldn't remember where he had heard it before. 'Are you always this early?'
'Usually. My father starts work before eight.' Her gaze went to the box of wilted salad Cory was holding. 'And you are still looking for that rabbitooh?'
Cory shrugged. 'I have no idea where it could have gone. I don't know that rabbittoohs can climb stairs and there's nowhere to hide in this corridor.'
<
br /> 'That's what you think. Watch this.' She put her reader on the floor, rose and pushed a wall panel. It hinged inwards, revealing a dark entrance, waist-high and wide enough to crawl into. Cory sank to his knees and stuck his head in. The air inside was bitter cold and laced with a sharp smell that made him cough. By the faint glow of a tiny light, he could just make out a mesh walkway suspended over a thick coil of wires. More wires and tubes hung on the walls and ceiling of a low tunnel. His eyes watering, he backed out of the door. 'What's this?'
'Maintenance tunnels. Leon and Marnix use these for all kinds of mischief. Every now and then station support comes to bolt these doors shut, but those boys always find a way to re-open them.'
Cory grinned, but a feeling of horror came over him. 'If the rabbittooh has gone down one of these, I'll never find it.' He imagined a hungry animal gnawing the cables, setting fire to the station.
Alma shrugged.
Cory took his salad container, pulled the lid off and bent down to crawl in the door. 'I'm going to put this in here.'
Alma wrinkled her nose. 'Pff—even a stupid rabbittooh wouldn't eat that. Wait.' She grabbed her bag, took out a container, opened the lid and produced half a cherry tomato. This she lay on top of the brown and wilted lettuce. 'There.'
'Thank you.' Cory set the container on the mesh inside the tunnel and pulled the panel flush with the wall. 'I'll check it tomorrow.'
Alma had gone back to her reader.
Soon enough, the other students came down the stairs in groups of two and three. All ignored Cory except the twins, who laughed, not in a friendly way.
Joseph came alone. His grey eyes met Cory's briefly, but didn't say anything. His face was white and looked more hollow-cheeked than yesterday. His jumper hung limp off his shoulders; there was nothing underneath it today. Cory felt a twinge of pity. Fancy having Sullivan as a father. That must be worse than having Erith as a stepmother. Much worse. He wished he could make the rabbittooh appear.
Miss Rosier came down the stairs a little later. She let them all into the classroom and set everyone to work.
