Genesis Pact (Genesis Book 4)

by Eliza Green

  Albert picked up the old compass with its old-fashioned dial. He turned it over in his hands. The case was made of silver, as far as he could tell. The golden compass needle shimmered in the light.

  ‘Where did you get this? Last time I saw one of these was in my grandfather’s history book.’

  ‘It belonged to a friend of mine on Exilon 5, but I never got around to giving it back. Is it worth anything?’

  ‘I don’t know. Not to anyone in East Compound. Maybe to Marcus. The factions can still fetch a price for old collectibles.’ Albert narrowed his gaze at Ben. ‘Are you sure you want to part with this?’

  Ben nodded.

  Albert removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the compass in it.

  ‘I have some savings of my own, so let’s use this beautiful trinket as a last resort.’

  5

  ‘Come on! We’re going to be late.’

  Ben bounced on his feet and tugged at Albert’s sleeve. He’d hardly slept last night.

  ‘I’m going as fast as I can.’ Albert was sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, pulling his shoes on. Slowly.

  Ben gripped the door frame. ‘If we don’t get there early enough, the bidding will be over.’

  ‘Calm down. I’m ready. Now, just let me find my coat.’

  Albert held the banister for support as he walked down the stairs. Ben trailed behind him, pressing his fingers to his temples. Albert stopped at the bar and pulled out his gel mask from behind the counter. He spent a few minutes connecting the plastic tube to the battered oxygen canister that hung on his belt. Then he looked around. Slowly.

  Ben sighed and searched for Albert’s coat. He found it draped over the back of a chair in the storeroom. He returned and held it out.

  ‘Ah, well done, lad.’ Albert fed his arms through the sleeves and Ben placed his own mask on his face.

  They left the tavern, much later than Ben would have liked.

  ☼

  The chatter, muffled by gel masks, grew louder the closer they got to Central Square. The area was used mostly for internal trading. Once a week the residents came together to trade items they had salvaged or stolen, or even bought legally. Scraps of metal, wood. Old baskets. Blankets. Broken technology. It was never enough and never worth much. The Kings owned all the valuable stuff.

  The square was a slightly raised area of grey concrete with a large obelisk set into the middle. One-and two-storey buildings hugged the roads on all sides. Down one road Ben could see the old factory converted into a school. But in the square where a dense crowd had gathered, he could only see the top of the obelisk.

  Ben pressed against the rear of the group, looking for a way to get closer.

  ‘I told you we should have got here sooner.’

  A black vehicle approached from one of the side roads. The crowds parted. The vehicle kicked up dust and skidded to a halt in front of the square. Ben pushed his way in a little further, as far as where the crowd tightened too much. But when Albert spoke to a few people, they made room for him. A new gap opened up and Ben found a spot at the front before the crowd closed in behind them again.

  He gasped when he took in the scene. The two Indigenes from the night before sat on the ground, their backs pressed up against the obelisk. Their hands and feet were still bound in shackles and a thin wire had been looped around the obelisk and the Indigenes. He heard a low humming sound.

  Electricity was the Indigenes’ main weakness. Ben had read about how it slowed down their bodies, and dampened their speed and strength.

  One of the military vehicles waited off to the side of the square. The door opened and Marcus climbed out of the back seat while an associate exited from the front. Both men worked for the Agostini family

  Marcus pressed something in his hand—a device that cancelled the humming sound and appeared to deactivate the electricity flowing through the wire connecting the Indigenes’ shackled ankles. He replaced the wire with individual ankle-chains, separating the male and female from each other. He pulled the pair to their feet using chain-ropes. Both Indigenes swayed like drunks.

  With his back to the crowd, Marcus looked like anyone else. But from the front, a red-ring scar scored the front of his white neck. He ran a hand through black hair as dark as his leather bomber jacket and nodded to his associate. The second man produced a lethal Buzz Gun and pointed it at the Indigene pair.

