by Eliza Green
She whispered. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t expect them so early. I thought I’d have time to talk to you first.’
‘Where’s Isobel?’
‘I sent her to the tavern early. She knows to be careful, to avoid the guns. And I haven’t seen any patrols around in recent mornings since the auction.’
He followed her to the kitchen, where two men and one woman—all elderly—were seated. Héctor, Hans and Sofia: were representatives from West, North and South Compounds. Albert and Sal represented East. Their small group met weekly to discuss the well-being of the residents and nothing happened without agreement from all four Compounds.
‘Hello to you all. You’re very welcome,’ said Albert, glancing at Sal for an explanation. ‘I’m sorry if I look a bit shocked. I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning.’
‘I’ll explain everything,’ said Sal. ‘Shall we sit?’
There were only four chairs in Sal’s kitchen, so Héctor stood while Sal, Albert, Hans and Sofia sat.
‘We have a serious problem in North.’ Héctor spoke with a heavy Spanish accent but his English was good. ‘Some generators have been stolen and the life support is failing in certain blocks.’
Hans confirmed this. ‘We also suffer the same. Sometimes it is not so easy to breathe. We now have eleven thousand residents squashed into accommodation for five thousand. The life support will not last. Why is this happening now?’
‘I may know why,’ said Sal. ‘The books, Albert.’
Albert frowned. ‘Do you think that’s connected?’
Sal explained to the others. ‘We noticed some money missing from the safe. We should have 111,000 in the safe, the takings for all of Waverley.’
‘And how much do we have?’ said Héctor.
‘Eighty K, give or take a few notes.’
Albert stood up and leaned against the counter, beside Héctor. His face flushed in the thick air. Sal’s life support was not equipped to handle so many people.
‘If someone steals money from Waverley, then I expect a few generators to go missing,’ said Albert. ‘It’s something Marcus would order his associates to do, to teach us a lesson. But the life support? That makes no sense. They can’t exert control over us if we’re all dead.’ He turned to Héctor. ‘Is the life support a neighbourhood-wide issue?’
‘No. It’s being turned off in entire blocks, randomly if I was to guess. Those King bastards are controlling it from somewhere. I’m sure of it.’
Sofia stood up. ‘You must take refugees from North, South and West. This cannot go on. That is why we are here. We have no room. If it gets worse, our people will die.’
‘And East Compound, Sal?’ said Albert.
‘No issues with life support, as far as I can tell. If there was, I would have heard about it by now.’
Albert nodded. ‘Then we must take refugees from each Compound, share the burden.’
‘And where exactly will we put them?’ said Sal. ‘We’re already at full capacity here as it is.’
Albert sat down again. ‘It’s a temporary measure until I speak to Marcus, try to straighten this whole mess out. We’ve been the victim of a robbery, or a cruel hoax. When I explain that to him...’ He trailed off. Who was he kidding? Marcus would not see reason. ‘The Agostini family needs us alive to control us, to keep the other factions from moving in on their territory. Until then, we’ll all just have to bunch up. We can handle a few extra bodies.’
‘Some won’t be too happy about it,’ Sal said.
‘Assure them it’s only temporary,’ said Albert. ‘Let’s not waste time talking about this. I’d like to speak to Marcus soon, but I’d rather not do it alone. Sal, can you coordinate things here and let East residents know about the temporary influx of people?’
Sal nodded. ‘Whatever you think is best, but it’s going to be a logistical nightmare.’
‘Gather as many volunteers as you can. Tell them I will sort things out with Marcus. Any trouble and they can speak to me about it.’
‘Why are we wasting time with Marcus?’ said Héctor. ‘We know where the real problem lies. We need to go there.’
‘La Fortezza,’ said Sofia, in a whisper.
Albert knew of the Fortress. It was rumoured to be a place somewhere in Boston where skilled workers who had escaped World Government capture were hiding out.
‘Yes,’ said Hans. ‘They have many experts. They have many ways to help us.’
Albert frowned and leaned back in his chair. ‘I must admit I’ve given it plenty of thought over the years. But they never lifted a finger to help us when we needed them most. What makes you think they will now?’
‘Would it hurt to ask?’ said Sal. ‘This is far more serious than we’re equipped to handle. It’s not a few generators. We’re talking about our life support, Albert.’
‘We’ll keep the idea in reserve.’ Albert tapped a finger to his lips. ‘It’s too much of a long shot. Marcus runs this neighbourhood so I need to talk to him.’
Héctor folded his arms. ‘And when will we take back our neighbourhood from this... scum?’
Albert stood up. ‘One thing at a time. After we’ve sorted out this mess with Marcus, we’ll discuss strategies, including ways to cope without relying on the generators. But right now our priority is the life support.’
He said goodbye to the other representatives and Sal walked him to the front door. She touched his arm.
‘There was something else, Albert.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Does the name Jenny Waterson mean anything to you?’
Albert shook his head. ‘Should it?’
Sal had a faint smile on her lips. ‘My house guest is looking for her. She says she was told to find her when she arrived on Earth and that Jenny operates out of this jurisdiction.’
‘Should I be worried or happy about that look on your face?’
