by Eliza Green
Albert crossed his legs, to release the tension in his body. ‘What brought you to that conclusion?’
‘For one, the information I found on the Indigenes at the library was inaccurate. According to reports, they were wild, dangerous, impulsive. When I think more about my time with Stephen, I’m positive he was more afraid of me than I was of him. Towards the end of the second meeting, he seemed more relaxed. But he just upped and left in the middle of a conversation. I hated him for leaving the way he did. It was all I could think about, day and night. I was so angry. I blamed myself that I had somehow scared him off with my stupid, childish questions. I carried that around with me for years after. Then one night in the orphanage, I woke up to myself and realised Stephen had taken a massive risk by meeting with me. I would have helped him if he’d asked. But I was just a selfish kid, more interested in my adventure stories and finding a replacement for my father.’
Albert’s heart thrummed in his ears. ‘You said you talked for a while. What did this Stephen say to you exactly?’
‘He asked about people in general. He told me things about himself that I didn’t understand. I guess that was the point.’ Ben folded his arms. ‘When the reports came out a couple years later that revealed the Indigenes and their human past, I realised something else.’
‘What?’
‘That Stephen had been searching for something. His reasons for meeting me extended beyond curiosity. He may not have been aware of his human background, but during our conversation he seemed too interested in the little things that made me human.’ Ben shrugged. ‘I guess that’s why we connected so easily. We both missed something in our lives. Sounds deep, and you’ll probably laugh at me, but that’s how I think of him now. Still lost, I guess. It makes me sad, because I felt the same way when he met me.’
Albert leaned back in his chair. ‘And the Indigenes now?’
Ben’s eyes brightened. ‘They’re the same as us, Albert. They don’t belong anywhere. Maybe the Indigenes’ own factions, or whatever they call their groups, rejected them because they remembered their human pasts. So that’s why they’ve come here. Or, maybe they want to reconnect with the families they abandoned. It must be hard for them, coming home to such a hostile place.’
Albert nodded and studied his hands. ‘I’m sorry for not asking sooner but I’m not sure you would have told me, anyway.’
Ben shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past.’
‘But why now? Why talk about it after all this time?’
‘I’ve seen how the criminals treat the Indigene arrivals at Waverley. Most are taken to the Agostini mansion to work for the family.’
The old Deighton Mansion. That godforsaken place up in Astoria Park.
‘The rest are farmed out to the neighbourhoods and sold to whoever can afford to buy them for labour. I’ve seen it happen in other places. It’s not their fault they were changed into Indigenes and I guess their main reason for coming back to Earth is to reconnect with what was once their home.’
Albert nodded and pursed his lips. He couldn’t shake the feeling Ben was right. ‘I’m ashamed to say I haven’t given them much of a chance.’
‘It’s expected. You’ve had no contact with them. It’s natural that you fear them.’ Ben touched Albert’s arm. ‘But you can change that, if you really want to.’
‘How?’
‘The Kings plan to auction off two Indigenes tomorrow at Central Square.’ Ben chewed on his lower lip. ‘Albert, I want you to buy one of them.’
4
Albert jerked the door open. Kevin stumbled back on the other side, startling him. It looked like he’d been listening.
‘I thought I told you to watch the bar.’
‘I was. I just needed some supplies.’ Kevin’s eyes flitted between Albert and Ben. ‘Everything’s fine. Pete said he’d watch it.’
‘You left Pete in charge?’ Albert pushed past him. ‘He’s going to drink the place dry.’
He found a smiling Pete stationed behind the bar, swaying while pouring a whisky for himself. At four percent proof, the homemade liquor was potent if enough was consumed. But there never seemed to be enough drink in the world to satisfy Old Pete.
Pete’s smile dropped away when he saw Albert.
‘Why are you sabotaging my bar?’ said Albert. ‘Are you trying to make sure I have no profits this quarter? You know full well what Marcus does to defaulters. I don’t care about your arrangement with him.’
