by Eliza Green
‘Take a seat, Marcus,’ said Gaetano. He looked at Enzo. ‘Leave us, son.’
Enzo was about to protest, but Gaetano glared at him. He got up with a huff and left the room. Marcus resisted the urge to smile.
Gaetano looked off to the side while Marcus played with the compass in his pocket. He wanted to give it to him, to ease the tension. He wished Gaetano would just speak already, get it over with.
Gaetano finally spoke. ‘The latest Indigenes you brought me do not show potential like the others.’
With each word, Marcus felt his chest tighten. ‘You know I can persuade them otherwise.’
‘Yes, you’re good at that. More controlled than my son, who is far too hot-headed.’
‘You want me to start straight away?’
Gaetano shook his head and rested a finger on his chin. ‘Not yet. I have other business I want to discuss with you.’
Marcus stiffened. What other business? Gaetano had a temper; Marcus had experienced that first-hand. He stared at the man who didn’t belong with the rest of the rejects on Earth.
‘The neighbourhoods are getting too complacent. Last week, Waverley barely made enough money to cover their debts. The people need reminding of who’s in charge.’
‘There’s little money in the neighbourhoods as it is, but I did manage to wrangle some extra cash out of them this morning.’
Marcus slapped the money and the compass down on the table.
Gaetano’s eyes widened when he saw the compass. He was obsessed with rare metals. Using a letter opener, he hooked the pointy end through the metal loop at the top and held it up. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘For the sale of two worthless Indigenes in Waverley. I took one back after I sold him. He says he’s a cook, but I have a hunch he’s more than that. I put him to work in the control room.’
‘And the other?’
‘She was a teacher. She wouldn’t have been much use to you.’
Gaetano’s eyes blazed. ‘Are you in the business of telling me who’s useful and who’s not?’
Marcus stiffened. ‘No, Mr Agostini. It’s just that the waif didn’t detect they were of use. She was sure about the others.’ He thought about the one Indigene he’d shot. Perhaps he’d been too quick to kill her. He should have tested her skill more.
‘And as a result of your waif, we now have useless Indigenes working for us.’ Gaetano opened a drawer and dropped in the compass. He pocketed the money from the sale.
‘I’m sorry Mr Agostini. I—’ Gaetano cut him off with a wave of his hand.
‘I want you to interrogate the new Indigenes, see if you can’t persuade them to work harder. The shock collars should give you good control over them.’ Gaetano got up and walked to the middle of the room. He turned around. ‘But before you do that, I want you to investigate Waverley. Something about that neighbourhood bothers me. I sense there’s something going on there. If the people plan to revolt I want to know about it. I won’t tolerate weak links in my business.’ Gaetano pointed a finger at him. ‘You have contacts in Waverley?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Besides that obnoxious drunk you spend your time with?’
‘Well, I...’ Marcus faltered. ‘Some of the boys work for pay.’
Gaetano walked back to his desk and perched on the edge beside Marcus. He smelled of musk aftershave and soap. ‘I want you to stop relying on drunks. Use the local boys. They’re keener, faster and more willing to part with information for a taste of a better life.’ He waved his hand in the air. ‘Promise to pay them for their secrets. See who rises to the top. What about the tavern owner, Albert Lee?’
‘He’s loyal to the neighbourhood. He won’t betray the others for secrets.’
Gaetano flashed him a perfect smile. Jesus. The man looked nothing like the dregs of society on Earth. Mr Agostini should have been destined for better things.
‘I’m not interested in an old man who can barely stand up straight. Target his grandson, Kevin. He must hear a few things in that filthy tavern of theirs.’ Gaetano examined his manicured nails.
‘I’ll start there, Mr Agostini. But a revolt? The people are too old or too young to cause much damage.’
Gaetano smiled again and Marcus shivered. ‘In my experience, it’s the people you overlook who inflict the most damage. Enzo says our control over some neighbourhoods is slipping and I can’t let that happen. We have enemies waiting to take control at the first hint of trouble. We need to maintain control of all our properties. Do you understand?
