by Eliza Green
Ben nodded. ‘I told you already. We bought you to save you. We’re the good guys.’
Isobel smirked. ‘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 levelled her gaze at Ben. ‘You shouldn’t have bothered. You’ll soon see it was a waste to spend it on me.’
Her words lacked emotion but something else danced behind her yellow-flecked eyes. Ben recognised same fear he’d seen in Stephen’s eyes all that time ago. She was afraid, but not of him or Albert. Something else terrified her.
Albert called for Kevin, but he got no answer. ‘Where has he gone to now?’
Ben hadn’t seen him at the auction.
Albert shook his head in the same way his mother used to, when she realised she could no longer control her son. But Albert cared a lot more than she ever had. Kevin was Albert’s last living relative. His son had died the year after the World Government had left. He’d suffered a pulmonary collapse and had needed the medical attention that was no longer being provided.
Kevin had been hit hard by his father’s death. When Albert had rescued Ben from the orphanage and Ben had met the surly boy for the first time, he’d wondered if Albert’s offer to take him in was more to ease Kevin’s pain than Ben’s.
Albert turned his attention to Isobel. ‘Now, Isobel, I need to tell you what place you’ve returned to. This planet is not how you remember it. The World Government left on the last ships in 2164. It’s a time we call “The Last Escape”. They abandoned the unskilled workers on Earth. The criminals were high in numbers and they took over to fill the void the government left behind. They killed off industry, seized all the food replicators, drove us into these managed neighbourhoods, built high walls. They gave us the basics. Generators for light and heat, food supplies that they controlled.’
‘But yet you stay,’ said Isobel.
‘In some twisted way, we rely on them. There is nothing beyond these walls. No life support, no way to live. The properties inside Waverley all have life support, breathable air. Not outside these walls. We would suffocate long before we starved.’
‘I saw guns, on the rooftops.’
‘Yes, they like to control us from inside, but they let us run the neighbourhood as we see fit. Curfew operates from 10pm until 10am. Outside of those hours, we may venture out. They patrol the neighbourhood after hours, use the guns to keep us compliant.’
‘And they don’t worry about you making a run for it during the day?’
Albert laughed. ‘People don’t stray far from the safety of the neighbourhoods. Our oxygen, which they ration, doesn’t last long enough and they know that. They don’t care about us, but they exercise control over us to show the other factions who’s in charge. The Agostini family run the entire New York area as far as Long Island to Upstate New York. They call themselves “the Kings” because of Gaetano Agostini’s supposed connection to Italian royalty back in the day. There’s constant rivalry, bad blood between the factions. But they keep their distance from each other. One thing they agreed upon was to dole out the returning Indigenes equally among the factions. Everybody wins. Marcus, the one who sold you in the marketplace, is one of Gaetano’s men. He runs Waverley and other neighbourhoods close by. And also a black market not far from here.’
‘So I’m a prisoner here.’
‘In a way, yes. We’re all prisoners. But you will not be shackled while you live here. I only ask that you respect the rules and don’t cause trouble for us.’
Isobel gave a tight nod.
‘Now, I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one, Isobel?’ Albert’s voice was gentle but his shoulders were set and rigid.
Isobel shook her head and slumped down in a chair at one of the round tables near the back of the room.
Albert turned to Ben. ‘Would you like one?’
Ben shook his head and gave Albert his most encouraging smile. But the old man didn’t reciprocate. He climbed the wooden stairs, one hand gripping the rail. When he was gone, Ben sat on one of the bar stools. Isobel studied him.
‘You’re different from the others,’ she said.
He tried to make light of it. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
But her stare hardened and her eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t have the same fear, the same edge to your words as the others do. I would say you’re comfortable around me. Do I not repulse you in this form?’ Her hands swept the length of her body. ‘I may be a devolved human who’s regaining my human looks, but I am still not human by your standards. I still have my Indigene speed and strength.’
Ben smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m not repulsed by you. I’ve met one of you before.’