He should have barred Pete a long time ago, but he’d helped keep the tavern going initially, bringing in new customers. Then came his free pass from Marcus, and Pete had been calling it in with Albert ever since.
Marcus liked to conduct regular checks of the tavern’s bar stock and compare it to the takings. His red-haired associate, Carl, was surprisingly good with numbers. Usually Albert could apportion the inconsistencies to Pete—he kept a note of everything Pete drank—but Marcus had no patience for excuses. At least Marcus or Carl hadn’t shown up for a while.
Old Pete smiled. ‘The kid said ta help meself to whatever I wanted.’
‘I did not, you old fart,’ said Kevin. ‘I told you to watch the bar while I got some things from the back.’
‘You mean while you eavesdropped?’ Old Pete’s lips curled up into a smile.
Albert slammed his fist on the dark wood bar. ‘That’s enough. You. Get out from behind my bar.’
Pete slipped past him to sit back on the customer side.
‘You owe me, Albert,’ he said. ‘This place would have been nothing without my help. Or I could tell Marcus how unfriendly you’re being.’
‘Don’t threaten me in my own home. I don’t care about your connections. I will ban you.’ Albert checked his watch. Still forty-five minutes remained till curfew.
‘Kevin, please get Sal. I need to talk to her about something that can’t wait until morning.’
‘I’m sorry, Albert. It was just a joke.’ Old Pete smirked and held his hands up. ‘I’ll pay back my tab. Please, there’s no need to call in the treasury over this.’
Albert rubbed his tired eyes. He was too old for this. ‘Contrary to your high self-opinion, you’re not my primary concern. If I could recoup my losses with you, I would.’
‘I knew you’d understand.’ Pete flashed a slimy smile at him. ‘You always do.’
Kevin slipped on his coat and took out his gel mask. Sal’s place was a ten-minute stroll away—a five-minute run—on the other side of Central Square.
Albert tied a scarf around his grandson’s neck. ‘Stay away from the square tonight. Back streets only, you hear me? Marcus may still be there.’
There were also the rooftop guns. Nobody had ever seen them firing, but Albert would not use his grandson as a test to see if they worked or not.
‘And avoid the guns, please.’
Kevin nodded and left.
Ben ran upstairs, giving Albert space to think through what Ben had proposed. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of whisky from the shelf behind the bar, picked up a clean glass tumbler and poured himself two fingers. He sat down at one of the round tables and sipped the watered-down liquor that should have burned his throat. Old Pete was silent for once as he sipped on yet another drink that Albert knew he’d never pay for.
Fifteen minutes later, Sal came rushing through the door, wiping her greasy hands on a towel. Kevin followed her inside.
Strands of her grey hair pulled back in a loose bun stuck to her sweaty face. Her pale-green eyes shone under the tavern light. She wore one of the old purple World Government uniforms donated to the neighbourhoods after the last passenger ship had left Earth.
‘What is it, Albert?’ Sal’s breath fogged up her mask. ‘The boy wouldn’t say and I’m a little busy. I’ve got three broken generators arranged on my living-room floor and no clue how to fix them. Plus my own generator is acting up. I’m working by candlelight.’
Without skilled mechanics in the neighbourhood, Sal was the
last in a long line of people who’d volunteered to fix the generators. But the machines’ inner workings eluded her sixty-three-year-old mind, as they had every other Waverley neighbourhood resident who’d tried before. It didn’t help that the machines broke down more regularly now.
She removed her mask, leaving a greasy thumbprint on the gel structure.
Ben ran down the stairs, his gaze fixed on Sal.
Albert ignored the hopeful look in his eyes. ‘Sal, I need to discuss something with you and it might be just what you’re after. But not here. In the storeroom.’
He slipped behind the bar and knelt down in front of an old, worn safe. He punched in a number and removed an Impulse Taser. He handed it to Ben.
‘Use this on anyone who gives you trouble.’
Ben grinned at a jittery Kevin. ‘Even him?’
