Genesis Trade (Genesis Book 5)

by Eliza Green

  Albert loosened her restraints. She stepped out of them and slipped her hands out of the loose wrist clamps.

  ‘Don’t be afraid here, Isobel,’ said Albert.

  ‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Isobel held her head up high. ‘I accept whatever fate I am given.’

  ‘You misunderstand my intentions,’ said Albert, sounding nervous. He was unsure about her. ‘We’re all friends here, isn’t that right, Ben?’

  Ben nodded. ‘I told you already. We bought you to save you. We’re the good guys.’

  ‘Most people who say that don’t usually bargain for a slave.’

  ‘How else could I convince Marcus to let you go?’ said Albert. ‘The lad here even gave up his compass so we could meet the price.’

  Isobel stared at Ben. ‘You’ll soon see it was a waste to spend it on me.’

  Did Alex live in a similar neighbourhood to this, at the mercy of men like Marcus who cared little for others? A lump rose in her throat.

  Albert became distracted by the whereabouts of someone called Kevin. She watched Ben, curious to know why the teenager didn’t fear her like Albert did. Maybe it was his age.

  Maybe she didn’t care.

  She listened when Albert explained the intricacies of Waverley neighbourhood. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she would search for a way out of this mess.

  15

  The auction was all Marcus thought about that morning. Gaetano hadn’t been seen all week and Marcus couldn’t wait to fill him in on his clever plan to sell off the Indigene pair before Enzo twisted the story or claimed credit for his idea.

  The journey to Waverley was long, but felt longer with Carl going on about his night.

  ‘So I said to her, “If ya don’t do what I ask, I ain’t paying ya. Is as simple as that.” Then I showed her the cash and her eyes lit up. She was more than willin’, believe me.’

  Marcus rolled his eyes. The prostitutes were always willing when you showed them enough cash to last them a week. The criminal gangs had raided all the World Government houses and warehouses, and the cash could buy expensive things from the art or jewellery collections. Money talked loudest among the factions, and they used the currency to keep others off their patch and the residents in line. Cash bought you replicators, replacement oxygen canisters for the gel masks; things the old regime handed out for free. Things the residents could only aspire to own.

  ‘How about you shut the fuck up and keep your eyes on the road?’

  Carl frowned at him. ‘The car drives itself, or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Yeah, but I can’t stand the sight of your beady eyes. I’d rather look at the back of your head.’

  Carl smirked. ‘Bet you wouldn’t say that to Enzo.’

  Carl always knew which buttons to press. ‘No, I wouldn’t. I’d tell him to go fuck himself.’

  Marcus folded his arms. He was sick of listening to the likes of Carl. He was also fed up with working for Enzo, who, at twenty-eight, hadn’t a clue what he was doing most of the time. Marcus used to enjoy his job but lately it felt like he had a permanent noose around his neck. One word from Gaetano would kick that chair out from under him.

  The car pulled up to the main square in Waverley and Marcus climbed out. Seeing the crowds injected him with a thrill he thought he’d lost. He enjoyed being the centre of attention. With Enzo always around, it was getting harder to impress Gaetano Agostini. Marcus hoped the sale of these two Indigenes would put him front and centre as Gaetano’s main man.

  He and Carl unhooked the Indigenes from the obelisk and reconnected their restraints, making it impossible for them to run. He spotted Albert Lee and his bastard grandson, a reject Albert had saved from one of the orphanages. The criminals had raided the orphanages as soon as the World Government left and they’d secured the government strongholds like the Deighton mansion. The Kings had recruited quite a few boys from the poorly staffed institutions before the good citizens barricaded the entrances and cut off their supplies of fresh talent.

  In the end it hadn’t mattered. The neighbourhoods teemed with bored teenagers willing to do something for next to no pay. The Agostini family used the boys as old-school couriers to send messages between the factions. The Kings didn’t trust technology.

  The female strained away from him. He rattled the chains and she stiffened. He couldn’t wait to be rid of these two. They were more trouble than they were worth.

  ‘Bottom-feeders,’ someone in the crowd shouted.

  ‘We don’t want you here. Go home.’