‘Were you not terrified by the one you met?’ Her eyes became wide and feral, her voice sharp. ‘According to your Marcus and others like him, we are monsters. Contaminated humans unfit for anything other than slave labour.’
‘Marcus is a dickhead. And no, not terrified. Okay, I admit I was scared. I was only eight. The one I met. He didn’t threaten me. All he wanted to do was talk.’
‘And who is this mystery Indigene who has cured you of all hate towards our race?’
‘Stephen. Meeting him changed my life, and I’m sorry to say it wasn’t for the better.’
Isobel leaned back in her chair, visibly shocked. ‘Don’t tell me you’re talking about the leader of District Three?’
‘The what?’
She leaned forward, her tone icy. ‘District Three’s great leader. Well, one of them.’ She shook her head. ‘Stories say he met a young boy who was the catalyst in changing his mind about the human race. That one event altered the course of District Three. He is revered by all district Elders because of his innate understanding of your kind.’ She laughed as if mocking him, and leaned back in her chair. ‘Could it be you he met? You don’t look like anything special.’
He flushed red as Isobel stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.
‘What did he say about me, exactly?’
Isobel relaxed her hard expression. ‘Something about your innocence and being drawn to it. Blah, blah blah.’ She circled her hand around, as if bored.
His eyes pricked with tears. A hard lump lodged in his throat. At age eight, all he’d wanted was for someone to understand him in a way his parents never did. For someone to understand how his mind worked; to be interested in him, in his life. He’d thought this someone was Stephen. But he’d spent the last eight years believing that Stephen had used him, and he hated him for that. And now, to hear that their meeting had been the catalyst for something good? He didn’t believe it.
Ben’s breaths came out too short and too sharp.
Isobel stood up too fast, and came towards him. Her sudden speed surprised him and forced him off the stool.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
He turned away from her soft expression. He hadn’t cried since the orphanage, and he refused to start now. It was easier to close himself off to people. He knew how to handle rejection. He’d kept Albert in the dark about his past, been careful not to let him get too close. It was stupid that one good thought about Stephen could unravel all this hard work. Stephen had walked into his life when Ben still cared about what people thought of him.
He turned back around and was surprised to see Isobel with her arms outstretched, as though she was reaching for him. He frowned and she dropped her arms, then returned to her chair and sat down.
The front door swung open and a drunk Kevin burst in. ‘Where is she?’
He stumbled over to Ben.
‘Where the hell were you? Albert’s been worried sick. Where did you get the drink? Was it here?’
‘Shut up, Ben. You’re such a fuckin’ goody two-shoes. And no, it wasn’t here. Older boys who give a shit.’ He leaned close, his breath reeking of beer. ‘You and A
lbert, always whisperin’ ’bout me. Where is she?’
He staggered around the room. Ben backed up towards Isobel. Chair legs squeaked on the flagstone floor behind him.
Kevin’s eyes slid everywhere, focused on little. His head bobbed as he tried to nod. ‘There she is.’
Ben matched Kevin’s drunken steps. ‘Sober up first, then I’ll introduce you.’
‘Why don’ you shurrup?’ His glassy eyes sharpened when he locked on Isobel. Ben turned to see she was standing. Her tall frame looked menacing in the grey World Government uniform. Her dark hair was patchy and uneven.
‘Jesus...’ Kevin screwed up his face and swayed. ‘She’s old an’ bald. The fellas will be disappointed. They were hopin’ to get laid by one of these.’
Kevin’s hate for the Indigenes shocked Ben; he’d never heard him speak quite like this before. He wondered which of the ‘fellas’ had been in his ear.
‘Shut your mouth, Kevin. You know nothing about her.’ He ground his fists into the side of his legs. He glanced behind him to see Isobel watching them with quiet amusement.
Then he saw Albert, standing on the last step, mug in hand.
‘Ah, there you are, Kevin.’ Albert’s voice was even. ‘I was looking for you this morning. I had to go with Ben to the auction. Where did you go?’