‘I’m not sure yet, but I’m curious about this Waterson woman and what she wants with your Indigene. Could there be something else brewing we don’t know about?’
Albert smiled weakly as he slapped the gel mask on his face. ‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions. We’ve been fighting this alone for too long. We shouldn’t expect anything to change now.’ He opened the door. ‘But I’ll ask around at the market. Someone on the stalls might know her.’
11
Ben had awoken to find Albert gone. His satchel and walking sticks were missing, which meant he probably went to market. Then Isobel showed up before curfew to tell him Sal was expecting him at her place.
Albert’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Ben had planned a trip to the digital library to look for Isobel’s husband.
Isobel pulled chairs down from table-tops while Ben polished the glasses to within an inch of their transparent lives. He kept one eye on the door, willing it to open and for Albert to walk in.
Curfew lifted and three patrons arrived. They stayed for half an hour, but to Ben’s surprise there was no sign of Old Pete. Even with the business with Isobel the other night, Pete was brazen enough not to shy away from the offer of free drink.
Isobel looked to be in thought as she leaned against the end of the bar. She had her back turned to him, and a tea-towel hung from one hand.
The door opened and her head whipped round faster than Ben’s could. He breathed a sigh of relief when Albert’s hiking sticks clattered against the tiled floor. Ben slammed the glass down and bounced over to him before he could reach the first table.
‘I have to go out,’ said Ben.
A tired looking Albert placed his satchel on the table. He rested his hiking sticks against the edge and pulled off one sleeve of his coat.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘Just out. I need to do something.’ He glanced at Isobel.
Her yellow gaze found Ben’s before it dropped to the towel in her hand. She busied herself behind the bar to put away the glasses Ben had just polished.
‘Please, Albert. I won’t be long.’
&n
bsp; ‘Where’s Kevin?’
‘Asleep.’
‘And has anyone new come in to the tavern this morning?’
‘No. The usual.’ He didn’t want to tell him about Pete’s absence and the reason for it.
Albert pressed his lips together. His coat dangled; one sleeve off, one sleeve on.
Ben bounced on his feet. ‘Albert, I have to... do something.’
Albert slipped his arm out of the second sleeve. ‘What?’
He was about to say when he saw Isobel staring at him. ‘Something important. I can’t say.’
‘Yes, yes. Just be back before three. I need to go somewhere, too.’
‘Where are you going? Is it something to do with what Sal was talking about?’
‘Hush now. No need to worry.’ Albert picked up his hiking sticks and his satchel, holding it close as if it contained precious cargo.
Albert looked at Isobel. ‘We need to get this place ready. We might be receiving guests later. Let me get a cup of tea first. I’ll be down shortly.’
Isobel nodded, her eyes listless.
Guests? They’d never had them before. Ben wanted to ask Albert what he meant but the old man was already halfway up the stairs. He turned to Isobel.
‘I’ll be back as quick as I can.’ He touched the piece of paper in his pocket, the one with the details about her husband.
Isobel busied herself with cleaning, as if she wasn’t sure what she should do.
Ben pulled on his coat and startled to see Isobel stood in front of him. She held her body tight and had a hesitant look in her eyes. Ben looked around the empty bar. At least no patrons had seen how fast she’d just moved.
‘Albert can look after the bar,’ she said. ‘I’d like to go with you.’
‘I’ll be quicker on my own.’ He touched her hand. ‘I’ll try to get some info, I promise.’
Isobel nodded. The look in her eyes changed from hesitation to hope.
Ben would not return empty handed. He didn’t want to disappoint her.
☼
Dressed in all-black, Ben strode towards the guard’s hut at the gate for Waverley neighbourhood.
The nearest working digital library was twenty-one miles out of town in the old Hudson Park Library on Manhattan Island. To get there, he would have to leave Brooklyn. Both areas were under Agostini rule, but only Brooklyn was part of Marcus’ territory. Ben hoped his anonymity on Manhattan Island would get him there and back before being noticed.
In his backpack, he carried several oxygen canisters that Sal had loaned him. She’d assured him they were spares, ones she had been saving for an emergency. He’d packed an old map of the New York and Brooklyn area, but wished he still had his compass. Marcus had probably already melted it down, turned it into a gaudy brooch or something. His impending trip reminded him of the ones he used to take around New London when he was just a child. But back then he was a free citizen.
Ben had a story prepared for the guards if they stopped him and asked about the canisters and the map. He would tell them the canisters needed fixing and the map was payment for the work. To his relief, the guards were too busy hassling one of the older residents for them to notice him slip past the gate.
He turned left, towards the docking station. Public transport was a luxury in Brooklyn and the surrounding areas. If Ben was to cross the bridge to Manhattan, he’d have to do it on foot. But with a limited oxygen supply, he had another way to travel.
A military vehicle passed him on the street, one of many the criminals now owned. His heart thundered in his chest and he hid his face, keen not to draw the attention of the occupants. A teenager out alone drew unwanted interest. Worse, he could be targeted to do one of Marcus’ odd jobs. When he got closer to the docking station he would try a different way to travel.