  Marcus wore what looked like a new gel mask. From what Ben could see, the canister that hung from his hips looked new too. He wondered if the other Indigenes who had made it as far as the Agostini mansion were helping to revive industries that served the criminal factions. Half of the canisters in Waverley were leaking or damaged from years of abuse. The factions gave their neighbourhood monthly rations that included liquid oxygen, which they used to refill the canisters. It was always just enough to keep them on a tight rope and close to the neighbourhoods.

  Marcus rattled the chain attached to the Indigenes and shouted something at them.

  They both startled and looked around. Ben could see the female was more devolved than the male and her hair had grown back. The male was bald and his skin still translucent-looking, unlike the female’s which had lost some of its unique Indigene appearance. The female, with her opaque skin and new hair growth, would have blended in well enough with the dark, overcast days, had it not been for her height and yellow-flecked eyes that showed her differences, even after reverse alteration. The pair wore old grey World Government uniforms similar to the purple one Sal wore to fix the machines. Neither of the Indigenes wore gel masks and seemed able to breathe the contaminated air.

  At first, the crowd fell silent, but it didn’t take long for the insults to rise up.

  ‘Bottom-feeders.’

  ‘What the hell are you coming back here for? We can barely feed ourselves.’

  ‘We don’t want you here. Go home.’

  Marcus’ almost-black eyes scanned the crowd. ‘Quiet!’

  The insults tapered off.

  The Indigenes resembled a pair of trapped animals, their eyes flitting everywhere, never settling. Ben wondered how much they had been told about Earth. What was happening on Exilon 5, on his home? Were things worse there? Is that why they had returned?

  The female, who stood more rigid than her male companion, drew his curiosity. Ben watched her search the crowd, as if she was looking for something. A way out, perhaps?

  Ben glanced across the square and caught Sal, staring at the Indigenes, her arms folded.

  Marcus spoke again. ‘Fine workers here. Both between thirty and forty years old, so still strong enough to carry shit around.’

  He yanked the male forward and Ben tugged on Albert’s sleeve. Albert patted his arm as if to calm him. He took a deep breath but was too fired up for it to be of benefit.

  ‘Let’s start the bidding at one thousand.’ The crowd stayed silent. Marcus eyeballed them. ‘Too rich for ya? Fine. Five hundred, then.’

  Albert raised his finger. ‘I offer three hundred.’

  Marcus laughed. ‘That’s not the way it works, old man. You’re supposed to accept the offer I put forward, not bid lower.’ The laughter continued until someone else raised a hand.

  ‘Four fifty.’

  Marcus lifted his brows in amusement. ‘Fine. Let’s hurry this auction along. I’ve got other places to be. Any counter-offers on four fifty?’ He twirled his finger and the male Indigene turned as far as his shackles would allow. ‘Good strong arms, see? Should be able to fetch and carry plenty.’

  ‘What’s he good at, skills-wise?’ said someone.

  Marcus looked the male over. ‘Fetching and carrying.’

  Ben doubted this. According to government files, this Indigene would have been deemed genetically important enough to be changed. But he could be as useless as an empath.

  ‘Five hundred,’ said Albert. He whispered to Ben. ‘I could use someone strong in the bar.’

  Another voice carried from the back. �
��Seven hundred and fifty.’

  ‘Eight hundred.’

  Ben turned in surprise at the new bid.

  Albert whispered to Ben. ‘I only have a thousand on me. I’ll use the compass as the last resort. We may get a few hundred for it.’

  A Spaniard from West Compound shouted out. ‘Fifteen hundred. Final offer.’

  Ben gritted his teeth at the sudden change in attitude of the residents. Just a minute ago they’d hurled abuse at the pair, telling them to go home. Now they bid for them.

  ‘I know how much money there is in Waverley,’ said Marcus. ‘I’m not even going to ask where you’re getting all this money from.’ He lifted both brows at Albert. ‘Any other bids?’

  Albert shook his head.

  Marcus shoved the male towards the crowd and he stumbled to his knees. ‘Sold to the man in the back.’

  The crowd gasped as the Indigene male went from his knees to his feet in a split-second.

  Ben noticed the female’s agitation increase.

