by Eliza Green
‘Come on, we’d better hurry,’ said Ben.
Isobel picked up the pace, a little too fast for Ben. He broke into a light jog after her.
‘So, how was your first day working at the tavern? It’s not all that bad here. I’ve heard other neighbourhoods have it much worse.’
‘It was okay.’
‘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 slowed 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.’
‘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 industry and the factories are off-limits to us.’ Ben slowed his words to preserve oxygen. ‘Earth lost its skilled workers to the alteration programme. Nobody left knows how to make them.’
‘What about you?’
Ben frowned. ‘I don’t know how to make canisters.’
‘You’re young. Aren’t you considered skilled on Earth? Surely 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?’ Isobel seemed adamant. ‘What can he teach you? Or this Sal woman we will see?’
‘Not much.’ Ben wheezed again. The Central Square and the obelisk came into sight. He saw Isobel shudder. ‘Five percent of the population was 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 learned nothing useful beyond that, like engineering or piloting.’
‘And Sal? What does she do?’ Isobel had slowed down her pace to match his. Her breathing, unlike his, was steady.
Ben took a few short breaths, tapped the canister. When fresh oxygen hissed into his mask, he sucked in a mouthful. ‘Sal is a self-taught accountant. She and Albert keep the books for the four Compounds in Waverley. But she’s also a mechanic with no clue about anything to do with machinery.’
Isobel frowned. ‘Seems to me like survival is more important than balancing books.’
They crossed the square and passed by the obelisk. Isobel stared at the stone structure.
‘It was built in 1930 by some French dude,’ said Ben. ‘Supposed to symbolise friendship between the Americans and the French, I guess.’
Isobel looked ahead. ‘I didn’t ask.’
‘What about you? Do you have family here?’
‘How far is Sal’s?’
Ben pointed to the road heading west. She left him without an answer as they approached a small cottage tucked among some taller buildings; modern yet dilapidated.
Several greyish lines against the faded-cream exterior provided evidence that plants once grew on the cottage walls. A metal door and boarded-up windows added to the abandoned look.
‘We’re here.’
Ben knocked on the door.
The cottage had been in Sal’s family for generations. When the neighbourhood had been walled off and Waverley divided into Compounds, her cottage fell into a different area to the one she’d been assigned. East Compound was for English-speaking residents. West was where the Spanish lived. The Spaniards allowed her to stay, as long as she fixed West’s generators first when they broke.
Post-industry, the World Government had distributed generators to provide electricity to the stranded people. It was the World Government’s last-ditch attempt to help; a pitiful mitigation for the mess they’d created. But the criminals had seized the shipments and controlled their allocation to the neighbourhoods. They also controlled access to new parts for broken or worn generators. While the criminal factions comprised the misfits of society—those considered unskilled and unfit for transfer—at the core of each faction was a powerful family.
Ben became impatient. He was about to knock again when he heard the sound of a key turning in a lock. Sal’s grease-streaked face appeared at the door. ‘I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t hear you. I was in the back. My damn generator’s broken again.’ She looked at Isobel, hopeful. ‘You any good with machines?’
Isobel shook her head.
‘Pity. Empath?’
Isobel shook her head again. She stared at the key in Sal’s hand.
‘I know how to fix a lock and key,’ said Sal. ‘Anything more technologically complicated and I’m stumped.’ She stood back. ‘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. Come in.’
They entered her home and Ben removed his mask. Sal moved down a corridor barely wide enough for one. Ben glanced in at the first room to his right: Sal’s living room. Generator parts were laid out in neat piles on the floor, with labels attached for recognition and sorting.
They followed Sal into the kitchen at the end of the corridor.
Sal 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.’
‘Well, that’s good. You’ll live longer that way.’ Sal rested her hands on the back of a chair. ‘Speaking of which, do you need special equipment to breathe? I should warn you, I don’t have much to help with that.’
Isobel raised her patchy eyebrows. ‘I don’t have any trouble with the air, inside or out. After devolution, my body retained a lung capacity from both species.’
Sal gave her face a quick wipe. Ben noticed the shake in her hands. ‘Good. Now let me show you to your room.’
Ben took it as his cue to leave. He 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 while Sal showed Isobel the spare room. He held his mask in one hand. The canister on his hip was low on oxygen and barely functional. He thought about asking Sal for a new one, a better one, but she barely had enough for herself. He’d used up extra oxygen chasing after Isobel. If he took slow, steady breaths, he could make it back to the tavern.
Sal reappeared and gestured to the living room. She closed the door behind him. The room smelled of engine oil and grease. Ben stood in a cleared space where there were no parts.
‘I need you to tell Albert something, but don’t mention it to anyone else. I don’t want to worry anyone at this stage.’