‘Yes, Mr Agostini.’
‘And when you’ve established new links in Waverley, I want you to put pressure on Waverley’s market vendors. Put the prices up.’
Marcus nodded. ‘Consider it done.’
Gaetano walked around to the other side of the desk, opened the drawer and took out the compass. ‘My father used to have one of these. The World Government stole it after they killed him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was a delivery man. Hard working. Never missed a day of work. And after all that loyal service, his life amounted to nothing. Killed doing the only job the government would allow him to do.’
Marcus hadn’t heard the full story. ‘What happened?’
Gaetano kept his eyes on the compass. ‘He was delivering supplies to the genetic manipulation clinics when their van was stopped. Some underground movement types were liberating test subjects and the place was on lockdown. The military working for the World Government didn’t believe he was just a delivery man. So they shot him on the spot.’
He finally looked at Marcus. ‘I’m only as strong as my team and I hold you personally responsible for turning those Indigenes into something useful. And Waverley is your responsibility. Not Enzo’s, not Carl’s. Yours. So if they don’t pay, it will be like you haven’t paid me. And you know what happens when I lose trust in people.’
Marcus swallowed and nodded. He touched the scar on his neck.
17
Isobel had never been happier to see the end of a day. Being forced to work at the tavern was bad enough, but she had to endure the company of Old Pete from the auction. When Pete wouldn’t stop staring at her, and Albert’s grandson Kevin continued to mutter nasty things about her under his breath, she couldn’t wait to leave.
Ben’s admission that he’d met with Stephen, the leader of District Three had thrown her, but not for long. She’d turned her back on her old life on Exilon 5. Her future was with Alex Sinclair.
When Albert suggested she stay with someone called Sal, she jumped at the chance to escape the tensions at the tavern. Ben offered to show her the way.
Isobel walked fast, hoping to lose Ben. She could work out how to get to Sal’s place by herself. But the streets were deserted close to curfew and with nobody around to ask the way, she accepted the teenager’s help. Ben jogged to keep up with her as she glanced at the giant wall that encapsulated all of Waverley. It was too high for her to climb. Tomorrow, she would search for gaps in the wall, or any wear and tear areas where she could wriggle a block or two out.
‘Sal is really nice. She can be prickly at first, but when she gets to know you she’ll be—’
Ben broke off and wheezed into his mask. His jog dropped back to a fast walk. He tapped the side of the oxygen canister slotted into a holster on his hip.
Isobel stopped and turned around. ‘You should head back. I can go alone.’
‘No,’ said Ben, bending over at the waist. ‘I promised Albert I’d get you there, and I will. I just forgot how fast you Indigenes can move, that’s all.’
It surprised her to learn the boy who Stephen lauded above all other humans lived in such squalor. Perhaps this was Ben’s punishment for getting involved in the first place.
‘Fine, I’ll slow down. What’s wrong with your canister?’
‘They’re old and leaky. They never hold a full supply of oxygen.’
‘What about making new ones?’
‘The criminals control indus
try and the factories are off-limits to us.’ Ben spoke slowly to preserve oxygen. ‘Earth lost its skilled workers to the alteration programme. Nobody left knows how to make them.’
That didn’t surprise her. Exilon 5 had seen an influx of half a billion humans several years ago to add to the ones already living there. Construction projects had exploded in the weeks following their arrival. The technology to create the environmental bubbles protecting the Indigene hunting zones had been built, tested and activated as soon as the terms of the peace treaty were agreed.
Isobel noted the direction of every street they passed on the straight road from the tavern to the square. But when she caught Ben eyeing her, she looked elsewhere. ‘What about you?’
‘I don’t know how to make canisters.’
‘You’re young. Aren’t you considered skilled on Earth? You can learn the skills you need to survive?’
He shrugged. ‘Never had the chance to learn anything. I was too young when I came here. I went from an orphanage to this neighbourhood. I’ve worked in the tavern with Albert for practically half my life.’
‘Then what about Albert?’ This boy was full of excuses. ‘What can he teach you? Or this Sal woman we will see?’