  ‘Okay, settle down everyone, or Carl here will off a few of you with his gun.’ Marcus nodded to his associate who wiggled his eyebrows and waved the Buzz Gun around. ‘On to the other one. Let’s start at fifteen hundred.’

  The crowd was silent again.

  Ben whispered to Albert. ‘Bid low again.’

  Albert nodded. ‘Three hundred.’

  ‘The practical joker strikes again, folks.’ Marcus shook his head and laughed, and the crowd joined in. ‘Any takers at fifteen hundred?’

  Nobody counter-offered. Marcus sighed. ‘Three hundred it is. Anyone at four fifty?’

  ‘What does this one do?’ said someone.

  ‘She’s an “empath”, or something. Not as strong as the other one.’ Marcus’ gaze trailed over the Indigene’s body. ‘But I suppose you could get some use out of her.’

  Marcus’ insinuation turned Ben’s stomach.

  A flurry of new bids followed, mostly from the people who’d lost out on the male. Before Ben knew it, the price had risen to one thousand. Ben glanced at Albert who had his arms folded. His cautious bidding frustrated him.

  As Marcus looked ready to close the auction, Ben grabbed the compass out of Albert’s hand and burst into the inner circle. He heard Albert and a few others gasp. Ben stood a foot away from Marcus and the Indigene. The female stared at him with such intensity he had to look away.

  Ben was as tall as Marcus, which made him less intimidating than the taller Indigenes. It made him feel a little better about what he’d just done. He focused on Marcus’ narrowed black eyes and held out the compass.

  ‘How much will you give me for this?’

  Marcus stepped forward and plucked the object from his hand. He turned it over and inspected it.

  ‘Where did you get this? Did you steal it? Don’t lie, or I’ll set Carl on you.’

  ‘It’s mine. How much?’

  ‘A hundred,’ said Marcus.

  ‘No... It’s worth at least three hundred.’

  Marcus shrugged and Carl laughed. ‘It’s a buyer’s market at the moment. What can I say?’

  ‘Will it be enough to buy her?’ Ben nodded to the female Indigene.

  ‘Why, you looking for a new mommy, son? She’s about the right age, I guess.’

  This was a bad idea. But he couldn’t back down now, not in front of the man who would shoot him for showing weakness. Marcus may be a ruthless killer, but Ben bet that he was also a businessman.

  ‘Is it enough?’ said Ben.

  Marcus smiled and looked around the group, then down at the compass. He snapped his fist closed.

  ‘Any more offers, folks? The bid’s at one thousand one hundred.’

  The crowd was silent.

  Marcus sighed and pushed the female towards Ben. ‘Bidding’s closed.’ He tossed Ben the chain attached to her ankles. ‘Time for you to take your pet home. Leave out a bowl of water so she doesn’t go thirsty.’

  ‘All right, show’s over,’ said Carl. ‘Everybody, clear outta here.’ The crowd dispersed without delay, mostly because the female had stepped closer to the edge of the crowd.

  But Marcus didn’t move. He watched the Spaniard who had bought the male Indigene and was leading him away. He strode over, twisted the male Indigene around to face him and pushed a Buzz Gun into his face.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. You’re coming with me.’

  The Spaniard dropped to his knees and begged him. Marcus pressed the gun to his temple and fired. The air crackled, and the Spaniard fell backwards to hit the ground.

  Marcus tore the mask from the man’s face, retrieved the canister and started for the car. He pushed the male Indigene into the back seat.

  Ben averted his eyes away from the dead man as Albert spoke to Sal briefly. Then he ushered the female and Ben off the street towards the tavern. A few people followed, calling after them.

  ‘See what you’ve done?’

  ‘People are dead because of you.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ben to the skittish female. ‘We won’t hurt you.’ He noticed some of the wild look in her eyes had dissipated.

  ‘What the hell do you need one of those for, Albert?’ said someone.

  ‘I thought you hated those things,’ said another.

  Albert huffed out a breath and kept walking. ‘You’d do well to shut your mouth, Tom. I need a barkeep. I can’t keep relying on two sixteen-year-olds to run my place, can I?’