Ben frowned. ‘Tell me what?’
‘It’s the books. They’re not adding up. Someone has been stealing money from my safe. There appears to be a crafty safe-cracker among us, because I counted the takings for Waverley and we’re short.’
‘Albert would never—’
‘Of course not.’ Sal waved her hand. ‘It’s someone else. Possibly someone at the bar who knows where we keep the money. I don’t want to scare anyone, but we’re close to owing Marcus more than we can pay him, and we all remember what happened the last time.’
Marcus had confiscated the starter motors from every generator until he’d been paid back in full. The neighbourhood had endured a week without light or heat in nea
r freezing night-time temperatures.
‘This time it might not be the generators. Marcus might mess with the life support.’
‘Okay, so what do we do?’
‘We need to recover that money. It’s possible that whoever took it has spent it. I don’t need to explain the importance of keeping this quiet. Marcus doesn’t need to know. Not yet, anyway. If he finds out, then I’m hoping we’ll have thought of a solution.’
Ben stared at nothing. He had an idea who the culprit was, and he was at home nursing a hangover, probably with his feet up.
Sal opened the door. ‘Now, off home with you. There’s only fifteen minutes left to curfew.’
Ben stalled at the front door. He felt bad for asking. ‘The oxygen’s almost gone in my canister. Do you have a spare one?’
Sal strode to the kitchen and returned with a cloth bag that clinked. She fished out a battered replacement and shook it. ‘Here. Give me yours. There’s not much left, but this should see you home.’
They swapped canisters and Ben hooked the tube from the new canister to his mask.
Sal guided him to the door. ‘All right, be on your way. Isobel is safe here. I promised Albert that much. I’ll bring her to the tavern tomorrow and tonight I’ll educate her on how things work around here, who to watch out for, areas to avoid. And if you see a vehicle, stay off the main road.’
‘Thanks, Sal.’
☼
Ben neared the tavern to see Albert had left the porch light on. Terror gripped him and he looked around.
An innocent act could become a dangerous one. The porch light, which should be off post curfew, would act as a beacon for the Kings who patrolled after hours for fun.
Ben’s hands shook as he ran for the door and pushed his way through the environmental force field. Inside, he groped for the porch light switch and flicked it off. His heart crashed against his ribs as he watched out the side window.
Strong headlights dazzled him as the patrol vehicle rounded the corner. He stepped back into the tavern’s darkness and rubbed his eyes. The armoured car slowed, then came to a stop, its engine idling outside the tavern.
‘What’s your problem?’ whispered Ben. ‘I’m inside, where I’m supposed to be. Piss off.’
For a while the vehicle didn’t move. Its headlights stayed pointed at the tavern’s tatty front.
A red light crept towards the tavern. Ben jumped back from the infrared capable of detecting body heat. A part of the military vehicle’s arsenal that was now a play thing for the criminals. He stumbled towards the stairs.
His ankle hit the bottom step and he winced. He took the stairs two at a time and threw himself on his bed. He waited, heart in mouth, as the red beam bled through the wall, inched over his bed and passed through the opposing wall to reach the other side of the building.
If Sal was right and the missing money had pushed Waverley into debt, then Marcus may already know.
The beam retreated. He heard the vehicle move on, turn down another street.
He stared at the ceiling, remembering the time when he and a few boys in the orphanage had tried to escape. They’d been beaten and strapped to their beds for a few nights to teach them submission.
This life was no different. Waverley neighbourhood was one giant orphanage with a different name.
But why had one of the cars scanned the tavern?
8
Ben woke with a start. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and blinked, remembering the events of last night. Sometime in the middle of the night his blankets had found the rough timber floor. He slipped on a pair of shoes and picked his bedding up, plucking splinters out of the wool fabric.
He heard movement in the kitchen. He pressed an ear to Kevin’s door as he passed but heard nothing. The kitchen door creaked open to reveal a dressed Albert dipping a homemade tea bag into a cup of hot water. Waverley’s residents used to get their food from replicators, before the Kings had claimed them all. Now they relied on rations the Agostini faction doled out to the neighbourhoods. Everything else they either made or stole. Like the hessian fabric bags Albert made that held a sprinkling of tea leaves.
Albert turned when Ben slipped inside the room and closed the door. ‘Hungry? We don’t have much, but I could put something together for you?’
Ben shook his head, shuffling forward in his shoes.
His stomach clenched as he sat down; Sal’s news occupied his thoughts. ‘Albert, I have to talk to you about something.’
‘Don’t worry, I checked on Kevin this morning. He’s fast asleep.’ Albert dunked the bag of leaves into the water again. ‘At least he’s in his bed, so that’s a start.’
