Megacity: Operation Galton Book 3

by Terry Tyler

  "Nope. Sorry, but I don't want to raise your hopes. He won't have anything to support her with, anyway, if he's out there."

  I flopped back down on the chair. What the hell was I going to do?

  "How long was it going on for?"

  "What, him and Soph?" He shrugged. "About a year, I think. Maybe longer. I found out a few months back, but she wouldn't give him up. It's been bloody awful; I thought I'd wait it out, you know, see if the novelty wore off. More fool me, eh? Did you suspect?"

  "Yes."

  "But you didn't confront him?"

  "No—half the time I told myself it was my imagination, and the other half—oh, I don't know. I was scared. Because once it was out in the open—what if I asked him to choose, and he chose her? I was like you, I think—and then—I'm sorry―I should have offered you something―tea, coffee―"

  "Thanks, I'm okay―hey―Aileen―"

  I broke down, quite out of the blue. I just crumpled. It wasn't heartbreak, it was shock and fear. My life had caved in. How could I support Leah on my own? Then my crying made Leah start, so I wiped my eyes and picked her up. Marc put his arms around us both for a minute, then made us coffee and Leah some warm milk, after which she became all soft and dozy, snuggling against me (I loved her like that), and carefully, carefully, I laid her down on the cushions for a nap, while Marc and I tiptoed over to the kitchen alcove to talk.

  He was a nice guy. Sweet, as well as being easy on the eye. In an ideal world we might have fallen in love, with me realising how much better off I was with Mr Nice Guy who comforted me when I was low, unlike Eric, who never noticed. But it wasn't an ideal world, it was a dystopian nightmare.

  Financially, I was in dire straits. Eric always transferred the month's housekeeping as soon as he got paid; I still had three weeks' worth left, which I could stretch to five or six weeks as there were just two of us, but our rent-free period finished at the end of the month, and I would not be able to pay.

  I wondered if that was why Eric had chosen that weekend to go. Nice of him.

  The reality of my situation hit me again, like a hornets' nest falling out of the ceiling. I put an arm across my stomach and heard myself cry out.

  "Aileen?" Marc put his hand on my shoulder. "Come on, talk to me."

  I let him fold me into his arms, because it just felt so good. Eric hadn't held me like that for months and months.

  "I don't know what I'm going to do." Those damn tears started up again, so I wrenched myself away from him, and wiped my hand across my eyes. "I've only got enough money for a few weeks―it'll be a matter of eating, or paying the rent." Rage burned in my chest. "How dare he do this to us?"

  Marc frowned. "I could let you have a little, but I'm going to be a bit short myself now I'll be paying the rent on my own―"

  "No, no―thank you, but I wouldn't take it, anyway. I'm going to need a job. A proper one. C grade."

  His expression was doubtful, which irritated me slightly. "What skills do you have?"

  "I was a sales advisor before I had Leah―NuHome―but that's not all I can do. Before we came to this wretched place, I was in marketing. I designed advertising campaigns, and I was good at it―but Eric thinks we had black marks against our names because we refused to come here until we had no choice―we could only get jobs way below our capabilities."

  "How long ago were you in marketing?" Still that doubtful look on his face.

  "2042."

  "A lot will have changed since then. Tech-wise, I mean."

  "I can learn. I'm always analysing ads―I do it without noticing. I've still got the talent to see what works and what doesn't." I hoped.

  Tech Village never sleeps and doesn't recognise weekends, as I knew from Eric's time there, so I checked to see who was the boss of the NuHome Ad Content these days, and fired off an email. I heard back from one of his minions two hours later, after I'd sent Marc away. What he needed was drinks and sympathy with his mates. I needed to find a job.

  When my com told me that someone called Lucia Green requested a video call, I was excited, but I shouldn't have been; Ms Green's image was computer generated. I wondered if she existed at all. Most people can't tell the difference, but I can, because I used to use them. Apparently some lousy piece of AI had run my experience and credentials through their candidate suitability checks, which revealed that my skill set reached only 'archaic' level, and as I also lacked 'recent workplace interplay experience', I would not be considered for a position within NuHome Ad Content, either now or in the future.