  The insults from the residents brought a smile to Marcus’ lips. He had worked hard to rule Waverley with an iron fist, and now they couldn’t bear the sight of an outsider. But having an Indigene in their midst would prove too valuable an opportunity to pass up. They would trade their pathetic trinkets for something of worth—like a cook and teacher.

  The neighbourhood drunk caught his eye and nodded to him. Old Pete. Useful for jobs. Willing to do whatever Marcus asked if Marcus promised him drink. But Pete was becoming more brazen in his requests. On his last job, he’d asked for—but not got—a Buzz Gun.

  But Marcus wondered why Albert Lee had come. Albert never came to auctions. It wasn’t the first auction Waverley had seen, but this was the first one that traded people, not goods. Albert was as stubborn as that hag he’d seen her with. Sal something. Probably getting the leg over with her. He pictured them both horizontal and shuddered. His attention drew to the bastard, Ben, and his eagerness. Then it became clear: it wasn’t Albert’s idea to attend today.

  Someone in the crowd asked about the male Indigene’s skills.

  ‘Fetching and carrying,’ he said. He meant it as a joke, but strong men were scarce in Waverley and Marcus knew the male would be a valuable asset. The crowd swelled as more residents from West, North and South joined East, the English-speaking district.

  Soon, the bidding was over. A Spanish man from West compound bought the male for fifteen hundred. Albert’s pathetic attempts at haggling had Carl in stitches and Marcus struggled to suppress his own smile.

  With the male out of the way, Albert’s attention snapped to the female. Marcus toyed with Albert for a while. But it wasn’t long before he got bored. He wiped his ass daily with the pathetic money on offer. What Marcus wanted was the stashes of valuable items hidden in Waverley. He’d ordered his men to ransack the buildings once, but they’d found nothing. Something shiny caught Marcus’ eye; Ben Watson held a rare compass out to him. His pulse raced and he pretended it wasn’t of much value. Gaetano would be impressed. The compass would be worth more than a bag of money.

  Raising the price was easier than Marcus had expected. But Marcus didn’t care about the cash with Gaetano’s genetically perfect face on it. The compass was a fine piece of craftsmanship. Early twenty-first century, he guessed. They settled on two hundred for the item. Marcus wrapped it back up and placed it carefully into the inside pocket of his black jacket.

  ‘So that went well,’ said Carl as the crowd began to disperse.

  A little too easy.

  ‘Bet Enzo wouldn’t have done so well. Can I see the compass?’

  But Marcus had stopped listening. He watched the Spaniard lead the male Indigene away. The male stood too tall for a simple cook. Not that he knew how tall cooks stood. It was just a feeling.

  ‘Gaetano’s gonna be pissed you sold the male.’

  Carl was right. Gaetano had said once that strong men were invaluable, while women provided the men with a distraction. Marcus strode over to the male and took him back. When the Spaniard protested, he shot him in the head. He took the man’s gel mask and canister and pushed the restrained Indigene male into the waiting car.

  ‘Stick him,’ Marcus said to Carl. Carl slipped a syringe from his pocket and jabbed it into the Indigene’s neck.

  Carl counted the money from the auction, but something else bothered Marcus as he looked around at the dispersing crowd.

  ‘Hey, Carl, did you
notice the people today? They looked a little cocky, even after I killed that first man.’

  Carl made a hissing noise. ‘They still got that fear, y’know. They came running when ya called. You’re worryin’ about nothing.’

  Marcus couldn’t help it. ‘I can’t let the residents think they have power. I need to remind them who’s boss around here. You know it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper killing.’

  He stopped talking when he saw Old Pete had stayed behind. Pete gave him a glassy stare. Marcus could almost smell the drink on him from where he stood.

  ‘You got something for me, Pete?’ Marcus said when Pete neared. Pete’s stink seeped inside his mask and turned his stomach.

  ‘Not yet, but I’m keeping an eye on Albert, jus’ like you asked.’

  Old Pete was one perpetual bootlicker. Never amounting to much but good to have around to do the grunt work. He’d asked him to break into Sal’s place and take money from the safe there. Sal and Albert were the joint treasurers for Waverley. But Pete had chickened out. Marcus only kept the drunk around because he could get close to Albert.