‘Not much,’ said Ben, wheezing. ‘Five percent of the population was considered skilled before the alteration programme. Everyone else did menial jobs. Albert knows how to tend bar and keep Marcus from kicking us out of Waverley, but he never learned anything useful beyond that, like engineering or piloting.’
The sight of the obelisk made Isobel shudder. She half listened as Ben gave her the history of where the structure had come from.
‘How far is Sal’s?’
Ben pointed and she followed his finger to a small cottage with a faded cream exterior sat between two modern buildings. The windows of the cottage were boarded up. They stopped outside a metal door.
Ben knocked on it and Isobel hid her shock at seeing the woman from the auction, the one who’d warned her not to run.
Sal looked Isobel over. ‘You any good with machines?’
Isobel pushed down her anger and shook her head.
‘Pity. Empath?’
If only you knew. She shook her head a second time.
They entered the cottage and Sal locked the door from the inside using a key. Isobel stared at the ancient device prompting Sal to explain.
‘I know how to fix a lock and key,’ said Sal. ‘Anything more technologically complicated and I’m stumped.’
Isobel tried to read the woman’s thoughts, but her dampening chip prevented her from accessing anything.
‘I told Albert I’d give you a place to stay and I don’t go back on my word. It’s not right for a grown woman to be staying with a man and two teenage boys.’
The low ceiling in the hall forced Isobel to bend at her neck. The smell of grease and oil reached her. She looked inside the first room to see machine parts sorted into piles on the floor.
They followed Sal to a kitchen where she grabbed a tea towel and wiped her hands. ‘My place isn’t much, Isobel, but I expect you to clean up after yourself.’
‘I am not uncivilised,’ said Isobel. ‘Will my movements be monitored?’
Sal laughed. ‘Not by me, or Albert, dear. But Marcus is a different issue. You’d do well to keep your head down and not give him any cause to take you out of East Compound or Waverley. Do you understand me?’
Isobel glanced at Ben. ‘I’m beginning to understand how things work around here.’ She sensed unease in the old woman’s words. But she refused to alleviate her fears of this ‘devolved human’ with Indigene strength stood in her kitchen. Sal would get over it.
She thought about her past human life; a place like Sal’s would have been beneath her. She had enjoyed a privileged life as the wife of an ESC supervisor. Isobel wrinkled her nose at the size of the room and the dirty dishes in the sink.
Beggars can’t be choosers, Isobel. It will do for now.
Ben started towards the front door. ‘See you tomorrow, Isobel.’
‘One minute, Ben,’ Sal called after him. ‘I need a quick word with you before you go.’
Ben waited in the hall while Sal showed Isobel into a room off the hallway. ‘It’s not much but it’s all yours. My room is at the back of the kitchen.’
Isobel nodded and looked around the tiny room with a single bed jammed up against one wall. Sal returned to Ben and they slipped inside the room with the machine parts and closed the door.
Isobel shuddered at the tight feeling in her “room”. Without delay, she returned to the kitchen and occupied herself with rummaging in cupboards and pulling open drawers. She checked the fridge and found little inside. No blood protein pouches. What would she eat? She settled on an open can of meat from the fridge, gagging as the food went down.
She heard the front door open and close. Then Sal returned to the kitchen.
‘I see you found my food.’
‘I was starving.’ Isobel put the can down.
Sal waved her hand at her. ‘Don’t stop eating on my account. I won’t be accused of mistreating an Indigene in my house.’
Isobel pushed the can away. The smell and taste made her feel sick. ‘Why are you helping me?’
Sal filled the kettle with water and set it down on a flame to boil. ‘Because Albert asked for my help.’
‘I can tell you don’t like me. Your contempt for me drips off you like water.’
Sal sighed and turned around. Her age-spotted hand gripped a plain black mug. ‘I don’t know you. There’s a difference.’
‘You don’t like Indigenes who have chosen reversal treatment? Or “devolved humans”, if it makes you feel better to degrade us?’