  My beloved daughter was a happy little soul, content to play on her own, chattering away to her teddies―which was just as well, because in between her basic care I spent the next three days finely sifting through every employment site I could find. I scarcely took a break, as I fired off applications for those necessary C Grade jobs.

  I immersed myself in it, so that I wouldn't have to think.

  I looked at jobs that would enable me to work from home, at least one or two days a week: one or two days I wouldn't have to pay for child care. I looked at jobs in offices with a crèche. Even those in other megacities; there was nothing to keep me here.

  When Leah was napping I performed a presentation for my eyes only―I put on make-up and suitable clothes, playing it back and working on my weaknesses. A waste of time, as it happened; any job of a level that would require such a performance rejected me within the hour. I imagined the AI chuckling to itself, and saying, 'Is she having a laugh?'

  By Monday morning, in despair, I went on Heart2Heart and put 'single mum looking for work' into the search, where I learned from forum users that work-from-home positions were usually given to the childcare-providing partner in a couple. Usually the partners of A or B graders. So much for the 'equal society' of the megacity propaganda.

  The forum users also told me that single mothers with no immediate earning potential had little chance.

  Especially if your child is under two, said @bitterNtwist.

  I asked, Why's that?

  Because it'll be over a year before she's in pre-school, and at least two till she's at school proper, said @WelshMum42. Long time till you're free, even for the 9-2 jobs.

  Yeah but there's another reason, said @bitterNtwist.

  What?

  NPU.

  A chill invaded my body. I knew about NPU. Non-Parental Upbringing. For orphans, unwanted children and illegal births. If a woman without multiple birth entitlement becomes pregnant for a second time, she can choose to go full term rather than have a costly abortion, and give the child up to NPU, for which she is paid handsomely.

  Yes, but that's for unwanted kids.

  Well, I hope you get a choice, said @bitterNtwist.

  There's always a choice.

  If you say so.

  What do you mean?

  But @bitterNtwist never spoke again.

  After five days of extensive and concentrated effort, I hadn't had so much as a sniff of a job. Any job.

  Enter Portia French from the Department of Social Care.

  I'd forgotten that Eric's failure to appear at work on Monday morning, every one of my failed job applications and every word I'd typed to forum contacts would be analysed by MC12's AI. Once it was sure I had no way of paying rent or supporting my daughter, it alerted Social Care.

  On that dull, wet Thursday morning, I was just settling Leah down for a nap―teething had kept both of us up most of the night―when my buzzer rang.

  The visitor was smart, businesslike―sleek brown hair, subtle but perfect make-up, neat white blouse and jacket. But her smile looked genuine. She looked nice.

  She was. At first.

  Portia French confirmed that the high job application traffic on my com had tied in with Eric's failure to attend work, and that his com had been located in a waste bin—though for the past year his out-of-work-hours location had often matched that of Sophie Halston.

  "I received an alert yesterday." Portia gave me a sad, sympathetic sm
ile. "It's not hard to put two and two together; I'm so sorry, Aileen. You must be having a dreadful time."

  She took a sip from the mug of cheap, weak coffee that I'd made for her, not quite hiding her expression of distaste, and I felt she was waiting for me to break down. Kind though she seemed, I was wary of being categorised 'unable to cope'.

  "We'll survive." I tensed every muscle in my face to stop those tears betraying me. "You have to accept a situation for what it is, and get on with it, don't you?"

  "You do, and I admire your outlook." She nodded, as though giving this a lot of thought. "Finding out about his relationship with Sophie must have been such a shock, though."

  I just smiled and said nothing. No way was I giving up the last vestiges of privacy. Not only could they see my every online activity, but if there was an alert out about you, you might also be viewed via your wallscreen (so I'd been told on the forum), and of course our basic health was monitored via our NuSens chips. Accepting this nightmarish total surveillance was a condition of living in the megacity, but they weren't having my thoughts, too.