‘No, it’s not about Kevin. Sal told me to tell you something.’
Albert narrowed his eyes at Ben and sat down at the table with his mug. ‘What is it? You have me worried now.’
‘Sal says the books don’t balance. She thinks someone has been stealing money from her safe.’
Albert closed his eyes and massaged his temple. He opened them. ‘Did you make it back on time? I didn’t hear you come in.’
Ben nodded. ‘The patrol was already out. It was scanning the tavern. Infrared. Did you hear what I said about the money?’
‘Did the car see you on the streets?’
‘No, I was inside before they got here.’
‘Then why? I don’t understand.’
Ben ruffled his hair; he badly needed a haircut. ‘What if Marcus is keeping tabs on Isobel?’
Albert leaned back and sighed. ‘I was afraid of this. I knew that bringing Isobel here would make us the talk of the town. But there’s nothing we can do about it, except be careful about not missing curfew. She is working here, and that’s final. I made a promise to that girl, and to you, and I always keep my word. We’ll deal with whatever happens together.’ He stood up and Ben mirrored his actions. ‘Don’t worry about the missing money. It’s probably nothing. I’ll talk to Sal. Leave it to us to sort out.’
Albert exited the room; he moved fast for a man of his age. But he seemed agitated as he descended the stairs. A concerned Ben followed him. Should he have told him about the patrol car? The missing money and the possibility that someone was risking Waverley’s credit line was enough bad news for one morning.
‘Would you open up for me this morning?’ said Albert. ‘I need a couple of hours to run a few errands.’
‘Sure.’
He stopped on the bottom step and gave Ben’s shoulder a quick squeeze. ‘You’re a good boy, Ben. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
He walked over to the bar, picked up his coat and left the tavern.
☼
Isobel arrived at the tavern shortly after Albert left. She wore the same grey World Government uniform that she had on upon arrival at Waverley docking station.
Ben glanced past her as he let her in. ‘Sal not with you?’
‘She and Albert had some business to discuss.’
He studied her clothes. ‘You know, Sal probably has something else that you could wear.’
Isobel glanced down at her outfit. ‘Yes, I’ve been wearing this since the passenger ship. I would prefer something else. I don’t care for the uniform.’
Ben understood her reluctance to wear it. The World Government had changed her.
‘The clothes I brought with me are too thin for this weather.’
‘I thought you preferred it cold.’
‘As a full Indigene, maybe, but I’m no longer that. I feel more like my human self. And that means I feel the cold too easily.’
Isobel took the chairs down from the tables while Ben slipped behind the bar and set the glasses out on the counter. He checked the stock, then opened a new bottle of spirits delivered by one of Marcus’ men two days ago. He poured two-thirds of the bottle into a plastic jug and filled the bottle to the top with water to sell to customers who could barely tell the difference anymore. He covered the remaining undiluted alcohol, stored the jug in a cupboard and
locked it.
Ben glanced at the stairs, wondering where the hell Kevin was.
The tavern door opened, and Old Pete made his presence known with a sharp rap on the door frame. He eyed Isobel as he took his usual seat at the bar.
‘Gimme a beer, squirt. On my tab.’
Ben poured amber liquid into a clean mug, which he then slammed down on the bar.
‘I’m sick of you sponging off my grandfather.’
Pete’s eyes hardened into two lumps of coal. ‘He’s not even your real fucking grandpa, little boy. Remember your crazy mamma who left you to that orphanage because you’re such a little shit?’ He reached for the mug but Ben kept it from him.
‘Give me my fucking beer. I’m thirsty.’
Ben felt new anger stir; anger he’d kept locked away for so long. With the mug in his hand he pulled his arm back. He’d picked out the perfect spot to hit: on the side of Pete’s head. He sucked in a breath, drew his arm back further, and swung.
But to his surprise, only his knuckle grazed the side of Pete’s head.
‘Keep your hands to yourself, you little runt.’ Pete swiped at Ben.
Ben twisted around to find Isobel beside him, holding the mug he’d just tried to swing at Pete. She gave him an admonishing look and handed the beer to Pete.
‘At least one of you is doing your fucking job,’ said Pete.
Ben stalked over to the stairs and motioned her over. She followed him, a confused look on her face.
‘What did you do that for?’ he said, out of Pete’s earshot.
‘He has ties to Marcus. And he seems like the type to spread the wrong rumours about this place.’
‘I don’t give a shit what they say. They’re all bigoted morons.’
Isobel glared at him. ‘This isn’t about you, Ben. What about Albert? Don’t you think he has enough to contend with? I heard him and Sal talking before I left.’
Ben dropped his gaze, but his anger remained coiled like a snake inside him. ‘I need to cool down.’