  ‘You’ve been saying that for some time,’ said Marcus. ‘I need that money from the safe.’

  ‘And I promised to get it.’ Pete patted Marcus’ arm, but yanked it back when Marcus stared at him. ‘I just need more time to track Albert’s movements. Now that he has that thing working for him, I can report back on her, too.’

  ‘If you ever touch me again, I’ll cut your tongue out and feed it to you. And I’ll bar you from every drinking establishment in New York.’

  Old Pete gave an uneasy laugh and combed his dirty fingers through his equally dirty hair. ‘Nobody can get closer to Albert Lee. You need me.’

  Marcus needed Old Pete like he needed the scar on his neck. But Pete could be controlled and he only wanted drink as payment for information, information that made Marcus’s job of controlling the neighbourhood easier.

  ‘You have two days to get me what I want. And if you double-cross me, I’ll know it. I know exactly how much money is in that safe.’

  ‘Marcus, you can trust me.’ Old Pete smiled, flashing his decayed front teeth. He shuffled off toward Lee’s tavern.

  Marcus didn’t trust Pete, but he was his best chance of regaining full control over Waverley again. He had no choice but to keep him around.

  Carl waited for Marcus by the vehicle. ‘Fuckin’ drunk,’ he said.

  ‘And you’ve more diseases than your whore of a mother.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Marcus grabbed Carl by the collar and shoved him towards the door. ‘Get in. We need to make tracks.’

  Carl laughed and opened the door. ‘Great. I’ve got another story for ya on the way home. It’s ’bout what I did with your mama last week.’

  Marcus’ mother was long dead but Carl knew how to piss him off. Carl was like a brother to Marcus. A bad one. Marcus had outgrown Carl and his immature ways some time ago.

  He gritted his teeth and climbed into the back with the subdued male Indigene. One way or another he would move up the ladder and get away from all the Carls and Old Petes of the world. He craved to be in a position of power like Gaetano.

  Grunts, that’s all he and Carl were. Marcus rarely got the respect he deserved. If you wanted respect, you had to become like Gaetano. Everyone feared Gaetano.

  And if he couldn’t move up, then he’d find a way out.

  16

  The foot patrols were out when Marcus and Carl returned to the headquarters of the Agostini family in Astoria Park, Brooklyn. The car bumped and bounced over dirt roads and uneven surfaces before it lurched to a stop just short of the entrance to the old mansion once belonging to Charles Deighton. A fully operational force field, running off its own power supply, surrounded the property. Carl hit a button on the car’s display to disable the force field.

  The car continued up the short driveway and stopped outside the grand house. Several men patrolled on foot inside the force field, close to the house, while the rest of Agostini’s men covered the approach roads to Astoria Park. To see so many units in the area was unusual, unless... Gaetano was here. Marcus touched the compass in his pocket. While the rival factions operated under an agreed “don’t fuck with us, we won’t fuck with you” policy, with Gaetano on site, an attack could still happen.

  Enzo had put the Indigenes from Waverley docking station to work in a control room in the attic. Marcus glanced at the male Indigene he’d stolen from the Spaniard. He was moving around more and looked to be getting his strength back. Marcus needed to get him inside, put a shock collar on him, like the others. He would also put this cook to work in the control room.

  Marcus got out of the vehicle and took the auction money from Carl. He ordered Carl and another of his men to get a collar on the Indigene. They dragged the groggy male inside the house.

  Marcus climbed several half-moon steps to the front of the property. He pushed against the large oak door supported by a square frame of the Victorian-style house, an era that the English-born Charles Deighton seemed to favour. In the early days, some of Agostini’s men had eyes on the movements of the former CEO of the World Government. He was an influential man, with a close connection to the board members. Reports said the board members had left Earth in 2163 with Deighton in tow, but he never returned with them.

  Deighton’s disappearance had been a turning point. Over the next two years, the World Government had transferred millions of people off Earth. According to certain leaked World Government documents, the final count was close to half a billion. He had no idea how many were already living on Exilon 5.