  "So, Aileen," she said, placing her mug on the table in a way that told me she didn't intend to drink any more of it, "how are you planning to support Leah?"

  How I longed to tell her it was none of her damn business, except that of course it was. Her Social Care Liaison badge confirmed this.

  "By getting a suitable job, so that I can afford to put her in day care. The situation isn't desperate just yet."

  Now the concerned frown, head on one side. "It is though, isn't it, Aileen? You start paying rent on the 29th of February. Will you be able to manage that, as well as everything you and Leah need? I see you already shop at Afford, so it'll be hard to go any cheaper."

  Afford is NuMart for those so poor they're only living in the megacities by the skin of their teeth. Everything in plain green packaging. I gave her a thin smile. "Why ask, when you have access to my financial details?"

  She ignored that. "As far as I can see, you've searched every possible avenue of potential employment in MC12, but you might have other plans. Friends to help you out until you establish a regular income, perhaps?"

  "I'm not going cap in hand to friends, who I doubt would be in a position to help anyway, thanks to the standardised pay structure." I sounded like Eric; for the first time, I experienced a whiff of his anger at the whole blasted system. My meagre savings, spent on the egg that became Leah, took me ages to amass. "I might apply for a loan."

  "You wouldn't get one because you don't have a job; surely you must know that? Now, how about your parents?"

  "I assume you're aware that my father is not named on my birth certificate, my mother lives in Eire with her new family, and is unlikely to take on the responsibility of my daughter, even if she could."

  "Mm-mm." She nodded and sat back on that hard armchair. "I understand the problem. Believe me, I do, Aileen."

  "Well, that's nice," I said, and stood up. "Now you've summarised my situation for your records, can I ask you to leave? Leah is teething, which means we were both up all night, and I'd rather like to get half an hour's shut-eye before she wakes up."

  "I'm sorry, but we have a lot more to discuss." The set of her mouth, the determined look in her eyes, told me that so far she'd just been breaking me in gently. "Would you like to sit down again? You see, the purpose of this visit is to decide where you and Leah go from here. Because, unless someone gives you a lump sum, you're going to be homeless at the end of the month. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you strike me as a woman who doesn't shy away from the truth."

  I sat down, with an undignified thump. "I'll find a way."

  "Can you be sure of that? Even if you manage to pay the rent this month, you need a regular income, don't you? And you and I both know you've explored every possible avenue."

  My heart started to thump. "So what are you saying?"

  She smiled. "The good news is that I've been allocated to you as your Social Care Liaison Officer."

  "And that means what, exactly?"

  "That I'm here to help you find a solution." She pulled out her tablet. "You do have options. Two, actually."

  "Which are?"

  "One, you and Leah transition to a Hope Village." She executed a couple of swipes on her tablet, and showed it to me. "Here. That's Hope 48."

  I looked. Warehouse-like buildings behind a high fence. It looked like a prison.

  "What's the other one?"

  "You place Leah in our NPU system while you get back on your feet. Just for a limited period of time, while you re-establish your career. Then, when we're sure you can afford to live independently and that Leah will not go without in any way, she can come back to live with you."

  "No," I shook my head fiercely. "No way."

  "I think the second option might be the best for all concerned."

  "For who? For me? For my daughter, being taken away from her mother?" The thought of being parted from her caused me physical pain. "We'll go to Hope."

  "Are you sure? That would be best for Leah, would it?"

  "Of course it would. The best thing for any child is to be with her mother."

  "In theory, yes, but not always." Swipe, swipe, on her tablet. "Did you know that over thirty per cent of young people in Hope Villages take recreational drugs on a regular basis? Or that, although they have the opportunity to work hard, pass exams, and apply for jobs in the megacities, only a tiny minority ever do?"

  "Leah would. It's about how they're brought up, isn't it?"