‘You’re the first of your kind I’ve met.’ The kettle boiled and Sal poured water into her mug. She opened one drawer and sprinkled leaves from a plastic bag into the water.
Isobel leaned against the fridge door. ‘I want to escape this neighbourhood and you’re going to help me.’
Sal faced her, mug in hand. She blew on the contents. ‘Weren’t you listening to my speech earlier about the criminals who run this place? You don’t want to draw their attention, believe me.’
‘I heard.’
‘And where exactly will you go?’
‘To see my husband.’
‘Is he alive?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How do you know he’s not living in a neighbourhood similar to this?’
Isobel straightened up. ‘Because he was better than this place. We had a good life here.’
Sal snorted. ‘So good you decided to become an Indigene?’
Isobel flashed over to stand before Sal. The woman’s eyes widened at her speed. ‘I never chose to become an Indigene. That decision was made for me.’
Sal stepped around Isobel and sat down at the table. She blew again on her hot water that emitted a strange smell and irritated Isobel’s nose. ‘I don’t know much about what happened to Indigenes.’
‘How could you not know?’
‘I chose to ignore the campaigns about the transfer programme that were being played on repeat. Nobody on Earth had a clue about a race living on Exilon 5.’
‘But you would have known when we started to return.’
‘I chose to neither listen nor care.’
‘Ben knows more about us than you do. How can you sit there and not feel shame for your ignorance of our true origins?’
‘Ben Watson has adventure running through his veins.’
‘So you prefer to live your life shrouded in a web of lies? You’ll believe whatever everyone else does, even if it’s not the truth?’
Sal drank some of her flavoured water. ‘If it doesn’t affect me or help me in any way, then yes. I’m happy to live my life in ignorance. Others can make changes on my behalf.’
Isobel sat opposite Sal. ‘If you care so little, why did you signal to me at the auction?’
‘You were about to run.’ Sal st
ood up and got a spoon from the drawer. She leaned against the sink and stirred the contents of her mug.
Isobel relaxed her rigid stance and sat down. ‘Would that have been such a bad thing?’
‘In this world? Yes. The criminals would have shot you dead, or worse, taken you up to their headquarters. I got the impression at the auction you’d expected a different reception when you returned’
Isobel sighed. ‘Yes.’
Sal finished half of her drink, tipped the remainder into the sink and washed the mug. ‘It’s not you I don’t like. It’s the International Task Force on Exilon 5 who is allowing devolved Indigenes to return to Earth knowing full well what’s happening here. It concerns me that returning Indigenes end up siding with the factions who keep us under control, in exchange for a sweeter deal. That’s not good for any of us. So forgive me for not organising a ticker tape parade in your honour.’ Sal dropped the mug on the draining board.
Isobel remembered what Bill Taggart had said, about returning Indigenes betraying the humans who worked for the underground movement. ‘How long have the Indigenes been helping the criminals?’
‘For as long as they’ve been coming back here. Several Indigenes come through that docking station and we never see them again. Except for you and that other Indigene at the auction. Now, why is that?’
Isobel shrugged. ‘I guess we weren’t useful to them.’
Sal smiled. ‘Now, I doubt that very much.’ She sat opposite Isobel. ‘I would offer you some tea, but I’m guessing you’d prefer something bloody?’
‘I can manage human food, if I have to.’ The stench from Sal’s drink lingered in the air. ‘What were you drinking? It smells strange.’
‘I grow cannabis plants, in the back room just behind here.’ She pointed to a door. ‘Got the original plant some time ago and I’ve been able to split it into a few smaller cuttings. But the potency diminishes with each new plant.’ Sal pursed her lips and watched Isobel. ‘How about you and I get to know each other a little? Let’s agree to leave our opinions of each other outside of this cottage. If you are to live here, I’d prefer it if we weren’t at each other’s throats. Besides, I’m certain you could take me in a fight.’ Isobel flashed a quick smile. Sal got up and opened one of the cupboards. ‘Now I can’t promise anything about getting you some blood substitute, but I’ll do my best. Until then, you must eat what we eat. Deal?’