  Marcus stood in the entrance hall, decorated with panelled walls and peeling paint. Ahead was a ballroom-type staircase that forked at the top, with wide curves to the left and the right. From the hallway, a corridor to the left of the stairs led to the kitchen. Two men and Carl wrestled the Indigene into the kitchen where they slipped the collar on him.

  Marcus heard Enzo talking to some men in a room to his right. Their raised voices slowed his step. He pulled in a breath and entered the living space that still contained the old furniture from Deighton’s time. Besides a few rips from their housewarming party, everything was in reasonable condition.

  He found a pacing Enzo. Not much set Enzo off, but something big must have happened to rattle him this bad. Carl followed Marcus into the room.

  ‘There you two fuckwits are,’ said Enzo. He had black hair, cut in a stylish, choppy fashion. Like his father, he had olive skin and deep brown eyes, inherited from his Italian forebears. Marcus admitted that Enzo was good-looking, if you liked that sort of thing. His manners, however, left a lot to be desired.

  Had Enzo been in the right place at the right time, in the right education, with the right family, he might have been an ideal candidate for the alteration programme.

  ‘Father’s going crazy. The Indigenes you brought back are useless. None show an aptitude for the skills we need.’

  Marcus walked further in, glad he’d brought the extra male back with him. The other men in the room folded their arms and glared at him.

  ‘I can find out their skills. My methods are tried and tested, Enzo.’

  ‘You mean the one where you wave a bag of blood in front of a half-starved telepath?’

  ‘Fuck you. It’s an effective method.’

  Enzo grabbed fistfuls of his own hair. ‘How can you be sure the starving waif isn’t playing you? They’ll say anything to stay alive, and that means lying about their skills. Tell me you’re not dumb enough to fall for that old trick?’

  Marcus breathed in and out. Slowly. ‘Let me convince them otherwise. I’ll turn them around. You’ll see.’

  ‘I know all about your convincing methods, Marcus. Maybe later.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Father wants to speak to you.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now.’

  Shit. Marcus’s pulse thrummed at the thought of getting a dressing-down from Gaetano.
He had hoped to impress the old man with his sale of two worthless Indigenes, then with his clever plan to take one back. He had planned on giving Gaetano the compass. But the boss was on the warpath and the timing felt wrong. The news may not be so well received.

  Carl dropped into a plush leather chair. ‘I’ll wait for you down here.’ He flashed his decaying teeth at Marcus.

  Marcus followed Enzo up the staircase. They took the left split and walked down a short corridor which opened out into a wider reception area. Enzo stopped outside a studded leather door: Gaetano’s private quarters. Gaetano rarely came downstairs; a private entrance led from his quarters through an underground tunnel that surfaced beyond Astoria Park, inside a stronghold building. The Deighton Mansion was in a prime location to control the areas surrounding Waverley docking station, but Gaetano needed to move around, undetected, should the mansion fall into enemy hands.

  Enzo opened the door and Marcus trailed behind him. He’d only ever been inside this room once before, when Gaetano had sliced his neck open with a pocket knife.

  There was no sign of Gaetano. Marcus looked around the room with its floor-to-ceiling bookcases that covered two walls. Old paintings decorated the remaining walls. Gaetano’s desk sat at one end of the room: a red leather-topped table with two padded matching chairs on one side and a tall black leather chair on the other. While the rest of the mansion needed a facelift, this room was pristine. Marcus loved it. He imagined himself sitting in Gaetano’s chair one day while he disciplined his own men.

  Enzo took a seat in one chair and Marcus took the other one. Marcus wished Enzo would leave. He didn’t need an audience.

  Gaetano entered the room through a small door behind his desk and sat in the black chair.

  Marcus stood up out of habit. Enzo stayed seated.

  Gaetano was in his fifties. Tall, lean. Alert eyes. Not a hair of his dark hair was out of place. It was obvious he and Enzo were related. The pair should have been part of the alteration programme but neither man had ever worked for the World Government and were never on their radar. Or maybe there was another reason the government overlooked these genetically perfect specimens. Intelligence rated high as much as the right genetics.