  She ignored me. "Sixty per cent of children brought up in Hope Villages are diagnosed with ADD, anxiety or depression at some point in their lives. Many teenagers suffer from malnutrition, because they reject canteen meals in favour of junk food. Is this what you want for Leah?"

  "Like I said, it's up to the parent." I gripped the arm of the sofa.

  Again, she ignored me. "Hope children are four times more likely than those in NPU to suffer from mental health problems. Ten times more likely to establish negative social connections. The number of female teenagers with single mothers obtaining qualifications and eventually getting a job in a megacity is so few it's negligible. The number who become emotionally involved with a male gang member, however, is more than one in five. This is generally attributed to the lack of a father figure; they veer towards what they perceive as a strong male presence." She showed me her tablet. "Take a look at life in Hope Village 48."

  I looked. The cameras showed groups of teenagers, shouting, lolling around, using bad language. In a toilet, two smoked what I assumed to be a drug of some sort. Behind the kitchen, one was having sex with a delivery man. In the dormitories, a girl lay on her bed reading; three others came over and started bullying her, pulling her by the ponytail and knocking off her glasses.

  A classroom, big and noisy, with antiquated computers.

  I knew she was showing me worst case scenarios, but the ploy worked.

  "In case you're wondering, there is a thriving black market in most Hopes. Drugs, cigarettes, alcohol. Try as they might, most wardens are unable to stamp it out, and some of them don't try. Is this what you want for Leah?"

  "It wouldn't be like this for us. I wouldn't let it be. There must be decent people there, too."

  "There are. But once a child reaches thirteen or fourteen, it's almost impossible to regulate her behaviour twenty-four hours a day. In Hope Villages, there is little help for the troubled; disruption or disobedience is punished, which has the effect of exacerbating the problem. They resent the punishment, so reoffend―which usually leads to them teaming up with other rebellious elements. Next thing you know, they're out of control."

  I couldn't speak. Not Leah. Leah wouldn't be like that.

  "Now, let me show you the children in MC12's NPU system."

  I watched. I saw carers involved in educational play with toddlers, one-on-one. I saw them involved in activities; small groups, in light, clean, sunny rooms. Sweet little bedrooms, only three to a
room, with cuddles and bedtime stories. Older children, in small classrooms with the latest technology. Extracurricular activities: swimming, dancing, martial arts, music, singing, drama, gymnastics.

  I saw teenagers in study groups, at wholesome-looking parties, at adventure parks, canoeing, winning prizes for athletics.

  At the end, I saw a little girl of about eight years old, reuniting with her mother.

  "That's Chloe," said Portia French. "Her mother was in the same situation as you. She went into NPU for two years, and now they're back together again."

  I watched as Chloe and her mother clung to each other, crying tears of joy―and then the child insisted on dragging her mum over to talk to two young women who'd taken care of her, and her friends. Hugs and tears all round.

  Portia said, "I've sent both vids to your com, so you can watch them on your wallscreen, along with interviews with Hope residents and NPU children and carers."

  I didn't look at her. "They could all be actors. Or computer generated images."

  "Yes, they could be, but they're not, because that would be ethically wrong and against the law. Our priority is Leah's emotional and physical well-being, along with finding a solution that you can live with. Of course you will be able to visit on a regular basis. If you put Leah into NPU, you will both have the opportunity to lead happy, healthy and fulfilling lives. If you look only at the short term, the future for both of you looks pretty bleak. We do our best with the Hope Villages, but they are what they are. Take the weekend to think about it; I hope you'll make the right decision. For Leah, most of all."

  Chapter 6

  Radar

  2050

  The first person Radar saw when he walked out of Shelby Open Prison was Clay, his Hope Village key worker, which was enough to make him want to turn around and ask if he could stay another week.

  "Good to see you, my man! Back in the outside world!"

  Back in the outside world. If only that were true. Worse still, he was being 'transitioned' to another Hope Village. Clay had explained, during his last visit, that a 'fresh start' was the best plan.