‘Yes. And Pete if you have to.’
Ben pointed the Taser towards an empty chair. ‘Sit.’
‘No,’ said Kevin.
Ben stuck his tongue out at him. ‘Albert said I could use it.’
Kevin slumped into a seat. ‘I’m sitting down because I’m tired, not because you told me to.’
Pete kept his eyes to the front and continued to drink.
Albert ushered Sal into the storeroom and took the same seat as before. ‘I won’t keep you long, Sal. I need to know if we have any surplus in the accounts.’
The Kings didn’t care how Waverley was run, only that it generated profit. So the Compounds—North, South, East and West—had elected representatives from each to take care of business. It had become apparent that only Sal and Albert knew how to keep regular accounts and manage Marcus when he came to collect money or check supplies. The Agostini family printed money. They issued the neighbourhood with replicated stock provisions and paid residents willing to do jobs for Marcus. Other factions had started similar trends; printing money with slightly different designs that could be spent only in their area. The Kings fed and watered the residents, supplied them with generators and allowed them to live in properties with life support. The residents made money for the Kings, which was used as a tool to exert control over the residents.
As far as Albert knew, the Kings had printed more money than they needed and spent it on hookers, gambled it away and traded between the factions for priceless artefacts and weapons. Gaetano Agostini was obsessed with rare metals.
‘Surplus, why?’ said Sal. ‘This better not have anything to do with that old drunk sitting out there, drinking your profits. Why do you still carry him?’ She sat down opposite Albert. ‘I don’t care if he’s best pals with Marcus. Marcus doesn’t need a new reason to visit, or to turn off our life support.’
Sal waved her greasy gel mask in the air. ‘It was a struggle coming over here. The seal on this stupid thing is giving up the ghost and we’re almost out of oxygen canisters that don’t leak.’
‘I know, Sal. I don’t have much choice where Pete is concerned. But I’m not here to talk about one customer. What I’m about to suggest could help us all. We need someone with a little expertise around here, wouldn’t you agree?’
Sal’s expression darkened. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of buying one of the Indigenes that arrived today. Why, Albert? We don’t need their kind here.’
‘Because I spoke to Ben and he has a different opinion on them. And if there’s any chance one of them is skilled enough to help us, it’s worth a shot.’
Sal snorted and fixed the stray pieces of hair into her bun. ‘The Kings have no use for the empaths. That’s who Marcus plans to auction tomorrow. What use are they to us? We don’t need counsellors. We need mechanics and engineers to help us to survive this hell hole.’
Albert stood up. ‘I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you that I’m buying one of those Indigene people at the market tomorrow. Either you’re with me, or you’re not. It would be better if it came out of treasury funds. That way the Indigene could help a wide range of businesses here. Not just mine. But if I have to do it without you then I will, and the Indigene will work for me and me alone. I won’t farm the new arrival out to any old place in the Compound.’
Sal looked skeptical. ‘And you think your little tavern is the business that deserves help in this overcrowded Compound?’
He sat back down. ‘Yes, if I fund it myself. What if one of them can help fix the generators? If you agree to use the treasury funds, we can all benefit. It’s up to you.’
Sal pressed two fingers to her lips. ‘An empath is of no use to me, Albert. And that’s what you’ll get.’ She leaned forward. ‘You know full well the Agostini family wouldn’t part with anyone other than empaths.’
‘We don’t know if they’re all the same. So why don’t we buy one and test out that theory?’
Sal turned her gel mask over in her hand. She ran her finger along the edges and sighed. She stood up.
‘I’m sorry, Albert. I can’t approve this. The other Compounds would have me hung and quartered in Central Square for spending their money. Any spare cash must be used to pay for new parts. We’re barely keeping our head above the line, and a purchase of this size will set our profits back for months.’