‘Out.’ Kevin dropped his gaze.
‘Have you met Isobel?’ Albert kept his tone light as he stepped down into the room and sipped his tea.
‘No...’ Kevin didn’t look at him.
Albert clutched the mug so tight his knuckles had turned milky-white.
‘Well, Isobel will be working with us. Helping us to run this place.’ He turned to Isobel. ‘Sal, our mechanic, has agreed to give you a room. It’s nothing much, but you should be more comfortable there than living here with three males.’
She nodded. The tension in the room made Ben shiver.
‘I don’t want to work here if she’s goin’ to be here,’ said Kevin.
‘Of course you do,’ said Albert. ‘You’ll get to know Isobel the same way I will get to know Isobel, and we will keep an open mind on the matter, like Ben is doing.’
Kevin muttered. ‘Fucking kiss-ass.’
‘What did you say?’
Isobel shifted closer to Albert, as if to protect him.
‘Nothing.’
Albert drank some more tea and waved his hand. ‘Now go upstairs and sober up. Later, I want you to show Isobel how we do things around here. I’ve delayed opening the tavern so Isobel can have time to settle in. Today, we open at 3pm.’
7
Kevin’s punishment for getting drunk was to show Isobel the ropes. Ben sniggered at his slow and methodical movements; a ten minute job took an hour.
To Isobel’s credit, she didn’t react to Kevin’s underhand comments. She had also picked up the basics before he’d even finished explaining them. Ben wondered if everything came natural to the Indigenes, devolved or not.
Nearer opening time, Ben slid the chairs off the table tops and arranged them around the table. The sweeping brush skipped and hopped across the floor as Kevin jerked it around. While Kevin’s hangover amused Ben, he worried about the impulses that had spurred the drinking. There were already enough intolerant people in Waverley without his own family joining in.
Kevin was sticking the sweeping brush behind the bar when Albert came downstairs. He looked around the modest tavern with a dozen round tables that could seat four apiece.
‘I don’t know why we bother keeping this place open. Our takings are small and anything we make goes to that scum, Marcus.’
Ben picked up a damp cloth and ran it along the bar. ‘Because it’s your place, Albert. And you said it yourself, the alternative isn’t any better.’
Marcus had picked Albert’s tavern as one business to receive a monthly supply of replicated liquor. Refusal wasn’t an option. An unmanaged neighbourhood in New York State and a lifetime of dangerous errands for the Agostini family was the grim alternative. What little profit the tavern did make mostly went to Marcus; but the arrangement wasn’t about the money for the Kings. It was about control and command—and showing other factions who was boss.
Kevin grabbed a towel from behind the bar and plunged it into the bucket of water he had collected from Waverley’s communal supply. He wrung out the towel and draped it over his head with a sigh.
‘Why the hell is everyone so against Marcus? The criminals aren’t that bad. I heard a few boys say they make real money doing jobs for them. Marcus doesn’t bother them unless he has something for them to do.’
‘I don’t want you hanging around with that crowd, do you hear me?’ said Albert. ‘Is that where you were this morning? Did they give you the alcohol?’
Kevin snatched the towel off his head. ‘So what if they did? It helps me forget about all this crap.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure it does. The hangovers are a hoot.’ Albert marched over to the door and jerked back the bolt. He opened it and the sound of muffled voices leaked through from the outside.
Ben stopped cleaning to look outside the small window beside the door. Passers-by greeted Albert with a few unkind words. Their intolerance angered Ben.
Old Pete had been leaning against the wall of a house opposite the tavern. He made a quick dash for the open door and removed his worn mask. He stomped his tatty boots on the wooden floor and removed his dirty coat, unleashing a putrid smell of stale body odour into the atmosphere. His noisy entrance seemed to cause Isobel some stress.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ said Ben. ‘He’s harmless.’