  Albert hesitated before he touched the female’s arm. ‘Please, just keep moving. We’re almost there.’

  The female walked with her head held high. Ben stayed next to her while she absorbed every detail around her. Glimmers of her natural speed emerged through her electricity-muted state.

  ‘I’m Ben, and this is Albert. What’s your name?’

  Her wild, yellow eyes found his. Ben found their colour fascinating. ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I want to know what to call you. I know this isn’t what you expected, but maybe we can make the best of things.’

  He attempted a smile, and felt relief when her eyes softened. Then she looked away.

  ‘Isobel.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Isobel.’

  She kept her eyes on the scenery. ‘What do you plan to do with me?’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re the good guys. We’re here to rescue you.’

  6

  They headed back to the tavern in silence, along the small, straight road that led from Central Square. Albert had once told Ben about growing up in the former Cambria Heights; a suburb with wide roads and neat houses on small plots of land. When the population had exploded at the turn of the twenty-second century, the suburbs were redesigned to better use the space. Towering apartment blocks soon replaced single houses. Some of the old suburbanites resisted, and a mix of tall and small housing became the new Waverley. Lee’s Tavern was one such place. Albert had helped his father to fight off the construction workers who tore through half of Cambria Heights without a single thought for those living there.

  Isobel shuffled ahead, her hands and feet still bound, while Albert kept a loose grip on the chain attached to her ankles. Ben walked alongside Isobel, eager to distract her. If it was him tied up he’d be thinking of escaping.

  ‘When we’re back at the tavern we can take off the restraints,’ said Ben.

  Isobel continued to absorb her surroundings. She switched her focus to her hands.

  ‘I will kill you as soon as you do.’

  ‘Please understand, we can’t do it here. There are too many people around.’

  ‘I will still kill you.’

  Albert yanked on the chain and Isobel stumbled.

  ‘Threaten my grandson again and I’ll send you straight back to Marcus.’

  Isobel muttered something under her breath, but kept shuffling forward, her eyes focused on the road.

  When they reached the tavern, Albert handed the chain to Ben. Albert unlocked the door and held it open as Isobel shuffled ins
ide. Ben saw Isobel’s fingers probe the atmospheric force field as she passed through. He kept close behind to narrow any escape path; not that he was a match for her. She would soon see that working at the tavern was the easier, safer option.

  The tavern had been closed all morning and the lack of patronage seemed to put Isobel at ease. Ben dropped the chain to the floor while Albert went upstairs. He returned with a screwdriver, a crowbar and a hacksaw.

  ‘Before I take these off, I need your reassurances that you won’t harm us,’ said Albert.

  Isobel smirked and looked away. ‘I will make no such promise.’

  He placed the tools down on the bar. ‘Then the chains stay on.’

  Ben stepped in front of Isobel. ‘Just promise and we can take these off.’

  He noticed she was having trouble breathing. Her chest rose and fell a little too quickly.

  ‘Are you all right? Is the air going to be a problem?’

  Isobel cleared her throat and shook her head. ‘It’s a little more oxygen than I’m used to. But my lungs will adapt.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ said Ben. He waited for Isobel’s discomfort to pass.

  ‘Genetic reversal.’ She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, then released it. ‘My lungs are now part Indigene, part human. And, yes, I promise not to kill any of you. Now take off these chains. I am weak from the electricity.’

  Albert grabbed the tools and tried the screwdriver on the shackles. Ben took the crowbar and wedged it into the seam of the ankle restraints. He loosened them enough for Isobel to step out of them. Her hands popped out of the wrist clamps, and the chains and clamps clattered to the floor. Isobel pushed the metal pile away with her foot. It slid across the floor and hit the back wall with a thump.

  ‘Don’t be afraid here, Isobel,’ said Albert. Ben caught the slight tremor in his voice.

  Isobel, who held her head high, barely moved. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I accept whatever fate I am given.’

  ‘You misunderstand my intentions. We’re all friends here, isn’t that right?’ His eyes flicked to Ben.