‘I know exactly how much is there and buying one of them won’t cost much. Nobody wants them. The price is guaranteed to be low. I can use my savings to bolster the profits temporarily so Marcus won’t find out.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Sal moved towards the door. She touched the handle and turned around. ‘If you could guarantee me a mechanic out of the Devolved pair, then I would say yes. But we won’t know what we’re getting until it’s too late. And you should think twice about paying anything for a simple barkeep. You have two boys. People can’t afford to drink. You don’t need the help.’
Albert stood up. ‘I appreciate your time, Sal. You should get back. Those generators won’t fix themselves.’
‘What are you going to do tomorrow?’
‘Whatever I can, Sal.’ Anger and disappointment tugged at his heart. He changed the subject to avoid an argument. ‘So what’s wrong with the generators this time?’
Sal opened the door and they walked out together. At least Kevin hadn’t eavesdropped this time. The threat of an Impulse Taser, albeit a broken one, must have been enough to deter him.
‘The cylinder head is gone in one, I think,’ said Sal. ‘To be honest, it could be anything. I’m mostly taking a guess.’
All eyes were on them as they reached the front bar.
‘I wonder if I’m really fixing the generators or just making them worse. It’s frustrating not knowing. I have those paper manuals from the library archives but I’m making it up as I go along.’ She shook her head. ‘Good luck with tomorrow. You’ll need it.’
‘You coming?’
Sal shrugged and put on her mask. ‘Maybe.’
He saw her out and felt several gazes burning a hole in his back.
‘Well, what did she say?’ said Ben. ‘Will she help us?’
Albert walked over to Ben and took the Impulse Taser from him. He shook his head.
‘So that’s it? You’re just giving up on the idea?’
‘I don’t know what else to do. I have only a little money saved. Everything else is tied up in this place. Any profits I make, after Pete has drunk me dry, have to go to Marcus.’
Old Pete smiled, then shrugged.
Ben huffed and stomped up the steps to the living quarters.
‘Ben told me what you’re thinking about doing,’ said Kevin. ‘Buying one of those freaks out there. Haven’t you heard anything the World Government has said about them? Even Marcus says they’re not worthy of anyone’s time.’
Albert’s hollowed cheeks burned. ‘Don’t listen to anything that psychotic maniac says. Do you hear me?’
‘Okay, okay. Marcus is a psycho. I get it. But you can’t ignore the World Government’s warnings.’
‘And where exactly is this World Government you speak of, Kevin?’ Albert tucked the T
aser into his waistband. ‘They abandoned this world six years ago. And that’s when we had to make our own decisions. I would encourage you to think for yourself, lad.’
Kevin turned away, muttering. Albert had enough of his grandson’s wilful attitude.
Earth was filled with useless, unskilled people: older generations like him and Sal, and children abandoned in derelict orphanages until the older generation freed them. They had all lost someone. It felt right to face this new hell on Earth together.
All the genetically strong people had been transferred to Exilon 5. One billion. That left nineteen billion people fighting for remaining resources. Six years since the World Government had left; six years without medical care and genetic manipulation clinics to prolong life. Everyone aged normally now. In those six years, six billion people had died of natural causes and there had been one billion births.
Fourteen billion people made up of the old, the young and the criminally insane.
When would it change?
A noise on the stairs drew Albert’s attention. Ben bounded down the steps, taking them two at a time. He held something in his hand.
‘Careful, boy,’ said Old Pete with a slur. ‘We wouldn’t want you slipping on those stairs now.’
Albert strode over to Pete, pulled the mug out of his hand and slammed it down on the bar. ‘Time to go home.’
Pete reeked of stale body odour and beer. ‘You’re not closed yet. I want to finish my beer. I earned it.’
Albert steered him to the door. ‘No, you didn’t. Now, get out before I tell Marcus a few extra things about you.’
Old Pete held up his weathered hands. ‘Okay, Albert. Fine. I’ll see myself out.’ He tripped and stumbled but stayed upright.
When Pete was gone, Albert turned to see Ben set down something shiny on the bar. He moved closer.
‘How much can you get for this?’ said Ben.