Old Pete sat down on the bar stool. ‘Shit, Albert. Why were you closed for half the day? I almost went to those Italian bastards in South. But I’m loyal, ya see, and thought you could do with the business. I hear them wops make their hooch in bathtubs using leftover dirty bathwater.’ He shivered.
‘I really wouldn’t care if you went to another tavern,’ said Albert. ‘You’re not good for business.’
Pete ignored him. His eyes cut to Isobel stood behind the bar. ‘To be honest wit’ ya, Albert, I was curious to see the new addition to your cosy little family.’ He looked her over. ‘How old are ya?’
‘Thirty-eight,’ said Isobel.
Pete lifted his eyebrows and laughed. ‘I thought all you devolved humans were at leas’ over fifty.’
‘I was changed eight years ago, against my will.’
Pete drew in air through his teeth as he studied her face. Ben noticed his gaze lingered longest on her breasts.
‘Well, I’ll tell you one thing. Time ain’t been kind to you. If the genetic clinics were still operating, I’d tell you to run and have a li’l extra work done, if ya know what I mean. But I suppose we all have to make do with what we got, these days. Right, Albert?’ He smiled and shifted in his seat. ‘Now, what’s a man got to do to get a drink around here?’
Kevin’s smile and Albert’s silence sent a sting of heat coursing through Ben. ‘I’d advise you to watch your mouth in here, Pete. You know nothing about her.’
Old Pete laughed and turned to Albert. ‘Well, would you look at that? Quite the little pup he’s growing up to be.’ He turned back around to Ben, his laugh fading, and gave him a look only Ben could see. ‘And what the hell do you know about her?’
Ben opened his mouth to speak but Albert came up behind Pete and put a hand on his shoulder. Pete nearly jumped out of his skin.
‘Look at me.’
Pete glanced at Albert sideways, an uneasy smile on his lips.
‘This is my business and when you set foot inside these doors, you show me and my family respect. If you don’t, you can go to one of the other taverns that you’re so eager to try. I can put in a good word for you, tell the “wops” what you called them and what you said about their drink. But I will also spread the word about your debts here and make sure they stick a “do not serve this man” sign on the wall. You won’t be able to get a drink in all of Waverley neighbourhoo
d. I will take whatever punishment Marcus throws at me. Do you understand?’
Pete jerked under Albert’s grip.
‘Okay, okay. It was just a joke... Jesus.’
Albert released him, then patted him on the shoulder.
‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other. Isobel, pour Pete a beer. I think he needs it.’
Pete lifted his chin. ‘Since it’s free an’ all, got anythin’ a little stronger?’ The edge had gone from his voice.
Albert nodded to Isobel who took a glass bottle down from a shelf.
‘Just this once, and only once, do you hear me?’
She poured a measure of clear liquid into a tumbler.
Homemade moonshine.
Old Pete took a sip, and the edge to his personality instantly softened. ‘Sure, sure. Anything you want.’
Kevin no longer smiled.
☼
That evening the bar was moderately full; no different from any other night. Although people came in to forget their troubles, most couldn’t afford to drink all night. It was usually one glass and then they were gone. The new faces were most interested in Isobel, but she remained tight-lipped about her past when they asked her questions.
At 9.15pm, forty-five minutes before curfew, Albert closed and Ben cleared away the glasses.
‘Will you walk Isobel over to Sal’s tonight?’ said Albert. ‘She doesn’t know the way and I can’t wait around for Sal to come get her.’
‘I can walk myself. I’m not an invalid,’ said Isobel, breaking her silence that had stretched over most of the afternoon and evening.
‘I agree,’ said Albert. ‘But do you know where Sal lives?’
Isobel shook her head.
‘I didn’t think so. Let the young lad take you. Then, tomorrow night, you can make your own way there. Deal?’
Isobel nodded, keeping her eyes on Albert.
She slipped her coat on and they left for Sal’s cottage, a short distance down West Compound’s road just off Central Square.
The streets were quiet as curfew approached. Soon, Marcus and his men would look for people out after hours. It had become a sport to them.