Ben had watched the younger kids ‘ghosting’—hitching without being seen—on the back of the vehicles. Because the cars were self-drive the occupants usually didn’t check what was behind them. For ghosting to work, he would have to change vehicles regularly before the occupants or those in another vehicle spotted him.
The all-black faction vehicles operated within the boroughs and were identifiable by colour markings inside the windscreen. Green covered a westerly direction towards Manhattan; yellow was confined to Waverley and the surrounding boroughs; blue headed to Upstate New York; and red travelled east towards Long Island. The factions used the cars to deliver supplies to their own groups and to trade with the criminals set up in other areas.
A car with a green dot approached and Ben ran behind it. He grabbed the handle for the boot, pulled himself onto a short ledge with room for three people and crouched as low as he could. The day was dark enough for him to blend in with his black clothing.
The bumpy road caused his stomach to lurch and twist. He gripped the handle tighter and ran through the map in his backpack that he’d memorised. On the way out of town, he recognised a few landmarks: Astoria Park on the edge of Brooklyn; the steel and concrete structure of the Brooklyn Bridge with a rusty safety rail; the Statue of Liberty in the far distance.
The car crossed the bridge and rumbled over several raised bumps at the end of it that marked the beginning of Manhattan Island. The car followed a route through the Tribeca area, then stopped. Ben jumped off the back and darted into a side street before the occupants noticed him or got out.
His stomach rumbled as he hid in his safe place across from the red-bricked, arch-windowed exterior of the Hudson Park digital library. The building, once surrounded by clean, crack-free paths, had long been abandoned and showed many signs of disrepair.
Ben noticed a seal of hardened white paste around the front door and windows. A new addition since the last time he’d been here, six months ago. A seal meant the environmental force field was no longer operational, the life support dead. That could make the trip a little easier; it would mean less chance of someone using the library as a permanent residence.
Ben checked his oxygen supply that had been running for an hour. He felt confident he could be in and out before he ran dry, but first he had to find another way inside.
He waited until the main street quietened, then sprinted down a side road and found the entrance he had used before. An old rusted vehicle had been pushed up against it, blocking the unsealed wooden door. Ben squeezed between the car and the door to get at the entrance.
The door moved, but not by much. Something blocked it from the inside; someone had been there. He hoped they were long gone and that what he needed still worked.
He wedged his shoulder against the door and gave it a hard shove. A gap opened and he shimmied his way inside.
The main library room was quiet. Ben could barely hear the vehicles passing on the street outside; the place had been sealed up well. He recalled the libraries on Exilon 5: gleaming white reading rooms with avatars to assist you at every turn. In this library, no helper greeted him, and the old-fashioned décor contained floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves.
But there were no books. The place had been cleared out long ago.
Chairs cluttered the floor and several rows of tables with ports held old DPads that were no longer usable. Some ports sat empty.
Old libraries like this used to be run by sentient programs and everything, including the DPads, had been controlled by them.
At least the DPads were worthless to the criminals because the old information they contained about the old regime had no value and couldn’t be used as leverage in this new world.
A rumour existed of a man who had unleashed a computer virus to kill all the sentient programs. With nobody left on Earth able to understand the programming, the sentients never recovered. The criminals trusted technology as much as they trusted each other. They relied on old-fashioned ways to communicate that didn’t involve using unsecured networks. The libraries had become dusty shrines to a time when the World Government had been in charge.
Ben passed by the public access tables to the front
of the library and headed straight to the librarian’s desk at the back of the room. He was relieved to find the main console controlling the DPads was still active; it was how he’d been accessing the old World Government files. Another rumour was that hackers had released all the government documents. That must be true because Ben had found them right here in this library. He hadn’t told Albert about this place or the information he could access. Given the state of the place, he assumed he remained the only one curious enough to learn what had happened to the Indigenes and Earth.
He’d hidden the console under a stack of papers and an old bedsheet on his last visit. Ben pushed the papers to one side and a plume of dust made him sneeze. He dropped his backpack to the floor and pulled out Isobel’s note from his pocket.
He ran his sleeve across the dusty desk and patted the excess off his jacket. The console sprung into life that seemed to be powered by an individual source. He pulled up a chair and sat down, smoothing Isobel’s note out flat on the desk.
Isobel Sinclair
Married to Alex Sinclair
Last known address: Manhattan, New York
No children
Ben began his search inside the old World Government files; the ones the hackers had made public before they were forced to leave Earth.
He typed in ‘Alex Sinclair’. Seventy-two thousand names were returned. He narrowed the search to those living in the US. The list filtered to thirty-seven thousand. He typed in Isobel’s name as spouse. No search results. He removed her name and typed ‘married’. Ten-thousand names.
‘Shit. This is taking too long.’
He tapped the console with his nail. He needed something else, something more personal.
He sat still for a moment, combing through his conversations with Isobel. Maybe she’d said something in Sal’s cottage last night.
Then it came to him. He smiled and typed in the word ‘deceased’ after ‘spouse’.
Thirteen names returned, but only one was listed for the New York area: in Long Island. Ben checked the photos attached to the names. He jotted down the key features of each face so he could describe the thirteen Alex Sinclairs to Isobel later.
